‘With his confederate,’ said Bill slowly. ‘Damn me! We were looking for Parson’s confederate. We thought the confederate had killed Parsons but he didn’t. It was the other way round. Parsons killed him. The Vicar isn’t the victim but the murderer.’ He nodded his head slowly. ‘I bet that’s it.’
‘Exactly,’ said Jack softly. ‘That’s the secret.’ He looked at Isabelle. ‘That’s what you and Duggleby knew, Belle! The man who was murdered didn’t speak French and so therefore he can’t be Parsons. Parsons – the real Parsons – must have been at Market Albury and seen your little incident at the station.’ He turned to Duggleby. ‘Did you see what happened on the platform?’
‘No. No, I didn’t. You can’t be right, surely? It seems so little to go on. There has to be another explanation. Maybe Parsons was only pretending not to understand this Frenchwoman.’
‘I don’t see why,’ said Isabelle. ‘As I said, it wasn’t important.’
‘Well, I didn’t see Parsons on the platform,’ said Duggleby stubbornly. ‘I didn’t see anything.’ He looked up, his face strained. ‘Doesn’t that prove you’re on the wrong tack?’
‘You knew what happened, though,’ said Isabelle. ‘I told you about it.’
‘You’re the chief witness, Mr Duggleby,’ said Bill. ‘You and Mrs Stanton were together on the train. You spoke to me at Charing Cross and to Inspector Whitten at Turnhill Percy. If Parsons was keeping an eye on what was happening – and I bet he was – he must have known you’d talked to Mrs Stanton. He probably didn’t see the danger immediately. As you said, the incident on the platform wasn’t important, but once he realised the implications, he’d have you lined up as a possible threat.’
Isabelle had gone pale. ‘So Parsons – the Vicar – is the man who tried to kill me?’
‘What do you actually know about this man, inspector?’ asked Evie Leigh.
‘Very little, I’m afraid.’
‘A vicar?’ questioned Sir Philip, shocked. ‘You mean to tell me a man in holy orders is a murderer?’
‘It’s a bad joke, Dad,’ explained Isabelle. ‘Parsons, you know?’
‘But you must be able to apprehend him, surely! A man like that can’t be that hard to find.’
‘Unfortunately, Uncle Phil,’ said Jack, ‘as far as us honest folk are concerned, the average crook doesn’t have a striped jersey, a black mask and a bag marked Swag. Things would be a lot simpler if they did.’
Sir Philip drew a discontented breath. ‘It seems quite incredible to me that a thief and murderer should be allowed to roam unchecked.’
Duggleby buried his head in his hands. ‘What I am going to do?’ He sounded close to panic. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I’m scared. I’ll have to get away from London. It’s so unfair! All I did was board a train. That’s all.’
‘You saved my sapphires,’ said Evie Leigh, softly. She turned to her husband. ‘Frank, can’t we do something?’ She lowered her voice. ‘I wanted someone to come to Breagan Grange. I want them to investigate the temple. Why can’t we ask poor Mr Duggleby? He’ll be safe with us at the Grange.’
‘It’s an idea,’ said Frank. He frowned, considering the idea. ‘Why not?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Mr Duggleby, we were looking for someone to make a proper study of an old temple and caves in the grounds of our place in Sussex. Would you fancy the job?’
Duggleby looked up eagerly, then his face fell. ‘What sort of study? I’m not an architect.’
‘You’re a journalist, I understand. Surely you know how to go about looking things up, eh? It’s not so much the architecture, it’s the history of the place. There’s some very odd stories around the temple and I’d like to know if there’s any basis in fact. There might be local legends and so on you can uncover. Would you fancy the job?’
‘Yes,’ said Duggleby slowly. ‘Thank you, sir. Yes, I’d like it very much.’
‘We’d pay you of course.’ Frank Leigh held his hand up. ‘Now don’t argue, my dear chap. The labourer is worthy of his hire. I’ll be very obliged if you take the job on.’ He glanced sympathetically at Duggleby’s clothes. ‘Perhaps it would be as well if I gave you something in advance to cover any necessities you need to buy. We were returning to Breagan Grange this evening. Why don’t you run down with us in the car?’
