“Splendid, Henry.”
“I thought that would have been a beautiful opportunity to do a bit of first rate grumbling, sir, just to pull his leg, but you have said that my little jokes don’t always come off so I looked blankly at him and had another think about Pecksniff. We had about half an hour of that and then I could see there was no business in it. I didn’t understand what his game was, so I got still duller, and he soon thought it was time to go. He thanked me for a pleasant chat and said that when he saw you again he would congratulate you on having such a discreet servant. Did he, sir?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t, Henry,” answered Harrison, with a laugh. “He didn’t even mention his call on you, but I should think you are right. It very probably was Mr. Archie Crewe.”
“Then they were taking rather a lot of trouble, sir,” said Henry.
“Too much, I should say, Henry, for my first theory, unless the gardener was in a peculiarly unpleasant tangle. Of course that may be still a possibility. But they may have been mixed up in the murder still more directly than that. Then, Henry, it’s difficult to get much further at the moment and to try and apportion how much each one of them is connected with it. Obviously we must assume Mr. Archie Crewe is right in the middle of it all. Can we say the same of Miss Crewe?”
“A dangerous woman, sir.”
“She may be, Henry,” answered Harrison; “but, at the same time, she may only be a tool.”
“And the old lady?”
“Ah, Henry, that’s where we are left guessing,” said Harrison. “A wonderful old lady, Mrs. Crewe. Witty, intelligent, understands men, women and life.” Harrison paused. “Henry, I should be sorry to think that a marvellous old lady can be mixed up in a beastly business of this kind.”
“And yet you have your doubts, sir?”
“I must have them, Henry. I said she understood men and women and she herself told me she was a psychologist. She knew exactly the kind of evening I should enjoy. She led me on like a young child. That’s psychology, Henry, I’ve never been seen through quite so clearly before.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re annoyed with yourself, sir,” commented Henry, wisely.
“You’re very devastating, Henry,” answered Harrison. “That may be part of the reason, but there’s something more. She was psychologist enough to plan what sort of a young woman I should like, and she was right.”
“Sir,” protested Henry.
“We’ve got to admit it, Henry,” said Harrison. “I fell for Netta Crewe in the way the old lady intended—well, in the way I believe the old lady intended. That rather innocent, confiding charm, Henry. I even went up to her room because of it—and didn’t suspect anything.”
“Then it was all put up, sir?”
“It must have been, Henry.”
“And what was behind it all?”
“I assume, Henry,” said Harrison, “that when sufficient time had elapsed, Mr. Crewe, or the old lady, or both of them together would have come to Miss Crewe’s room and made the dramatic discovery. That would have been exceedingly awkward for Mr. Clay Harrison. I don’t think there would have been any violence, but they would certainly have tried to extract a number of promises from me. And appearances being against me, I might have found it difficult to refuse. It was lucky that there were two things which could save me.”
“What were they, sir?”
“First, they had to give me a reasonable amount of time before they pounced. I had to settle down, so to speak, before they could do anything. If they had come in too quickly, they could not assume so easily that I had been misbehaving myself.”
“And the other was me, sir.”
“Quite, Henry,” answered Harrison. “They had not realised my intense morality and respectability and certainly could not have thought I should send for my chaperon with such anxiety. I am afraid that was the point where the old lady’s psychology failed her. She thought me much more dashing than I really was. I think she had a right to assume that after my behaviour during the evening. But I suppose there is deep down in my nature a large vein of ‘safety first’ which asserted itself full tilt with alarm at the invitation to return.”
“And the lady’s hysterics were all put on?”
“Don’t let’s be too hard, Henry,” said Harrison. “But what makes me most humble is to think that, even then, I did not realise and read her a pretty little moral lesson, ending up with a nice sentiment on the value of being discreet. My Glory.”
Henry smiled. There was some humour in the thought, and loyalty could not quite overcome his enjoyment of it.
