Death on the Highway

by Death on the Highway (retail) (epub)

  Harrison looked keenly at Garfitt. “I had a feeling you knew your job, Mr. Garfitt,” he said. “Now I’m sure of it.”

  Garfitt stood in the middle of the road, took off his hat with a great flourish, and bowed profoundly.

  “But there’s one thing puzzling me,” said Harrison, “I remember reading the Daily Flight account and, if I may say so, Mr. Garfitt, although it was competent, it was extremely modest and gave no hint of any special knowledge such as you claim.”

  “My restraint is perfect,” was the reply.

  “Do you mean you deliberately toned things down?”

  “I did, Mr. Harrison,” said Garfitt. “Aren’t you terribly grateful? I’ll tell you exactly what happened. I went back to the office in sore bewilderment. I talked to the news editor, and he realised that we were on the track of something out of the ordinary. If we printed all we knew, the other papers would be on to it like a flock of sheep, or a pack of gulls, you know what I mean. They all copy the Flight. So we decided to keep these little things to ourselves. Rather hard on the public, wasn’t it?”

  “Go on,” said Harrison, grimly.

  “Knowing that, in course of time, by keeping an eye on you, Mr. Harrison, we should get a first-class story all to ourselves.”

  “Good,” answered Harrison, decisively. “You deserve a good story after that, and you’re going to get it. It may be a bit vague and you must not go farther than I tell you to—is that agreed?”

  “How can you ask such a thing?” said Garfitt, pathetically. “Some day you will learn to trust me, Mr. Harrison. But the old pencil and notebook are aching to get at each other.”

  “But it’s going to be Griskin’s story, not mine,” said Harrison. “I don’t want to be in it at all. So if you’ll collect Sergeant Griskin and bring him along to Miss Docket’s house as soon as you can, Mr. Garfitt, I’ll do my best.”

  “Even a journalist has moments of gratitude,” said Garfitt, in an earnest tone. “Your hand, Mr. Harrison, this is a great day’s work for us both.”

  He grasped Harrison’s hand in a firm clasp and marched off into Great Crockham while Harrison and Henry pursued their way towards Miss Docket’s house.

  “Not so mad as he sounded, sir,” commented Henry.

  “Not nearly, Henry.”

  “Talked a lot, sir.”

  “His technique, I suppose.”

  “His what, sir?”

  “His way of getting information, Henry,” said Harrison. “His chatter may be irritating, but it puts one off. But behind that manner, Henry, there is a quick brain working hard all the time. A very dangerous man.”

  “I rather like him, sir,” admitted Henry.

  “So do I, Henry,” answered Harrison. “But I was almost frightened of him. All the same, he’s going to be very useful.”

  “That’s good, sir,” said Henry.

  “And now we must hurry up and have a word with Miss Rich before they arrive.”

  Harrison smiled at Henry’s look of resignation. “My dear Henry,” he said, “I feel convinced you have things all wrong. My intentions are perfectly honourable towards Miss Rich. Far be it from me to want to embarrass a young lady—good heavens, I’m starting to talk rather like Garfitt, it must be infectious. I’m certain I’m going to surprise you, Henry.”

  Henry looked at his master more in sorrow than in anger, as if regretting such ill-timed flippancy. If Garfitt had that effect in so short a time, much more of him and Harrison would be babbling with shocking inconsequence. They were soon settled in Miss Docket’s pleasant room and the box of cigars had been thoughtfully produced. Harrison puffed luxuriously while his hostess gave orders for the immediate appearance of tea.

  “I’m waiting for news, Mr. Harrison,” said Miss Docket, unable to restrain herself any longer. “It’s frightfully bad for me to be kept in suspense, you know. My heart has been missing beats and doing the most extraordinary tricks while I have been waiting for you to come back.”

  “I really don’t know what to tell you, Miss Docket,” was the reply. “You deserve a complete story and yet everything is still so vague that I hesitate almost to put anything into words.“

  “I can see you have some ideas about it, Mr. Harrison,” said Miss Docket.

  “I have struck a line of thought which may be very useful,” said Harrison. “One thing we can be certain about and that is that the Jogger had nothing whatever to do with the murder.”