‘That’s an excellent idea,’ said Evie Leigh approvingly. ‘What do you propose to do, Mrs Stanton? Are you staying in London?’
‘Isabelle’s coming to us at Hesperus,’ said Lady Rivers. ‘That’s been already decided.’
‘I think that’s very wise,’ said Evie Leigh approvingly.
‘Will there be any danger?’ asked Arthur. ‘If you contact the newspapers, Rackham, and let them know what we’ve worked out, I mean? Once the Vicar knows we know, we can all rest easy again.’
‘I hope so,’ said Bill. He glanced at the clock. ‘I need to get back to the Yard. If I get my skates on, it’ll be in the evening editions. I’m much obliged to you all for your help.’ He inclined his head towards Jack.
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Jack, taking the hint and standing up.
They went into the hall together and closed the door behind them.
‘I just hope this idea about telling the press works and keeps Mrs Stanton and Duggleby safe,’ said Bill as they walked down the hall. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Duggleby’s a bit jumpy, isn’t he? I think it’s good of the Leighs to offer him house room. He looks as if a few square meals wouldn’t do
him any harm. I don’t suppose you’ve got any bright ideas about where we could lay our hands on Parsons, have you?’ he added hopefully.
‘We think he was in the Criterion, remember? With the woman in the maroon hat.’
‘That’s not much use in identifying him, is it?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ agreed Jack. ‘Identification ... Bill, why did Parsons change places with his victim?’
‘To confuse us, I suppose,’ said Bill with a shrug. ‘Being dead’s a dickens of a good cover.’
‘Yes, but as far as Scotland Yard were concerned, the Vicar was dead already. You hadn’t heard of him for years. What I’m getting at is this. The man on the train is somebody, somebody whose identity the murderer doesn’t want us to know. He has to be associated with Parsons because of the things we found on the train.’
‘You mean the identity of the victim will lead us to Parsons?’
‘More or less, yes.’
‘It’s a thought,’ said Bill. ‘I could see Isabelle dying to tell us it was Sandy Paxton.’
‘Mmm, yes. I thought it was very tactful of her not to air that idea in front of the Leighs. The trouble is, even if it was Paxton, how would that lead us to the Vicar?
‘It wouldn’t, as far as I can see.’ Bill laughed. ‘Perhaps it’s Terence Napier having another pop at the sapphires.’ He held his hand up as he saw Jack’s expression. ‘It’s a joke!’
‘I know,’ said Jack easily. ‘Joking aside, it can’t be Napier because Mr Leigh would’ve recognised him when he came to the house. The man who stole the sapphires is certainly the man Belle saw at Market Albury and the man who was murdered on the train. He’s somebody. Who?’
‘Think about it,’ said Bill seriously. ‘Your guesses have a way of coming good. Incidentally, talking of Napier, what on earth are you going to say to Mr Leigh about him when you meet up?’
‘I’m just going to listen, I think,’ said Jack with a shrug. ‘It’d be rum if there was a connection between the murder in Topfordham and the murder on the train, though.’
‘What sort of connection?’
Jack held his hands wide. ‘I don’t know. There’s the sapphires, of course.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and scuffed his foot idly. ‘I suppose there’s no doubt that Terence Napier is guilty, is there?’
‘Not really. Mr Leigh thinks otherwise, of course. He’s perfectly entitled to his view, but he’s hardly unbiased.’ He saw his friend’s expression and
laughed. ‘Blimey, Jack, are you short of something to do? I would’ve thought the murder on the train was enough to be going on with without getting involved in the Terence Napier affair.’
‘You wouldn’t have any objections if I did though, would you?’
Bill shrugged. ‘Be my guest. It wasn’t a Scotland Yard matter in any case. The local force handled it. It was your old pal, Major-General Flint who took the lead. I’ve heard Superintendent Ashley talk about him.’
‘General Flint?’ said Jack with a grimace. ‘He doesn’t like me.’ He thought for a moment, then gave a wicked grin. ‘D’you know, I might take up the Napier case just to annoy him. I bet Ashley would give me a hand. Flint’s not one of his favourite people either.’
