“Well, Henry, what do you make of it?” asked Harrison, his eyes going towards the window.
“Clem, of course, sir,” answered Henry, with a certain amount of pride in his own reasoning, and oblivious of the chain of association of ideas with which his master had just presented him.
“Exactly,” said Harrison. “I think we ought to have another word with the landlord, don’t you? Call him in, will you?”
The landlord appeared, bustling with importance. Mr. Harrison wished to ask him a few questions. Nothing would give him greater pleasure, he was sure. If it was anything about Hested he would give him some answer.
“First of all,” said Harrison, “I’m particularly interested in those caves.” Henry looked at his master. This was a most unexpected opening. “Is there any chance of seeing them this afternoon?”
“Sorry, sir,” was the reply. “Not an earthly. They’re only to be seen on Saturdays and Sundays. The man who takes people round does not live here and he keeps the key. Of course, parties occasionally go down during the week, but they make special arrangements with him beforehand. It’s a pity.”
“And there’s nobody else?”
“Nobody else.”
“What about the man you called Clem?”
“Poor old Clem couldn’t help you, sir,” said the landlord.
“I thought as he was such an intelligent fellow,” said Harrison, “he might have known something about them.”
“Intelligent, sir!” laughed the landlord. “Who gave you that idea?”
“Clem himself.”
“He was fooling you, sir.”
“He certainly wasn’t,” said Harrison. “He had the intelligence to recognise me, at any rate.”
“Did he, sir?” asked the landlord.
“Come, come,” answered Harrison, “you know he did. He came to you and asked you to make certain of it.”
“Now you mention it, sir, so he did,” said the other, in a surprised tone. “That’s true. So he did. But, meaning no offence, sir, I wouldn’t make too much of Clem’s intelligence in doing that. He must have read about you in the papers. I know he’s keen on detective stories and likes reading about crimes. That’s all there is to it, sir. Clem’s too simple usually, you can take my word for it.”
Behind the landlord’s words, Clay Harrison seemed to detect a suggestion of over-emphasis, of being more on the defensive than the circumstances seemed to warrant.
“Tell me some more about Clem,” he said.
“You seem very interested in him,” countered the landlord.
“Very,” answered Harrison; “I have reason to be.”
“Oh!” said the landlord, surprised, and then added shrewdly, “Mr. Harrison, you are a detective and spend most of your time looking into other people’s business. Now I don’t want Clem to come to any harm from something I might say, in a thoughtless way, so to speak. What are you after?”
“If you want the truth,” said Harrison, “the main reason for my coming to Hested was to find out something about Clem.”
Henry’s eyes opened wide at this statement. He would like to have been able to say that this was the first he had heard of it.
“I am very interested in a certain gentleman whom I think to be a criminal,” Harrison continued. “My information shows that he is in close contact with your Clem. Judging by Clem’s mentality, the whole business, from his point of view, is entirely innocent. But his friend certainly isn’t. I want to pick up something about the friend, that’s all.”
Henry gazed at his master with rapt admiration at his facility in concocting such a plausible story on the spur of the moment.
The landlord laughed. Harrison thought he detected relief. “I am afraid it’s a wild goose chase then, Mr. Harrison,” he said. “I can tell you all about Clem, as far as that goes. He’s about here during the day and I can guarantee I keep my eye on him most of the time. That is,” he corrected himself, “I know pretty well what he is up to, and, to my sure knowledge, Clem has had no dealings with any stranger. And no dealings with any special person in Hested itself; I should know if he had.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” answered Harrison. “You know that for every hundred questions a detective asks he gets one satisfactory answer. But he has to ask the hundred questions all the same.”
“Of course, sir,” said the landlord, with a wise nod.
“And the night?” asked Harrison.
“The night, sir?”
“Yes, you said he was about here during the day.”
“Of course,” answered the landlord. “He lives at home with his mother.”
“Name?”
“Mrs. Tarrack.”
