The 12.30 from Croydon (27 page)

‘He must have been there at the time, so the sergeant says. He must have been either behind the desk or outside the window. See him and he’ll tell you.’

‘I certainly shall. It’s just about the most astonishing thing I’ve heard for years! And Weatherup of all people! That’s what I can’t get over.’

‘Nor I.’

‘Was much money taken?’

‘I don’t know exactly how much. I think over a hundred pounds.’

‘Oh, well, it might have been worse.’

Elsie wrung her hands again. ‘It’s not the money,’ she declared, ‘though that’s bad enough. It’s the whole thing. Oh, Charles, it’s terrible, coming so soon after the other! Really I’m beginning to feel as if I couldn’t endure the sight of this place for another day.’

‘I’m so sorry, Elsie. And I’m afraid it will worry Peter, too.’

‘Peter! I don’t like to think of it. He was worried enough as it was. And he’ll hate not having been here; you know what I mean. My being alone and all that.’

‘I expect that was the reason of it, you know,’ said Charles, having hastily thought out the bearings of the remark. ‘If Weatherup was going to – do what he did, he would choose a time when Peter was away; naturally.’

‘I suppose so.’ She shook her head again.

‘Have you had lunch?’ Charles asked.

‘No; I couldn’t think of eating.’

‘Now look here, Elsie, go and have some lunch,’ Charles said with decision. ‘Have some coffee or a whisky and soda if you can’t eat. There’s no use in your getting knocked up as well. You go and I’ll speak to the sergeant.’

‘What about yourself, Charles?’

‘I’ve had it, thanks.’

Charles surprised himself, so well in hand were his nerves as he crossed the hall and, tapping on the study door, pushed it open and entered. Sergeant Bray rose from the desk.

‘Well, sergeant,’ said Charles, ‘I hear you’ve made a discovery?’

‘Yes, sir, and it’s a bit surprising too. I shouldn’t have thought the butler was the man for this job.’

‘Nor I,’ Charles answered. ‘What’s the meaning of it all?’

Bray shook his head.

‘Is that the broken desk?’ Charles gazed with interest. ‘Mrs Morley says she heard him breaking it open.’

‘She heard a sound which we attribute to that cause,’ Bray returned more accurately. ‘You knew the man, Mr Swinburn?’

This was more like the police. Questions, no information, was their line.

‘Oh, yes,’ Charles answered. ‘He was with my late uncle for a number of years. I’d seen him many times.’

‘Did you ever hear anything about his relations or family?’

‘Not a word.’

‘Or if he was going after any woman?’

‘No.’

‘Or, I suppose, of any secret in his life?’

‘Nothing of the sort.’

‘He made no previous breaks while with the late Mr Crowther?’

‘None; at least so far as I know. Have you been through his room?’ Charles didn’t see why all the questioning should be on one side.

‘Yes, sir, but I found nothing.’

Bray was not communicative, and after a little further conversation Charles left the study. He found Elsie having coffee in the dining-room.

‘Glad to see you doing that,’ he assured her, then with a change of tone, ‘Do you know what train Peter’s coming by?’

‘The one that gets in just before dinner.’

‘I’ll meet him,’ Charles declared.

He stayed on at The Moat for an hour or more discussing the affair with Elsie, or rather letting her talk about it while he sat with the appearance of listening. At the end of that time he felt himself at the end of his tether and pleaded a business engagement. He wanted terribly to be alone, but to go off anywhere by himself would look suspicious, and that he could not risk. However, at the works he was next thing to being alone, and somehow the afternoon dragged away.

Peter was a surprised man when at the station Charles told him the news. Eagerly he asked for details. Charles, considering carefully what he knew and what he didn’t know, gave them to him.

‘I have the car here,’ Charles went on. ‘Get in and I’ll drive you home.’

