During the day no reports had come in from anyone, train-drivers or others, on the railway system between London and Folkestone that suggested that the corpse had met its death resulting from looking out of the railway-compartment window. This lack of any confirmatory evidence of any accident at an appropriate time or place helped to confirm the rising suspicion that the death had not ensued from accidental causes. That left only one alternative seriously to be considered.
The Johnny Destiny dossier was far from closed.
“If it was him,” Inspector Hood said to Dr. Morelle as the taxi bearing them Chelsea-wards turned down Gloucester Road, “he’s made enough enemies. Must be plenty who had it in for him.” He expelled a cloud of acrid tobacco-smoke from the side of his mouth. “But this business of the girl spotting him large as life at Southend puts a different complexion on it.”
“She said that she noticed someone on the cross-channel boat who appeared to be taking an interest in him?” Dr. Morelle said.
“Just another American,” Inspector Hood had said, “so he apparently told her. In fact, it looks as if it might have been someone who knew him for who he was.”
“In that case,” Dr. Morelle said, “one would have imagined that Destiny would in turn have recognized him and would have been on the alert. Yet according to this girl he dismissed her suggestion that he was under observation.” Inspector Hood nodded. “Which may have been merely the impression he wanted to convey,” Dr. Morelle said. “Not wishing to arouse her curiosity regarding himself.”
“So he could have known who the other chap was all the time, and was ready for him? May have even deliberately lured him on, with the object of silencing him and then planting it to look as if he himself had been killed.”
Dr. Morelle shrugged. “It is a matter for conjecture. But we know enough about Destiny to recognize that he is as resourceful as he is ruthless.”
“Nothing I wouldn’t put past that baby,” Inspector Hood had agreed.
Following Miss Frayle’s phone call to him at Scotland Yard, Inspector Hood had phoned through the information she had given him to “Spider” Bruce, before proceeding to the Judo Club in search of Dr. Morelle. And now Superintendent Bruce was welcoming them into his office, he was very much aware of the part Dr. Morelle had played in the Transatlantic business, and he had an item of news to give to Dr. Morelle and Inspector Hood, which caused the latter to clamp his teeth over his pipe-stem with a grunt that might have been of satisfaction, surprise or a mingling of both.
The fingerprint boys at Scotland Yard had been unable to find any dabs which compared with the dead man’s, since Johnny Destiny wasn’t filed at C.R.O. they had no prints of him to which to refer. But the prints had been radioed to Interpol in Paris, who did possess a pretty fat dossier on Johnny Destiny. They had come back promptly with the advice that the fingerprints were not his, adding the interesting information for free that in fact they belonged to an U.S. Army deserter named Cormack. Cormack had been heard of, very briefly, several months before in the vicinity of Nice. The Interpol item had come through to Chelsea only a few minutes before Dr. Morelle’s and Inspector Hood’s arrival.
“Seems to add up,” “Spider” Bruce said to them, “this chap Cormack recognized Destiny on the boat. Maybe thought he had something on him, and tried to put the pressure on Destiny during the journey up from Folkestone, and Destiny took care of him.”
“So it looks as if he’s alive and over here,” Inspector Hood said. “And we’ve got a rough idea where he might be.”
“Rough is the word,” “Spider” Bruce said, “but I’ll get his description down to Southend, so they can keep a lookout for him.”
The other nodded. “Come to think,” he said with a glance at Dr. Morelle, “I wonder what he looks like now. It’s a year or more since the Transatlantic business, and a man like Johnny Destiny might change quite a bit in that time.”
“Not so very much,” Dr. Morelle said thoughtfully. “It would seem that he must have borne some resemblance to his passport photograph which appeared in the press, since this girl recognized him from it.”
“That’s true enough,” Superintendent Bruce said. Inspector Hood shifted his pipe from one side of his grey moustache to the other in agreement, and the discussion quickly turned on the steps to be taken with the object of picking up Johnny Destiny, this time on a murder charge.