  “That’s splendid,” said Miss Docket; “I am really glad. After all, that’s what you set out to do.”

  “But it isn’t enough,” remarked Harrison, emphatically.

  Henry recognised the tone of his master’s voice when tackling an outstanding case and revelled in the thought. Here was something that was going to be worthy of their efforts. The name of Clay Harrison was going to stand higher than ever, Henry was certain of that, and there was no doubt that he himself would be called upon to do his share.

  “The real murderer has to be found, Miss Docket,” Harrison went on. “He may think it’s none of my business but I’m going to make it so.”

  “And do you know who really did it?” asked Miss Docket, in the most innocent tone.

  Harrison laughed. “Just a bit too innocent a question, I think, Miss Docket,” he said, and she laughed in her turn. “One thing at a time. First I must convince Sergeant Griskin and Mr. Garfitt about the Jogger.”

  “Mr. Garfitt?” asked Miss Docket.

  “Yes, a journalist.”

  “Such a nice young man,” said Miss Docket.

  “Very,” answered Harrison, while Henry looked in doubtful agreement.

  “Then I want to borrow Miss Rich,” Harrison went on.

  Henry nearly jumped to the ceiling. Harrison had certainly surprised him, and he looked vainly for an explanation as Miss Rich herself appeared, bringing in a tea tray. Again she had the look of the over-perfect companion. Her dress was long and drab and her hair was still arranged in a deliberately unattractive manner. To crown everything, although the day was warm and pleasant, she was wearing a shapeless woollen coat of a nondescript mauve shade. “Theatrical,” thought Harrison. “If she would only dress decently,” thought Henry.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Rich,” said Harrison, pleasantly.

  The answering greeting was practically inaudible, sufficient to show that a civil reply had been intended but not loud enough to show any interest in its effect.

  “My dear May,” said Miss Docket, “we were talking about you.”

  The girl’s icy look at Harrison did not suggest that she was grateful for such an honour.

  “Mr. Harrison says he wants to borrow you, May,” Miss Docket went on.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Harrison is going to be very unlucky,” answered Miss Rich, quietly.

  “Full of spirit,” thought Henry. “I wonder what on earth my chief is up to.”

  “I think I had better explain,” said Harrison. “First of all, Miss Docket, when I came here you told me you needed my help very badly. I didn’t argue about it, did I? Now I need your help.”

  “You know, Mr. Harrison, I’d do anything,” answered Miss Docket.

  “I’m face to face with a pretty tough problem,” said Harrison. “Henry knows how complicated this affair has already become.”

  “I do, sir,” said Henry.

  “I shall need all the help I can get to find any solution to the murder of the strange tramp. That’s why I’m appealing to you, Miss Docket. It is literally true, I want to borrow Miss Rich.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve had no training as a detective,” commented Miss Rich, her tone still truculent but somewhat less acid than before.

  “I might explain, Miss Docket,” said Harrison, ignoring the last remark, “that Henry and I are thinking of taking a short holiday on the Mediterranean coast.”

  Henry gasped again. This was another surprise. Harrison’s mind had certainly moved a long way.

  “And you want to take Miss Ri
ch with you?” asked Miss Docket.

  “Exactly,” answered Harrison.

  “It’s absurd,” said Miss Rich.

  “I don’t understand,” said Miss Docket. “I’ll do anything in reason, of course—”

  “This is very reasonable,” said Harrison. “I want Miss Rich to come to the South of France to help me.”

  “I’ll come as well, then,” said Miss Docket. “That’s a good idea. I agree to that. We‘ll all go to the South of France together.”

  “I don’t want to sound ungallant, Miss Docket,” returned Harrison, “but I’m afraid that would not help at all. Miss Rich must come alone or not at all.”

  There was a touch of finality about this last remark which made them all look at Harrison.

  “Well, May,” said Miss Docket, turning to the girl, “what do you think?”

  “I cannot imagine that Mr. Harrison is so particularly enamoured of my company that he looks upon this as an ideal holiday plan,” she answered, coolly. “Obviously I cannot accept his invitation without knowing quite what use he is going to make of me.”

  “Splendid, Miss Rich,” said Harrison. “You’re entitled to a fair answer. Do you know Mrs. Crewe?”

