The Attending Truth: A Bobby Owen Mystery

by E. R. Punshon

  “It ain’t like her,” Mars said. “Going off like this without a word. Her ma’s gone to Felstead. There’s friends of hers there. She did talk of a job she might be taking.”

  “I understood she was in the Longlast Shirt office,” Bobby said. “Do you mean she is leaving?”

  “Seems so,” Mars answered. “She don’t say much. Wants to get away on account of that there young Holcombe. Said it was making trouble with his ma. What’s a man worth if he can’t stand up to his ma?”

  “That’s right,” declared Alf, who had run up to join them as soon as he saw Bobby arrive. “Or his pa either,” he added.

  “None of your imperence, young Alf,” his father warned him, “or I’ll take the stick to you and see if you can stand up to that.”

  “You try,” Alf challenged him, but first prudently removing himself to a safe distance.

  “You can’t tell me anything more?” Bobby asked. “You understand she will be required to give evidence. If we don’t hear from her soon we shall have to start looking for her. I don’t like it,” he added uneasily.

  “There’s some of ’em been saying things,” Mars said. “One bloke won’t no more, leastways not till he’s got the teeth put back as I knocked out,” and as he spoke he looked regretfully at his damaged knuckles. “And them that dirty with him never cleaning them, it ought by rights be blood-poisoning he’s give me.”

  “If it’s Mr Harry,” observed Alf thoughtfully, “rather him nor me. She’s all right, our Annie; but awful hard to live with. Fusses. Baths,” he concluded resentfully. “Can’t think of nothing else, she can’t.”

  Bobby let this lamentation pass unheeded. He strolled over to the shed near by. There was a padlock on the door.

  “Where you keep your tools and so on?” he asked over his shoulder. “Lock it up at night, I suppose?” he said. “Ever forget?”

  “If I did,” retorted Mars, “there wouldn’t be such a lot left by morning. There’s them hereabouts as would walk away with the coat off your back if you gave ’em half a chance.”

  “Do you know anything,” Bobby asked, “about the mallet Miss Livia Holcombe uses in her work and that she says she’s lost, or mislaid, or something.”

  “No, I don’t,” Mars said—rather hurriedly, though, and even uneasily. “No good to me.”

  “Mind if I have a look round inside this shed of yours?”

  “Yes, I do,” Mars shouted, and almost ran forward, as if to get between Bobby and the door. “You ain’t no right,” he protested. “I’ll have the law on you if you try.”

  “All right, all right,” Bobby said soothingly. “I only asked. I know it isn’t there. I told you before the mallet’s in our possession. But we got it from Miss Annie. She won’t say where she got it from. Probably means she is sheltering some one. It might be her father, and it might be she found the mallet here and took it away without telling you because she dared not ask you how it came to be where she found it.”

  “I don’t know nothing about it,” Mars repeated sullenly. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. What’s it all about?”

  “It is such an instrument as might have been used in the murder,” Bobby said. “Nothing to show it was, of course.”

  “Won’t be happy till you get some one hanged,” Mars muttered, and by now he was looking very uncomfortable. “Why pick on me? Why should I out a bloke I ain’t never seen?”

  “I shan’t be happy, if that’s the word,” Bobby told him, “till it is known who committed that brutal murder on the path through the copse when an apparently harmless, inoffensive little man was battered to death. And I’m not picking on you in any way. I’m beginning to get my case complete—at least, I think so—but I must clear up all loose ends. Miss Livia’s mallet is one, and I’m beginning to be afraid Miss Annie’s going away may be another.”

  “She’ll be back all right,” Mars said. “There ain’t nothing to worry about.”

  “If you do hear from her, let us know at once,” Bobby said, and Mars nodded an assent in which Bobby did not put too much confidence.

  However, it seemed there was nothing more to be gained by further questioning, and he went back to his car.

  But it was in a thoughtful and a troubled mood that he drove off to make the next call he had in mind, at ‘It’, the oddly named bungalow, the residence of Colonel Yeo-Young. On the way he passed the Felstead ’bus, and a little farther on he overtook Yeo-Young himself, striding along, this time unaccompanied by his usual companion, the big Alsatian dog. Bobby halted the car and said:

  “Oh, morning, colonel. Can I give you a lift? As a matter of fact I was on my way to your place to have a little chat, if possible.”