It was then that Dr. Morelle had expressed his concern for the safety of Erica Travers, and also Miss Frayle. The former must have made it clear to the young woman at the hoop-la stall of her suspicions regarding Johnny Destiny. If the hoop-la girl in turn had passed on this to Destiny, he would not be unaware of one quarter wherein possible danger that his impersonation might be discovered could lie.
There were, however, two aspects which made it unlikely that Erica Travers or Miss Frayle were in any imminent danger. The first as Dr. Morelle was quick to point out was that the girl at the hoop-la stall might have been telling the truth, when she had declared that Johnny Destiny was no more than a casual customer at her stall and that she was completely unaware of his identity. In which event she might never have the opportunity of acquainting Johnny Destiny with any warning information. And secondly, even if she did meet up with him again subsequently the chance that he in turn might meet up with Erica Travers or Miss Frayle seemed to be a slim one.
Nevertheless, both “Spider” Bruce and Inspector Hood were experienced enough police-officers to know that coincidence can sometimes play an extraordinarily vital part in a case, and they agreed with Dr. Morelle that it would be wise to leave nothing to chance in this matter. Erica Travers and Miss Frayle might be well advised to curtail their holiday, or remove themselves from the vicinity in which Johnny Destiny was suspected to have gone to ground.
“Another angle,” Inspector Hood said, “is that if this girl at the Kursaal place does meet him again, and warns him that he’s been spotted, more than likely his reaction would be to put as much distance as he can between himself and Southend in the quickest possible time.”
Superintendent Bruce nodded. “You’ve got something there.”
“Unless,” Dr. Morelle said, regarding the tip of his Le Sphinx reflectively, “he has gone to that vicinity for some particular purpose.” They both looked at him sharply. “He did not venture out of France merely for the pleasure of the trip, there was some lure which must have attracted him over here.”
“Funny you should have said that,” Inspector Hood said, scratching his heavy chin with his pipe-stem. “I was just running over in my mind that as well as Johnny Destiny who managed to give everyone the slip over the Transatlantic business, there was Danny Boy. He was English, supposing he’d decided to come home, and recently Johnny had heard about it?”
Dr. Morelle gave a faint shrug. “That might be so,” he said. “Though since we don’t know where this other individual is either, it doesn’t help us much further regarding Destiny’s present whereabouts.”
“Unless they’re both at Southend,” “Spider” Bruce said. “Johnny Destiny went there to find him.”
Inspector Hood turned a questioning gaze upon Dr. Morelle who was taking a deep drag at his Le Sphinx, but Dr. Morelle’s expression remained enigmatic. “So you’ll be nipping down to warn Miss Frayle and her friend, eh?” Inspector Hood said.
“Without alarming them unduly,” Dr. Morelle said, “I think I might find some excuse to explain my presence in that part of the world. I shall drive down to-morrow.”
Chapter Eighteen
IT WAS OBVIOUS to Miss Frayle that Aunt Edith was a character who had made quite an appeal to Dr. Morelle. The tough, open-air impression she gave was something he had not often met with in a woman, and there was no doubt he found her complete absence of femininity a refreshing change.
After Miss Frayle’s encounter with Dr. Morelle and he had helped her climb out of the water onto the jetty, she had introduced Erica and Jim Rayner to the unexpected visitor. She had hu
rried off to the Moya to change into a frock and fix her hair which she felt convinced gave her the appearance of a drowned rat, leaving Jim to return to the yacht, while Erica had brought Dr. Morelle aboard the houseboat.
When Miss Frayle had reappeared she found Dr. Morelle being shown over the Moya by Aunt Edith, smoking one of her cheroots, and he was apparently fairly interested in what he saw. Lunch in the saloon had followed, with Dr. Morelle silent as he listened to Aunt Edith holding forth in her inimitable style upon the Moya and her passion for ornithology, which compelled her to spend so much time aboard her beloved vessel.