“In the village?”
“Yes, the cottage next to the ‘Three Bells.’ A very fine woman, Mr. Harrison, left a widow when Clem was a baby and brought him up without a complaint. She’s devoted to him—and so he is to her. He’s always at home with her.”
“And you are certain you would know if my information was correct or not?” persisted Harrison. “He’s about here all day?”
“Well,” said the landlord, “he has one real job in the village. He keeps the war memorial tidy. It’s an unusual one, sir; come to the door and see it.”
Harrison and Henry followed the landlord to the back door of the inn, where he pointed out to them a cross cut in the chalk on the side of the hill which seemed to bound the village on the south.
“A very fine idea,” said Harrison.
“Clem weeds it and keeps it clean,” said the landlord. “But, even then, so to speak, I can keep my eye on him. I’ve good eyes, sir, and I can see him moving about up there whenever I pass the door here and he is at work on it.”
“Thank you very much,” said Harrison, “you’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”
‘‘I’m glad to. You’re satisfied?”
“More than satisfied,” was the reply. “I may just look in on Mrs. Tarrack, just for form’s sake, but I shan’t be a worry to her. Still, Henry, I think a short walk might do us good.”
The landlord pointed out a pleasant fieldpath almost opposite to the inn, and Harrison and Henry followed it. When they seemed to be well out of sight of the village, Harrison led Henry to the middle of a grassy field, sat down and lighted a cigar.
“Not very comfortable, Henry,” he said, “but we can’t be overlooked or overheard. Light your pipe and let’s do a bit of thinking.”
Henry made himself as comfortable as he could and obeyed orders.
“Well?” asked Harrison.
“Pretty tall story of the wicked stranger, sir, but I must say I think you got away with it.”
“Did the landlord believe it?”
“No doubt of it, sir. By the way you said it I almost believed it myself.”
“So did I, Henry,” said Harrison.
Henry laughed.
“I do now, Henry,” added Harrison.
“You don’t mean it, sir,” said Henry, puffing vigorously.
“That’s why I dragged you here, Henry. I wanted to talk Mr. Clem over before we took any further steps. He isn’t intelligent. The landlord insisted on that. Rather overdid it, to my way of thinking, but we’ll come back to that later on. We have seen Clem for ourselves and must admit part of the landlord’s statement to be true. Clem does not appear to be even normally gifted, does he?”
“No, sir. And yet he tried to poison you because you were Clay Harrison?”
“Right, Henry, but you’ve put together two very different facts. He tried to poison me. The amount of arsenic he used, assuming it was arsenic, proved that he was not normally intelligent, didn’t it? Because I was Clay Harrison is a different proposition. I’ve spent a good deal of my spare time trying to keep my face out of the newspapers for the very reason that people like Clem shouldn’t recognise me. I’m certain he hasn’t seen me before. Therefore to discover me, or anybody else, in such circumstances, argues an unusual intelligence.”
“Fine
, sir,” said Henry, appreciatively. “A beautiful contradiction.”
“If we think of Clem alone,” said Harrison. “But that is where my mysterious stranger comes into the picture. Let us suppose there is something in Hested he particularly does not want Clay Harrison to discover. Something which even the presence of the said Clay Harrison in Hested imperils. He places Clem on guard. Himself being an excessively intelligent stranger, he has found a picture of myself from somewhere or other and has made Clem study it until he is tolerably certain of recognising me from it. He has instructed Clem to do something in the arsenic line if I do appear. I have appeared and that’s that.”
“There isn’t a flaw in it, sir,” said Henry, solemnly.
“Good. That’s why we are sitting in the middle of a field, Henry. The precautions may be unnecessary. I think they are; for Clem is likely to have one or two jobs to do himself. But we can’t take risks. The trail is getting too strong.”
Harrison stood up. “If you agree with me, then, Henry, there is no need to stay here. I think we might walk up to the war memorial and then back to the village by way of Mrs. Tarrack’s.”