“There’s one thing that still puzzles me, sir,” he said. “You’ve gone through everything connected with the Crewes very carefully but you haven’t mentioned it.”
“What is that, Henry?”
“Why did this very innocent and charming young woman want to measure your height after lunch?”
“I don’t know, Henry,” answered Harrison. “I really don’t know. But we ought to know. Let’s go to Overstead House and find out.”
Chapter X
The Pistol Trap
Harrison was not entirely surprised when Henry showed no reluctance to return to Great Crockham, and in the early afternoon they found themselves strolling up the drive to Miss Docket’s door. Again Harrison had the feeling that not only was the murder of the unknown tramp an outrage against society but it was also a crime against the beautiful countryside. Possibly it takes a Londoner to appreciate the true joys of Surrey. The man who lives in a great city needs a great back garden, and to a Londoner the choicest delight of his Surrey must lie in this special quality.
The gentle sunlight of a placid afternoon lightly smoothed the lines of tree, hedge and down. Nature was not asleep but was resting, arms behind her head, looking up at the sky with quiet contentment. One did not speak in whispers for fear of breaking the spell, but the voice became soft and low as if to harmonise with the surrounding peace—again as if one were walking in a satisfactorily proportioned garden. The keynote of the bordering fields, the cottages, and the distant hills was peace which it was a crime for a human being rudely to disturb.
And that peace had been disturbed. By murder, the last exhibition of man’s ugliness. Harrison felt extraordinarily vindictive towards the disturber. He loved this countryside. He wanted to share the peace which it offered and yet all the thoughts in his mind had, of necessity, to be out of tune with his surroundings. “The detective as nature lover” struck him as a cynical title for another address to the inhabitants of Great Crockham. Another “thoughtful evening.” And the only reason why he was walking in Surrey on a heavenly afternoon was that he wanted to drag to light the secret of a man found unnaturally dead in a ditch. A poor return for the gift of a garden.
Still it was a gift, and he must do his duty by helping to bring to book the man who had profaned it. His thoughts wandered to the Jogger. How stupid authority can be. Appearances had been against the Jogger, but no one who knew anything of the man thought him capable of the crime. But appearances must be accepted, even if they seem against reason, and the Jogger must be accused. Harrison felt that the Jogger was part of the countryside and, although the most devout can, at a crisis, become the most blasphemous, he felt that, in this case, the peacefulness of the Jogger was extremely akin to the scenery through which he tramped. Apart from the discoveries he had made which all pointed away from the Jogger, Harrison was convinced that he was not the type.
It was a matter of psychology. Even if you cannot at once find the right actor for a particular part, it is useless choosing one whom you know is unable to play it. Psychology, thought Harrison, that brings us to Mrs. Crewe. Better not think in circles about her. For that is all it would be. There is not enough to go on yet. She can judge character, that’s evident, but is she infallible? There must be weak joints in her armour.
“That is what we have to look for,” said Harrison, aloud.
“Yes, sir,” said
Henry, politely, dragging his own thoughts back with difficulty, for he had been ranging as far afield as his master, although certainly not in the same direction.
“The weak joints in her armour,” continued Harrison, still absorbed in his own train of thought.
“Whose?” asked Henry.
“Sorry, Henry,” said Harrison, almost as if waking up, “I didn’t quite realise what I was saying.”
“If you were thinking about the murdered tramp, sir,” said Henry, “I think you might tell me who you meant.”
“Henry, I’m shocked,” answered Harrison; “come out of your daydream and concentrate a bit.”
“Sir,” protested Henry.
“I know you’ve been thinking of all the pleasure you are going to obtain out of a visit to Miss Docket.” Henry opened his mouth to protest again. “It’s no good denying it, Henry. I must be a pretty poor detective if I can’t see that. But if you’re going to be any use to me you’ll have to think about the murdered tramp as well. Now if you just stopped your mind straying for a moment, you’d realise that the only woman we know in the case who is wearing armour is Mrs. Crewe.”