Dr. Morelle had given as his explanation for his arrival out of the blue that he had planned to visit a certain Professor Stenberg, who lived at Lower Ashton, a small place on the other side of Sharbridge. Dr. Morelle and the professor had been colleagues in London, before the latter had retired to devote himself entirely to research. Dr. Morelle made his explanation sound most convincing to his listeners, except Miss Frayle, who felt pretty certain it was something quite different which had brought him so unexpectedly to this part of the world.
It was not until Aunt Edith was in the galley, having insisted on washing-up, that Miss Frayle and Erica Travers found themselves giving Dr. Morelle a detailed account of what had occurred at Southend Kursaal, and Miss Frayle sensed what it was that lay behind Dr. Morelle’s appearance on the scene. Erica told her story again from the beginning, how she had met the man on the cross-channel steamer, although she had not known his name was Johnny Destiny until she had read it in the newspaper. She had recalled the apparent unconcern with which he had reacted to her observation that another man was watching him.
This other man, she had told Dr. Morelle, was similar in build to Destiny, and might well have been, as he had suggested he was, another American. She explained how she had thought no more about the episode until she had seen the photograph and read the newspaper report of the discovery of his body in the boat-train at Victoria. Here, Miss Frayle had added her account of how she had not considered Erica’s story as she had told it to her at the time of any significance. And then that sudden recognition of Johnny Destiny at the Kursaal. That extraordinary coincidence had appeared significant enough and Miss Frayle, failing to contact Dr. Morelle, had got in touch with Inspector Hood.
“And you felt convinced that this girl at the hoop-la stall was lying, when she denied that she was unaware of his identity?” Dr. Morelle had said to Erica.
“It was the way she got annoyed with me,” Erica said. “That’s what made me think she knew him all right.”
Dr. Morelle regarded her speculatively through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He was considering what possible danger she had brought upon herself as a result of impetuously involving herself in this business. So much better if she and Miss Frayle had remained in the background, quietly observing what had transpired and then passed on the result of what they had noted to the proper authorities. It seemed apparent to him that Miss Frayle had tried to curb the other’s eagerness to play the amateur detective, but had failed.
He gave no hint of what was in his mind: of the conclusions he and Inspector Hood, together with the railway-detective and the detective-superintendent of B Division, had arrived at during their conference yesterday afternoon. He made no reference to the phone call he had received from Inspector Hood that morning before he had left 221b Harley Street, to the effect that the Southend police had checked at the Kursaal: they had found the girl at the hoop-la stall who was in the absent Lucilla’s place and deciding that she was bright and sensible, had taken her into their confidence to an extent sufficient for their purpose, and elicited from her a description of the individual with whom Lucilla had gone off with to spend yesterday evening.
The police had also learned that the girl known as Lucilla would not be returning to the Kursaal for a day or two. Where had she gone? The other girl didn’t know. Nor had the police so far discovered Lucilla’s address in Southend. Their inquiries in that direction had come to a temporary dead end.
But what could now be counted as certain was that Johnny Destiny knew he had been recognized at the Kursaal.
“It is most likely,” Dr. Morelle had said to Erica Travers, “that when he learns from this girl you were questioning her about him, he will decide to quit the vicinity forthwith. Until that seems established, however,” and he paused momentarily, contemplating the tip of his Le Sphinx, “then you had both better restrain your enthusiasm for sampling the allure and delights of Southend.”
Erica’s face showed a suitably apprehensive flicker. “Point taken,” she said. “In that case, I’m staying put.” She glanced at Miss Frayle, who smiled at her in a manner that was meant to convey approval mingled with a not-to-worry-unduly expression.
“So long as Dr. Morelle’s here,” Miss Frayle said, “everything will be all right.”
It was at that moment that Aunt Edith had chosen to return to the saloon, striding in, her spirits as buoyant as a cork on water. She caught the slight tension in the air, and her hearty manner softened as she listened to what Erica had to tell her. “You think it may be quite a serious business?” she said, turning to Dr. Morelle.
“She could possibly run into danger if this man encountered her again,” he said quietly.
“I see,” Aunt Edith stroked her strong chin pensively, and looked at her niece. “Must admit I thought it was all a lot of imagination on your part. What do you advise, Dr. Morelle?”