They soon found a path which took them up the side of the hill towards the chalk cross. This part of Kent abounds in such pleasant paths, and it was easy to see that Harrison was thoroughly enjoying his walk. Henry, climbing behind him, found no reason to modify his opinion that the country was a pretty sort of a place but definitely overrated.
The cross was surprisingly larger than it had seemed from the valley, and the cutting of it in the soil must have been a great labour, even if one of love, to the villagers of Hested. It was well-kept, and Harrison stood for a while admiring it. He then made a wide tour of the ground in which it stood, looking behind the bushes which stood up at intervals like little islands. He did not seem to find what he wanted, and eventually he led Henry to another path going down to the village.
“I could hardly have expected such luck,” he said, almost to himself.
“What were you looking for, sir?” asked Henry.
“The way in.”
“The way in, sir?”
“Yes, Henry, I was so pleased with my success with the mysterious stranger story that I had an idea my suggestion that Clem knew something about the caves might be right, too. You can’t expect everything.”
“Behind one of those bushes, sir?”
“Precisely. But it stands to reason one couldn’t find it as easily as that.”
Arrived at the cottage which had been described to him, Harrison saw a woman, with greying hair and careworn face, standing at the gate of the little garden in front of it. He felt that she was actually waiting for his arrival.
“Mrs. Tarrack?” he asked.
“I’m Mrs. Tarrack,” replied the woman, rather sharply. “Who are you?”
“My name is Clay Harrison,” he answered. “You may not have heard of me.”
“I have not,” said the woman, but Harrison was not impressed with her denial, for she was so obviously on her guard with him. “What’s your business?”
“I want to speak to you about your son.”
“Very well,” she answered, while into her eyes came a look of defiance, the look of a woman who would face fire, water, torture, anything for the one person she cherished in the whole of the world. Harrison realised that there was nothing of value to be gained in that quarter.
“I am a detective,” said Harrison, deliberately, “and, in the course of certain inquiries I have been informed that your son has a very undesirable friend—a friend whom I am very anxious to meet.”
“Not to my knowledge,” answered the woman, looking straight into his eyes.
“I have already been told that I am on the wrong track,” Harrison continued.
“You are,” was Mrs. Tarrack’s quiet comment.
“No one would be more delighted than myself if that were so,” said Harrison. “But such information must be thoroughly tested, however unpleasant it may seem. I am told in the village that your son has not been seen with a suspicious stranger during the day, and I am willing to believe it.”
“Well?” asked the woman.
“Then if he spends all his evenings at home here with you, everything is satisfactory.”
“He does.”
“Good,” said Harrison, preparing to depart. “So long as you can assure me that he is not away from you at night, that is all I need to know, and I shall not have to trouble you again.”
Mrs. Tarrack paused and then answered, emphatically, “My son is never away from me at night.”
Henry looked back admiringly at the grey-haired figure as they walked on.
“A fine woman, sir,” he said. “Not much to be got there.”
“Too much, Henry,” answered Harrison, sorrowfully. “She is a fine woman and I am very sorry for her.”
As they walked along the diminutive village street, Harrison stopped in front of a cottage marked “police.”
“I think I’ll drop in here for a moment, Henry,” he said. “The gentleman himself seems to be working in the garden at the back, so that’s lucky. You go along and collect the car and meet me at the top of the road just where we came into the village.”
Henry went off, found the car and paid an affectionate farewell to the landlord. He looked all around for some sign of Clem, feeling sure that Harrison would ask him about it later, but without success.
He had not been sitting long in the car by the roadside when Harrison reappeared. At least, his own idea was that the time had been agreeably short, but it is likely that its length had been affected by the drowsiness of a warm afternoon.
“That settles it,” said Harrison, as he drove towards London, “Clem is the key.”
“Did the policeman settle it, sir?”