“Sorry, sir,” said Henry, very apologetically.
“Really, Henry,” continued Harrison, in a kindly tone, “I don’t mind a bit if you feel a certain admiration for Miss Rich,” Henry coloured a little, “but it’s a tough job, and I need you as much as ever.”
Henry gave Harrison a look of perfect understanding, and the pair went into the house, where they were warmly greeted by Miss Docket. Her bright eyes sparkled as she asked Harrison if something really exciting had happened. “Henry and I both feel excited at coming to see you again,” said Harrison.
“It’s no use trying to put me off,” said Julia Docket, emphatically. “You haven’t come to pay an afternoon call.”
“In a way we have,” answered Harrison; “but not here. We’re going to call at Overstead House.”
“Mrs. Crewe will be pleased,” said Miss Docket.
“Mrs. Crewe won’t be there to be pleased,” returned Harrison.
“Then something exciting has happened,” said Miss Docket. “That’s why you’re here.”
“Mrs. Crewe, her son and daughter left England this morning,” said Harrison.
“How extraordinary,” exclaimed Miss Docket. “I thought they had the house for much longer. Are they coming back?”
“I doubt it,” said Harrison.
“And you want to look at the house?” asked Miss Docket, bursting with curiosity.
“If you don’t mind, Miss Docket, I’d rather not talk about what I want to do at the moment,” said Harrison. “I’ll explain it all to you later on. I promise that.”
“I know how to be patient, Mr. Harrison,” said Miss Docket, with a twinkling eye. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Not a great deal at the moment, Miss Docket,” answered Harrison. “But if things turn out at all as I expect, you may be extremely useful. Obviously, as you said, Henry and I have not visited you just to pay an afternoon call. First of all, I thought we ought to come here at once because I feel you are entitled to our first call, out of sheer politeness—and gratitude.”
“That is very charming of you,” said Miss Docket.
“Secondly, and possibly a more practical reason, I need some kind of headquarters, and I felt sure you would not mind my coming to your house for it.”
“Still more charming of you.”
“Thirdly, I want to talk to Miss Rich again.”
Henry pricked up his ears and looked like a cat about to bristle.
“That will be easy enough,” answered Miss Docket. “I don’t know where she is at the moment. Making herself look a bit less beautiful, I suppose.”
“I don’t want to see her at the moment,” said Harrison; “I want to find out something about the Crewes first.”
“I personally know very little about them,” replied Miss Docket.
“They came about three weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember when they arrived?”
“The time of day, do you mean, Mr. Harrison?”
“Yes.”
“I gather they arrived at night. When I saw them, and that must have been the next day, they seemed quite settled in.”
“Good. They wanted to be friendly?”
“Well, I suppose so,” replied Miss Docket. “But they did not seem to run after one. I must admit we were all so struck with Mrs. Crewe that we seemed to run after her.”
“Mrs. Crewe is very remarkable.”
“Very. In a place like this, Mr. Harrison, the arrival of a person like Mrs. Crewe is an event. And her departure is, too. I can’t think why she has gone off so suddenly without telling any of us.”
“I wouldn’t try, if I were you, Miss Docket, for the moment,” said Harrison. “Now regarding Overstead House. Did you ever hear how long they took it for?”
“Not really,” answered Miss Docket. “I gathered from them, though, that they intended to stay longer than this.”
“Do you know the name of the agents?”
“I couldn’t be certain, but Warner’s, of Millhead, deal with most of the property round here.”
“Then, if you don’t mind, Miss Docket, I think I’ll ring them up at once,” said Harrison. “That is the first use of my headquarters.”
“Splendid,” replied Miss Docket. “Go straight ahead. You know where the telephone is—and mind you don’t find any more mysterious messages.”
Harrison laughed and went off, while Henry looked anxiously at Miss Docket.
“I don’t like to mention it,” he said, “but I think you ought to give Miss Rich a warning.”