‘I’m sure Ashley would, but you can’t go poking your nose into a murder just to irritate the chief constable.’
‘Can’t I though?’ said Jack. ‘It depends. D’you know, I’m quite looking forward to my talk with Mr Leigh.’
NINE
Superintendent Edward Ashley, a broad-shouldered, good-natured-looking man in his forties, waved cheerily as the blue and silver Spyker drew up to the grass verge beside his neat, semi-detached house in the outskirts of Lewes.
‘Haldean! Good to see you again,’ he said, scrambling into the car. ‘Thanks for coming to pick me up.’
‘It’s the least I could do,’ said Jack, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the kerb. ‘It’s good of you to come with me. I can’t help but feel the inhabitants of Topfordham might be a bit more forthcoming if you lend your official weight to my nosing around.’
‘As far as that goes, I’m actually unofficial at the moment,’ said Ashley. ‘It’s my day off. That’s why I suggested you come down today. The Chief’s a bit precious about the Napier case. He won’t be jumping for joy if he knows you’re looking into it.’
‘I say, Ashley, I’m not going to get you into trouble, am I?’ asked Jack anxiously.
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ said Ashley easily. ‘What I do on my day off is my own affair and if I choose to spend it in Topfordham with an old friend, that’s up to me.’ He smiled slowly. ‘And, naturally, if I happen to come across anything that’s pertinent to a police investigation while I happen to be just passing the time of day, so to speak, I would be failing in my duties if I didn’t act upon it. Not that,’ he added, ‘I can see what it is you’re actually hoping to find. As far as the Chief’s concerned, the Napier case is all done and dusted and, I must say, that for once I agree with him.’
‘M’yes,’ said Jack, slipping the car into third. ‘Apart, that is, from the small matter of finding Napier himself.’
‘That is a bit of a flaw,’ admitted Ashley. ‘Have you any thoughts as to where he might be?’
‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Jack. ‘As I said on the phone, I had an interesting conversation with Mr Leigh. He can’t deny the evidence but he’s convinced there’s been some ghastly mistake. He’s so convinced of Napier’s innocence that he’s hired his own private enquiry agent, a chap called Wood, and despatched him to Topfordham. I don’t know how far he got or if he found anything worthwhile.’
‘A private enquiry agent?’ asked Ashley dubiously. ‘I doubt he’ll turn anything up.’
‘That’s a depressing view, Ashley.’
Ashley snorted cynically. ‘Come on, Haldean, you know what private agents are like. They’re all right for gathering divorce evidence and guarding the presents at society weddings but damn all else. Where’s he from?’
‘An outfit called the Rapid Results Agency in Victoria. I’ve never heard of them.’
‘Me neither,’ said Ashley with a shrug. ‘These places spring up like mushrooms, though. What’s Mr Leigh hoping you’ll do?’
‘Be brilliant,’ said Jack with a grin. ‘Tootle down to Topfordham, find that whoever bumped off Mrs Paxton, it wasn’t Terence Napier and produce the real villain like a rabbit from a top hat. I must say,’ he added, his grin fading, ‘that seems a little unlikely. I’ve got an unreasoning aversion to any solution General Flint’s come up with, but he does seem to have been very bright about the whole business. I’m surprised he didn’t announce Mrs Paxton’s death was suicide and leave it at that.’
‘General Flint had help,’ said Ashley. ‘It was the local doctor, a chap called Mountford, who balked at the idea of Mrs Paxton doing herself in. He knew her as well as anyone in Topfordham and just couldn’t believe it.’
‘Ah-hah! I thought it was unusually inspired.’
‘As you say, ah-hah! There’s no doubt about it, the doctor deserves a lot of credit.’
They were well into the countryside by now. Ashley relaxed back into his seat, watching the dancing yellow of the cornfields hemmed in by green hedges under a cornflower-blue sky roll by.
‘Haldean,’ said Ashley thoughtfully. ‘You don’t think there’s any connection between the Napier case and the murder on the train, do you? Apart from the sapphires, of course.’