“Yes, Henry. He didn’t want to talk. I don’t blame him. He’s a very decent fellow. But it couldn’t be avoided. Henry, we’re mixed up with something as ugly as we have ever had to deal with.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of course the Mrs. Tarrack business is only a kind of neighbourly effort. Anyone could have guessed that. Country people can be decent to each other in that way. Clem’s father was some hulking tramp who was away out of sight and mind for ever long before his offspring appeared. Everybody seems to have tried to help Mrs. Tarrack, especially when it was discovered that Clem wasn’t normal.”
“That explains the landlord, sir?” asked Henry.
“Partly,” answered Harrison. “But the story isn’t as simple as that. My policeman didn’t want to tell me any more, but I had to insist. Some time ago now one of the small village girls came home covered with bruises and frightened to death. She blamed Clem.”
“He looks as if he wouldn’t hurt a fly, sir.”
“That’s true, Henry,” answered Harrison. “But it’s the old story. He had been given more drink than he could stand and this was the result. But again we have to take our hats off to the villagers. They talked things over together, including the policeman, and decided that it wasn’t Clem’s fault. Even the parents agreed. They also decided that they had a responsibility to Mrs. Tarrack and her Clem, so our friend the landlord took him on during the day and his mother during the night. They all took a solemn oath not to let him have any drink.”
“And yet he spends all his time round a public-house, sir.”
“That really was rather an inspiration, Henry, for the chief purveyor of drink in the place would be able to see that Clem didn’t get any from casual visitors either.”
“Yes, sir, I see that. It explains, too, why the landlord was so much on the defensive about him.”
“They don’t want any harm to come to Clem, Henry, but always at the back of their minds, is the fear that he might burst out again. The policeman practically said so.”
“But why is he the key, sir?”
“Can’t you see now, Henry,” exclaimed Harrison. “That poor woman was lying to me. When I asked her if Clem spent hi
s evenings with her, her answer was convincing, but when she said ‘my son is never away from me at night’ I knew she was lying. Clem is away from home at nights, I’m ready to swear it, and she hasn’t been able to stop him.”
“He meets your mysterious stranger, sir, is that what you mean?”
“I’m afraid so, Henry. I really don’t like going back to town, but we can do little good staying the night here. We shall certainly have to come back as soon as we can.” Harrison drove on a little way. Then he said, “His mother must make sure of him tonight. She’ll be too terrified to take any risks. If I didn’t think that I wouldn’t risk leaving here.”
“Excuse my mentioning it, sir,” said Henry. “But aren’t you a bit jumpy?”
“I am, Henry,” was the reply. “I’m worried, really worried. Aren’t you?”
“No, sir. Why should I be?”
“Good heavens, Henry, can’t you see that Clem himself is the apparition of the devil who has appeared to all these unhappy women?”
Chapter XVII
Tenants Of The Cave
Hested was sleeping peacefully in the early hours of next morning and not a light was to be seen from any of its windows as a motor car crept gently through its street and stopped in the lane beside the field leading up to the war memorial. The driver reversed carefully and gradually steered it behind a large clump of bushes on a roadside clearing where it was completely hidden from the view of the passer-by.
Two figures got out. One a slim man of medium height, the other, especially in the dim light of a none too enthusiastic moon, appeared of gigantic stature. Even then, more noticeable still was his face, which was hideously streaked with bright colour. Had any member of the Hested community been abroad at this time, he or she would have been justified in immediately taking to their heels upon encountering such a revolting apparition.
Together they climbed the path followed by Harrison and Henry earlier in the day. Before, however, reaching the chalk cross, they turned at right angles to the left towards a small collection of bushes. Here the slim man produced a hand torch and, parting the bushes, revealed quite a large hole in the ground. He let himself down into this and showed a light for his companion to follow. They were then in a reasonable-sized tunnel in which the shorter man had scarcely to bend his head. The gigantic creature moved along almost on all fours, like some monstrous gorilla.
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