  “Of course I do,” was the reply.

  “Does Mrs. Crewe know you?”

  “That’s rather different,” said Miss Rich. “Of course, she met me with Julia, but I shouldn’t think she would notice me specially. She hardly said a word to me.”

  “Mrs. Crewe is exceedingly observant,” commented Harrison. “Did you ever go to lunch with her?”

  “No,” answered Miss Rich, her growing interest submergmg the last trace of resentment, “Miss Docket went alone.”

  “Did she meet you here at all?”

  “Mrs. Crewe was never able to accept my hospitality,” said Miss Docket. “The dates never seemed to fit.”

  “That sounds good enough,” commented Harrison. “Now you will both have gathered that I am exceedingly interested in Mrs. Crewe and her family. So much so that I must keep an eye on them. The difficulty, of course, is that Mrs. Crewe knows this as well as you do. So I must have somebody to help me who is not very well known to Mrs. Crewe. An unknown person would be best, but there is not time to find one.”

  “Even now, Mr. Harrison,” interposed Miss Rich, “I can’t quite see why you should choose me.”

  “One reason is that you will be so easy to disguise,” answered Harrison.

  Miss Docket laughed.

  “More explanation, please,” said Miss Rich, but now her eyes were twinkling.

  “You will dress yourself in the most attractive beach pyjamas by day and the flimsiest evening dress by night and give the impression that you are the most leisured young Englishwoman who ever visited La Plage.”

  “A disguise indeed,” said Miss Docket, enthusiastically. “You can do it, May; you know you can. I’ve always hated the clothes you’ve worn while you’ve been with me, but you’ve been as obstinate as a mule about them. I shouldn’t be surprised if you looked quite attractive in the costume Mr. Harrison suggests.”

  Miss Rich flushed and looked down.

  “You asked for my help. Mr. Harrison,” continued Miss Docket, “and I’m going to do what I can. The next best thing to going to the Mediterranean myself is sending May Rich. She deserves a holiday and she shall have it. I’ll see that she has enough for clothes and expenses—so long as you do not make her stay too long.”

  “Magnificent, Miss Docket,” said Harrison. “And what do you say, Miss Rich?”

  “She’s not to say anything,” said Miss Docket. “She does what I tell her.”

  “It is really a bit overwhelming,” said Miss Rich. “Julia, you’re too good and I don’t think I ought to accept.”

  “Nonsense,” answered Miss Docket, emphatically. “When do you want her to go, Mr. Harrison?”

  “I want her to leave Victoria on the eleven o’clock train on the day after tomorrow,” said Harrison. “That will give her tomorrow to get the odd clothes she wants, ticket and such like. I will wire to the Sport Hotel, at La Plage, for a room.”

  “Where is La Plage?” asked Miss Rich, weakly.

  “Just outside Toulon, Miss Rich,” answered Harrison. “A very charming spot by all accounts. I want you to go straight to the hotel and settle down there as a lady of leisure. I expect you will find the Crewes already installed. Keep an eye on them but not obtrusively. Henry and I will be arriving soon after you, and will arrange a way for us to get in touch with one another.”

  “Then I am to go to Toulon, make my way to the Sport Hotel at La Plage, and wait further orders?”

  “You might enjoy yourself as much as you can, at the same time,” said Harrison.

  “And you must make yourself look particularly attractive,” said Miss Docket. “That’s the disguise.”

  “Only part of it, if I may say so,” said Harrison. “Even if they have heard the name of Rich as being connected with Miss Docket, the Crewes will hardly imagine that the lady calling herself May Rich at La Plage can be the same person. That’s the other part.”

  “Good,” said Miss Docket. “It’s a great scheme, Mr. Harrison. Lord, how I envy you all. Well, May, are you satisfied?”

  “I will do what you tell me, Julia,” answered Miss Rich, with a smile. “May I ask you a question, Mr. Harrison?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I am surprised you trust me, Mr. Harrison.”

  “Why?”

  “Well,” answered the girl, rather haltingly, “Miss Docket suggested only a little while ago that you had a very poor opinion of me.”

  “Very strange,” said Harrison. “I really don’t understand. Do you, Henry?”

  “Well, sir—” began Henry.