Jack sucked his cheeks in. ‘Not really. There could be, of course. Anything’s possible, but if there is a connection, it doesn’t jump out, does it? Isabelle thinks there is. She’s convinced that the man who was murdered on the train is Mrs Paxton’s rather unsatisfactory son, Sandy Paxton.’
‘Sandy Paxton?’ repeated Ashley incredulously. ‘Why on earth does she think that?’
‘Because he was supposed to have deserted in France – I don’t know if he’s dead or really did desert – and there were French things in the railway compartment. That’s link one. We were meant to think that the victim was Andrew Parsons, also known as the Vicar, but we know that’s not the case. However, we found a suitcase and hairbrush initialled with the letters A.P., which could easily, as Belle says, stand for Alexander – or Sandy – Paxton. That’s link two. Sandy Paxton was, not to beat about the bush, a crook, and the bloke who got bumped off was a crook. That’s link three. As the bloke in the train could have been just about anyone, who’s to say she’s wrong? No one can disprove it.’
‘I can’t disprove there are fairies at the bottom of my garden but that doesn’t mean they’re there.’
‘Very cutting,’ said Jack with a laugh. ‘It’s a possibility, but that’s all.’
‘How is Mrs Stanton?’ asked Ashley. ‘I tell you, when I read what had happened to her, my blood ran cold. I think you did the right thing, bringing the newspapers into it. There haven’t been any more accidents, have there?’
‘No, thank God. As far as that goes, the plan seems to have worked. Arthur’s busy with their new place in Croxton Ferriers, so Isabelle’s staying at Hesperus for a few days until she recovers completely. There haven’t, I’m glad to say, been any more alarms. Mr Leigh’s invited me to stay at Breagan Grange after I’ve been to Topfordham and Isabelle’s invited too. Mr Leigh’s daughter, Celia, is an old friend of hers. I’m staying at Hesperus tonight and Belle and I are driving over tomorrow. Poor old Belle is a bit stiff and sore, but she’s fine.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Ashley fervently. ‘What’s our first port of call in Topfordham, by the way?’
‘I dropped a line to Dr Mountford after I’d spoken to Mr Leigh to say I’d appreciate a word with him. I knew he’d been called in but I didn’t realise he’d actually spotted the crime.’
‘He’s the man we need to speak to,’ said Ashley. ‘Dr Mountford’s it is.’
Doctor Mountford’s house in Fiddler Lane was built of large Jacobean blocks of honey-coloured stone festooned with ivy. It seemed to have grown up from the small lawn and the cheerfully higgledy-piggledy mass of old-fashioned cottage garden flowers that crammed the borders of the path and surrounded the walls.
The door was opened, not by a servant, but by a solid-looking woman with an inquisitive, kindly face.
‘Mrs Mountford?’ asked Jack, raising his hat. ‘I’m Jack Haldean and this is Superintendent Ashley. I dropped your husband a line to ask if he could spare us a few minutes.’
‘You’re famous, Haldean,’ muttered Ashley with a grin, rather to Jack’s discomfiture.
‘Our village fête isn’t for another fortnight,’ added Mrs Mountford in a slightly worried way. ‘There isn’t going to be a murder there, I hope.’
‘Not as far as I know,’ said Jack with a laugh, as she took their hats and coats and hung them on the stand.
‘Then it must be about Mrs Paxton,’ said Mrs Mountford with an air of triumph. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Jack nodded. ‘I told James it would be. James will be delighted to see you but he’s in his morning surgery at the moment. He always breaks off for elevenses, though, if you don’t mind making do with me until then. We’ll have morning coffee when James joins us, if that’s all right. It makes things so much easier in the kitchen if we can keep to the ordinary routine.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Jack cheerfully. He had taken an instant liking to the kindly looking, motherly Mrs Mountford.
She led them down the hall and showed them into a sun-lit sitting room with chintz curtains and faded armchairs.
‘Please sit down,’ she said, perching herself on the edge of a chair. Her bright eyes and expectant poise reminded Jack irresistibly of a bird hopeful of breadcrumbs.
‘You were quite right, Mrs Mountford,’ said Jack, ‘that I want to know more about how Mrs Paxton met her death. Her nephew, Mr Francis Leigh, has asked me to look into the business.’
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