“Good heavens,” exclaimed Miss Docket, “surely Mr. Harrison doesn’t suspect her?”
“Certainly not,” said Henry, indignantly, “that wouldn’t be possible. But I’m afraid he’s going to make her very uncomfortable if she is taken by surprise.”
“More excitement,” said Miss Docket. “But it will take something to make Miss Rich uncomfortable—or even surprise her.”
“Mr. Harrison doesn’t believe her,” announced Henry.
“That won’t worry her,” answered Miss Docket. “It will only make her modify her opinion of Mr. Harrison. She thinks a lot of him at the moment. But what doesn’t he believe?”
“Her description of the unknown tramp,” said Henry. “If she could be warned, she might say she wasn’t so sure, after all. That would help things a bit.”
“I can’t imagine May Rich doing that,” said Miss Docket, emphatically. “She’s very deferential to me—rather over-does it sometimes, almost too good to be true—but she’s shockingly obstinate. Personally, I think a warning would make matters worse.”
The return of Harrison put a speedy end to the conversation, and both Henry and Miss Docket were rather guiltily silent as he came into the room.
“Warner’s had a telegram this morning,” said Harrison, “saying they were called away on urgent business, and asking them to try and dispose of the remainder of their time. Warner’s say that two months had been paid for in advance.”
“It must have been something very important,” said Miss Docket.
“I agree,” answered Harrison. “Eight weeks’ rent for three weeks’ tenancy. Queer finance.”
“But they must come back?” asked Miss Docket.
“Most unlikely, I should say,” said Harrison. “Curiously enough, Warner’s seemed to think so, too. They rang up the house and found a maid of the name of Lucy who had been paid to the end of the week and seemed capable enough to be left to carry on for the moment. Henry, I think we had better go and call on Lucy.”
“Very well, sir,” answered Henry.
“And Miss Rich?” asked Miss Docket.
“That really isn’t very important,” replied Harrison. “It can wait till we get back. I suppose Henry has been talking to you about her, Miss Docket?”
; “Well, he did mention her,” said Miss Docket, with some hesitation.
“And he said I didn’t believe her,” continued Harrison. “And being sorry for her, he asked you to prepare her for the interview?”
“I did, sir,” said Henry, stoutly, “I thought—”
“You’d better do what Henry wants, Miss Docket,” said Harrison, with a smile; “I hate to appear unchivalrous. Although, of course, I should not suspect the good Miss Rich of being easily upset.”
“That’s just what I was saying myself,” answered Miss Docket. “But I shan’t dare to open my mouth again with you about, Mr. Harrison. I realise it isn’t safe.”
“My job,” said Harrison. “Come along, Henry.”
Henry was very apologetic as they walked across to Overstead House, but Harrison, to all appearances, did not seem perturbed. He even said he might have done the same in Henry’s place, which made Henry wonder, in the midst of his contrition, whether the happenings at the Luxor Hotel the previous night had, temporarily at all events, softened his master’s judgment with regard to any dealings with the other sex.
“If this Lucy’s anything as satisfactory as Miss Docket,” said Harrison, “we ought to be lucky. Warner’s seemed to trust her, just from her manner on the telephone.”
“Miss Docket’s splendid, sir,” said Henry.
“I’m glad you admit it, Henry,” said Harrison. “But she’s rather impetuous and just a shade inquisitive. We must remember that.“
As they walked up to Overstead House, Harrison pointed out the attic window which had struck him as being so much cleaner than the rest. He told Henry that he was sorry he could not also show him the gardener in his new boots, but he was afraid that gentleman must be travelling southward with the Crewe family. Henry looked surprised, but Harrison seemed to speak with such an air of certainty that there could be no room for doubt.
The door was opened by a youngish woman in uniform who had competence written in large characters over every part of her. This was obviously Lucy and Harrison’s hopes rose as he took in the details of her supremely efficient appearance.
Death on the Highway Page 13