  “Perhaps you’d better leave it to Miss Rich to explain herself, Henry,” said Harrison.

  The girl flushed again, but looked straight into Harrison’s eyes. “I don’t know whether you’re pulling my leg, Mr. Harrison, but I gathered from Miss Docket that you thought me unreliable—a hysterical sort of person who doesn’t see things straight.”

  “Oh,” said Harrison, with a pained look, “you mean your description of the unknown tramp?”

  “You may not believe me, Mr. Harrison,” answered the girl vehemently, “but I would swear now to every word said.”

  “You may have to,” said Harrison. “As a matter of fact I do believe you. That’s why I want your help at La Plage.”

  The girl looked gratefully at Harrison. A “follow you to the end of the earth look,” according to Henry.

  “I might add,” said Harrison, “that your story, Miss Rich, gave me one of the first clues to a solution of this case.”

  Although pleased beyond all bounds, Henry felt like immediate collapse, while Miss Docket poured out a stone-cold cup of tea and swallowed it at a draught.

  Chapter XII

  Episode With An Egg

  Harrison was shaving happily and singing his somewhat untuneful medley of Sullivan and Puccini when Henry came into his room next morning.

  “That journalist is right over the carpet this morning, sir,” he said, excitedly, waving a copy of the Daily Flight.

  “Meaning what, Henry?” asked Harrison.

  “Large headlines, big type and a lot of talk,” said Henry.

  “Hold it up so that I can see it, Henry.”

  Henry spread the newspaper in front of the mirror and Harrison studied it with the greatest satisfaction.

  “Good, isn’t it?” said Harrison.

  “Well, I don’t know, sir,” answered Henry. “You seem to have done him pretty proud.”

  “He was a very persuasive person,” said Harrison.

  “But you don’t usually talk to journalists, sir?”

  “A great mistake, I assure you, Henry. But I had to talk to this one. And I like Mr. Ronald Garfitt, too. Besides, it’s part of the great scheme.”

  “To let everybody know, sir?”

  �
��Know what, Henry?”

  “Know all this,” answered Henry, waving a hand over the newspaper.

  “Just a moment, Henry,” said Harrison, finishing his shaving operations. “We must look into this a little more thoroughly. First of all, remember that Mr. Garfitt is a very accomplished journalist and is able to indicate much more than he actually says. Next, do you see any mention of the name of Clay Harrison in that account?”

  Henry looked through the newspaper column and then answered, “No, sir.”

  “Next, what fresh information does it seem to you to contain. Don’t forget that you are full of inside information yourself. Just try and see it as someone who has only read the earlier newspaper reports.”

  Henry looked through the column again. “Well, sir,” he said, “my impression would be that the police have obtained enough information to convince them that the Jogger did not murder the unknown tramp and that they are following a line of inquiry which may lead to such sensational results as finding that the tramp is the victim of some international gang of criminals working on a large scale.”

  “An admirable summary, Henry,” answered Harrison. “You have condensed everything Mr. Garfitt has written into a few lines. But what about the last sentence?”

  “About the police being in touch with certain interested parties who have already given them valuable information?” asked Henry.

  “That’s it, Henry,” replied Harrison. “We are the certain interested parties.”

  “But the Crewes will see through that easily enough,” objected Henry.

  “Good for you, Henry,” said Harrison. “But possibly I want them to. I had two ideas over this. I wanted Griskin to be satisfied about the Jogger. Really, Henry, Griskin’s a charming fellow. He was genuinely delighted when he heard what I had to tell him. Of course, I only told him just enough, but he said it was enough, and he could get things moving straight away. You see that Garfitt has written it in such a way that the Millhead police won’t feel sore about it. What competence, Henry. Garfitt certainly doesn’t write as he talks.”

  “That’s fortunate,” said Henry, impassively.

  “Then as to Garfitt himself,” continued Harrison, “he knew too much for comfort and too little for safety. He was quite satisfied with what he called his story, and the quid pro quo with him was that there should be no mention of Mr. Clay Harrison. Not that we are afraid of publicity, Henry, but we are frightened of the attentions of a number of journalists of equal or even greater ability than Mr. Garfitt. And, by the way, Henry, what happened to you last night?”