“Nothing, except keep out of the way. The whole business will soon be cleared up.”
“I certainly hope so,” Aunt Edith said.
Erica flashed her a reassuring smile. “I shan’t stray far from here until it is,” she said.
“So perhaps you’ll be able to cope with an odd job or two around here,” Aunt Edith said promptly, and Erica laughed. “In between your sunbathing, of course. One you can start in on right away. Up on deck.”
“Not polishing the brasswork?” Erica said, with a groan, and while Aunt Edith indicated to her that it was a simple and not especially tiresome matter of some new porthole curtains, for which the material and all the measurements were prepared, Erica looked at Miss Frayle. “Why don’t you show Dr. Morelle around?”
“The breeze is freshening,” Aunt Edith had said, chiming in vigorously. “Ideal for a look-round; if you don’t know these parts, Dr. Morelle, here’s your chance. Got everything except mountains, we have. Whether your interest is marine biology, ornithology or even archaeology, there’s enough to keep you occupied. The earthworks and keep over at Thallerton. The old ruins of Pebcreek Church, which isn’t more than half a mile by the footpath.”
And that was how Miss Frayle now came to be giving Dr. Morelle an account of what she considered was the eerie incident of the limping man in the churchyard, as they made their way along the footpath in the direction of old Pebcreek Church. Miss Frayle had leapt at the opportunity put up all unwittingly by Aunt Edith of satisfying her somewhat morbid curiosity which had clung so tenaciously to the back of her mind, by revisiting the scene of the strange occurrence in the company of Dr. Morelle, of all people.
“He acted so strangely,” Miss Frayle said. “Turning away just as if he didn’t want to be seen, and disappearing.” Dr. Morelle permitted himself one of his bleak smiles, but she wasn’t to be dampened. The footpath was still soggy from the storm two days before, but she continued on, Dr. Morelle keeping pace with her indulgently, his eyes taking in the sun-drenched, yet oddly desolate beauty of the scene, his mind preoccupied with the possibilities which might be opened up by this intriguing arrival in the vicinity of Johnny Destiny.
They neared the trees on the crown of the low hill, the path almost losing its identity in bracken and spreading creeper, reminding Miss Frayle of the grave-strewn wilderness on the further side of the church. She related to Dr. Morelle the tragic story that Erica had told her. How the old village of Pebcreek had been flooded and the consequent neglect of the church, its gradual d
ecay over the years to its present ruin.
Miss Frayle recalled how Jim Rayner had mentioned that the place was reputed to be haunted. At this, as she had expected Dr. Morelle’s saturnine features appeared even more sardonic in expression. He made the comment that it was to be expected that after a catastrophe such stories were inevitable; he wondered if the disaster to the old village had been exaggerated over the years on that account.
But Miss Frayle wasn’t listening to him. Fact or legend, haunted or not, she was experiencing once more the eerie, oppressive atmosphere as soon as they gained the shadows of the trees; the same feeling that had assailed her in the graveyard. Then, of course, there had been the thunderstorm to heighten the malevolent effect. Now, the sun was shining, though it failed to penetrate the thick leafy trees. It was light enough, but greenish-hued, deep shadows spread everywhere, the only sounds the occasional snapping of a dead twig underfoot and the flapping wings of a silent bird.
Miss Frayle stopped suddenly, to point out the crumbling stonework of the church just discernible through the trees ahead. Dr. Morelle’s glance flickered over the path of crumpled ferns leading to the church. He turned to Miss Frayle mockingly. “What next?” he said.
She bit her lip with aggravation, he might at least humour her by pretending to appear impressed. They moved on, Miss Frayle was finding herself keeping close behind him. There was the crumbling vestry, and even as she stood still to regard the door which was closed, she saw the shrubs and nettles around it had been trampled down. Dr. Morelle appeared not to discern any significance in the sight as he pulled at the broken door-handle. The door creaked outwards.
“You first,” Miss Frayle said, trying to get a light note into her voice.
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