  Yeo-Young showed no visible signs of pleasure at this announcement. However, Bobby was holding the car door invitingly open. After a moment’s hesitation, Yeo-Young climbed in. He said:

  “What about?”

  “Our chat, you mean?” Bobby asked. “Oh, there are one or two things I thought you might be able to help me in. I think I’m beginning to see my way, and I hope whoever is really guilty is beginning to think so too. If he does, he may crack. They sometimes do, you know. Too much for the nerves to know very well that at any moment you may be asked to come along to the nearest police-station.”

  “Or to have a little chat—a little friendly chat?” the colonel asked grimly. “I may as well tell you, my nerves are fairly steady.”

  “So I should imagine,” Bobby agreed. “Been to Felstead, haven’t you?”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Bobby answered. “The Felstead ’bus has just gone by, and I noticed you hadn’t your dog with you.”

  “On guard at home,” Yeo-Young said. “Too many of these scoundrelly tramps about. Ought to be cleared off the roads, if you police did your duty.”

  “Well, you know,” Bobby remarked, “there’s no law against walking the roads.”

  “Vagabonds,” said the colonel. “No visible means of sustenance.”

  “Oh,” Bobby told him smilingly, “you would be surprised. They’ve all got a few shillings tucked away somewhere. More than a few shillings at times.”

  “Stolen most likely,” the colonel growled.

  “They do a day’s work now and then,” Bobby remarked, “though they seem to think it rather infra dig. And they do see a lot. We find them useful occasionally. Have you heard that Miss Annie Mars didn’t come home last night?”

  “No,” Colonel Yeo-Young answered. “Why should I?”

  “Well, I think,” Bobby answered, “that you told me once that you had offered to find her a fresh job somewhere.”

  “She turned it down,” the colonel said. “What’s it matter, anyhow? Plenty of girls now-a-days want to go off on their own.”

  “True,” Bobby said. “Complicates it a bit, though, when there’s been a murder committed and an instrument of the kind used has been traced to the girl’s possession. Here we are.” He stopped the car. The big Alsatian dog came bounding to greet them. He went on: “Of course, there are several others of the sort we know of that might equally well have been used,” and he let his eyes stray for a moment to the heavy Penang Lawyer the colonel was holding.

  “Such as this?” Yeo-Young asked, holding it out.

  “One of several,” Bobby repeated. “One of several. That is all.”

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  “FOR THE MOMENT NOTHING”

  THEY WENT on into the bungalow together. Neither spoke. Colonel Yeo-Young lighted a cigarette. He took one chair and motioned Bobby to another. The dog stretched itself at its master’s feet. Bobby said conversationally:

  “Well, you know, tramps and vagabonds, a disreputable lot, but seldom criminal. Explorers, travellers, in embryo, so to say. A nuisance, of course, to any tidy social order, but they have their points. Well, there’s one in particular. A fellow called Walker. You know who I mean. He has made a statement. I’ve asked our people in Felstead to keep an eye on him. We�
��ve no power to hold an essential witness. The Americans have, I think, but not us. The Americans have all the luck, haven’t they? I’ve arranged for him to be given odd jobs to keep him out of mischief, if possible.”

  “Paying him well, I suppose?” the colonel asked.

  “Twelve and six a day, I suggested, I think,” Bobby said.

  “Bribery,” commented the colonel.

  “Counsel might try to suggest that,” Bobby agreed. “One never knows what counsel won’t try. His evidence may be important. What he says does seem to fit in with certain ideas I’m beginning to work on.”

  “The man I told you I caught trying to break in here a few days ago,” Yeo-Young said. “He got a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry. Trying to get even, I imagine, by telling you a pack of lies.”

  “Well, if it can be proved what he says isn’t true, that will be the end of it,” Bobby agreed.

  “What exactly has he told you?” the colonel demanded. “Or are you trying to keep that up your sleeve? I can’t very well say anything till I know. Though I am interested to notice that you think the word of a tramp with an obvious grudge to pay off is worth bothering about.”

  “His story,” Bobby said, “is that on the night of the murder he saw you enter the copse. Your dog was with you. He heard the dog howl twice, I think he says, as if something had happened to frighten it. Shortly afterwards he saw you return hurriedly, apparently much shaken.”

  “All lies,” the colonel said. “A pack of lies,” he repeated. “Badly invented, too. There most certainly wasn’t any one near, neither your tramp nor any one else.”

  “Why are you so sure of that?” Bobby asked. “Unless of course you were in fact there?”

  “I expect you think that’s clever,” Yeo-Young said, after a pause. “Smart. Probably think you’ve trapped me?”

  “Has it?” Bobby asked. “What you say. Not me. Do you mean you agree you were there the night of the murder?”

  “I expect,” Yeo-Young went on, without answering this directly, “your tramp friend was watching, saw me go out for my usual stroll, noticed the direction I took, and invented the rest of his story. On the look-out for a chance to have a quick look round when the coast was clear to see what he could find. Luckily I always lock up securely when I go out, particularly at night, and particularly when I know your honest, harmless tramps are hanging about.”

  “It is true, then, that you took the path through the copse?” Bobby asked.

  “No, that’s where the lies come in. I went as far as the copse. I often do. I always take Pompey for a stroll last thing at night. But when I get to the copse I turn back. It is dark under the trees, and you can easily stumble over something or another. I have had a fall there before now, coming back from bridge at Castle Manor. A short cut here, you know. But that night there was not a soul about. If there had been Pompey would have let me know. Pompey would have got their scent and said something. Wouldn’t you, Pompey, old boy?”

  The dog, hearing its name mentioned, thumped its tail in acquiescence. Bobby was silent for a moment, and then said gravely:

  “I think it would have been advisable to have mentioned all this before. I find it unfortunate that on this particular night you went as far as the copse and no farther.”

  “Why should I? I told you it’s dark under the trees. I’ve had one fall there. I didn’t want another. Your tramp is merely telling a pack of lies because he has a grudge against me. If he had caught a glimpse of me or of Pompey he would have been off in double quick time. On the run.”

  “Well, I suppose,” Bobby said slowly, “that is rather more or less what happened. Only not on the run. On the climb.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His story is that when he saw you coming, you and your dog, he climbed a tree. To be safe. There is some corroboration there. A very close, careful examination—Lawson deserves full marks for it—was made of the copse, and it was noted that there were signs of a tree, where you enter the copse from this end, having been climbed. At first sight there didn’t seem to be any likely connection. Walker could hardly have known about it unless he had done the climbing.”

  “Pompey,” Yeo-Young said, addressing his dog after a long, meditative silence—“Pompey, it seems you fell down on your job. Bad show.” The dog, knowing it was being spoken to, again thumped its tail in acquiescence. To Bobby, the colonel said: “Even if the fellow was really there, up his tree, do you think that proves the rest of his story is true?”

  “It is merely one more piece of evidence,” Bobby answered, “to be taken into account with everything else. It may fit into this picture we are trying to build up, or another, or start an entirely fresh line. Of course, everything is much more difficult when important information is deliberately held back, as in this case.”

  “I take the strongest possible exception to ‘deliberately’,” protested the colonel. “I still entirely fail to see why the fact that I walked as far as the copse that night and back and saw no one is of any importance whatever. Well, what do you mean to do?”

  “For the moment, nothing,” Bobby answered.

  “Waiting for my nerves to crack?” asked Yeo-Young. “I told you. They are fairly steady.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Bobby retorted. “I hope there’s no reason why they should crack, as you call it. By the way, did you happen to see Walker while you were in Felstead?”

  “I did,” the colonel answered. “At least, I felt sure it was the same scoundrel. I think he saw me, too. Is he a target for your suspicions, by any chance? I should recommend him to your notice.”

  “Why?”

  “Probably because I haven’t your high opinion of the character of fellows like that, and the cowardly nature of the murder seems to me suggestive.”

  “Had he any motive, do you think?”

  “Robbery,” suggested the colonel. “Begging first. Gets a sharp answer. Tries threats. In return, threatened with a complaint to the police. Doesn’t like that, not knowing he has a pal in you. So he hits out, and hits too hard. Hears me coming, and shins up a tree out of the way. I suggest that’s a line you might follow up.”

  “It has already been considered,” Bobby told him. “I hope you didn’t say anything of the sort to him when you were in Felstead.”

  “Certainly not. I’m not a policeman. I think he saw me, though.”

  “He keeps his eyes open,” Bobby said, and was fairly certain that Yeo-Young had heard of Walker having been seen talking to Bobby and afterwards taking the Felstead ’bus. Probably that was the reason for the colonel’s visit to Felstead, possibly with some idea in his mind of bullying or bribing Walker to disappear. Bobby got to his feet. Yeo-Young was watching with a kind of gloomy attention. Abruptly the dog uttered a low whine. It seemed somehow to be aware that its master was troubled in his mind and to wish to signal that it was there and ready to help when required. Bobby took out his cigarette case, but put it back again at once. He, too, was troubled in mind, though in a different way. He said: “Well, I’ll be off. I hope I shan’t have to bother you again, but it may be necessary.”

  “You were saying something about the Mars girl having taken herself off,” the colonel said. “What about it? Is she one of your numerous suspects?”

  “In a sense,” Bobby told him gravely, “every one is suspect who is known to have used the path through the copse at all frequently. A wide field, of course, but there it is. We have still no sure knowledge why Winterspoon went there. All sorts of guesses, of course. I have the impression that much is being held back out of fear of what the truth may be. Perhaps the reason why Miss Annie Mars seems to have left the village. I don’t know, but I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

  “You know such a lot,” Colonel Yeo-Young remarked—the sneer in his voice was evident—“I expect you know the girl seems to have been afraid you were going to arrest her. At least, that’s what’s being said in the village.”

  “I don’t th
ink it was arrest; it might be something else she was afraid of,” Bobby said. “Somehow I don’t think she is the kind of girl likely to run away from trouble. More likely to stay and face it in that quiet, grave way of hers. You can never tell, of course. And I don’t think, either, she is likely to elope. I may be entirely wrong. I often have been in trying to size people up.”

  “You mean elope with Harry Holcombe?” Yeo-Young asked. “I’m not so sure. Young people who think themselves in love—well, there you are. Besides, what else is there?”

  “Yes, I know,” Bobby agreed. “That’s just it. What else is there? I could feel happier about it. I rather think I may be trying to arrange a kind of general talk about things later on today. Could you come to Mrs Holcombe’s place if I let you know?”

  “A crisis approaching?” the colonel asked, still half mockingly. “What have you got up your sleeve now?”

  “Nothing much, unfortunately,” Bobby admitted. “I only wish I had an ace or two there. No such luck. But I do think a kind of general discussion might be useful. It might be just another wash-out. Anyhow, I’ll let you know later on.”

  “I’ll be there,” Yeo-Young said, and there was almost the hint of a threat in his voice as he spoke those last few words.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  “A MIASMA OF SUSPICION”

  “A FORMIDABLE sort of person, our colonel,” Bobby reflected as he returned to his car. ‘Domineering, a bully all right, but tough as they make ’em. I wonder . . . I wonder . . . I wonder.’

  But he did not make explicit even to himself what it was he wondered. That he left at the back of his mind for the present, till he could find some further indication to suggest the right road to follow. And then he turned his car in the direction of the ‘Happy Return’ lunch and tea-garden he had visited once before.

  For even in the midst of all these worries, doubts, fears, all his preoccupations and hesitations, his deep underlying dread that perhaps he might before long be forced to a most unwelcome conclusion, his reluctance to admit that he might have to confess his inability to reach any reasonable conclusion whatever, Bobby still kept one thought quite clear in his mind—that not if he could possibly help it would he ever again either dine or lunch at the ‘Black Bull’. Breakfast, yes. An admirable meal. Supper of home-made bread, country butter, farmhouse cheese—what better? But dinner—well, he really was not sure that even yet he had quite digested the barmaid’s Yorkshire pudding, or the meat that managed so wonderfully to be raw on one side and burnt to a cinder on the other.