Peter was obviously a good deal puzzled as well as distressed by the affair. ‘What could have gone wrong with him?’ he asked more than once. ‘He never gave any hint of being short of cash. And then to go and risk prison for that amount! And look here, Charles, here’s another thing. How did he know that I had the money there? I never told him. I told Elsie, but she would never have repeated it.’

This was a point Charles had not foreseen. ‘He must have overheard you telling her,’ he suggested.

‘I suppose he must,’ Peter agreed doubtfully.

Charles was relieved by the admission. Peter evidently accepted the man’s guilt.

‘Frightfully hard lines on Elsie, this upset,’ Charles went on, ‘especially following so close on the last,’ and he began to talk generalities.

That evening passed for Charles like a nightmare. What he wanted more than anything else was information. What were the police doing? What had they discovered? Had they any reason to suspect the affair was more serious than it appeared? More vital still, had they any reason to connect him, Charles, with it? So terrible was the craving to know how he stood that more than once he contemplated going down to the police-station to inquire of Sergeant Bray how the case was progressing, in the hope that from the man’s manner he would be able to read the answer to his real question. Indeed, only the utter madness of such a proceeding prevented him.

The next day it was the same. Oh, if he only knew! Of course he rang up The Moat, but what Peter could tell him was not what he wanted to hear. As a matter of fact Peter had little news. With the single exception that the key of the study french window was missing, nothing had been discovered.

And so it was the next day and the next. Nothing fresh learned! Charles’s anxiety had by this time passed its peak and every hour that now elapsed was an ease to his mind. If anything dreadful had been discovered, he would have heard of it. Instead of being upset, he should be thankful that everything was going so well. This second terrible crisis in his life had passed, as had the first, leaving him unscathed. He needn’t have been afraid. His scheme was good. As before, he was safe!

Then on the fourth day he received a dreadful shock.

It was a Sunday. On Sundays when he could not play tennis, he usually played golf. Now as he was about to start for the links, Peter rang up. From his voice Charles could tell that something was wrong.

‘I’ve got some bad news, Charles,’ Peter said. ‘This affair is much worse than we had any idea of. Sergeant Bray has just been here and what do you think? They’re going to drag the lake.’

Charles felt suddenly cold. Drag the lake! His knees began to tremble. Then savagely he pulled himself together.

‘Drag the lake, Peter?’ he repeated to gain time. ‘Whatever do you mean? They don’t suppose…?’

‘Yes,’ Peter answered, ‘they do. They think he’s dead. They think he’s in the lake. They’re starting now to drag. It’s perfectly dreadful!’

‘But I don’t understand. How…? What do they think has happened?’

‘I don’t understand either. They came for the keys of the boat-house and whatever they found I don’t know, but they came back and asked for the use of the boats.’

Charles was getting himself more in hand. ‘Peter, I’m so sorry,’ he said, ‘and also particularly on Elsie’s account. If there’s anything in this, it’ll be a nasty shock for her.’

‘Yes, she’s pretty much upset as it is. This coming on the top of the other, you know. I’m not surprised. I feel it myself.’

‘I’m sure you do. But I can’t bring myself to believe such a thing could have happened. Why should anyone – commit such a crime?’

‘I suppose to get the notes; how do I know?’

Presently Charles said that he would go over to The Moat to discuss the affair, and rang off. He was terribly upset. As he drove he went over again in minute detail what he had done in the boat-house. The more he recalled that dreadful time – and every moment of it was seared into his memory – the more convinced he became that he had left no trace of his presence. And yet a trace of some kind must have been found. The overwhelming question was: did the trace, whatever it was, point to him personally or only to the fact that someone had been there? At all costs Charles must find this out. The suspense, if he didn’t, would kill him.

But he mustn’t show more interest than the occasion ought to warrant. Could he face Peter and Elsie and the police and act as an interested outsider? Yes, he must. Any mistake now might be fatal.

He soon saw that so far as Peter was concerned, he need not have worried. Peter’s own manner was strange. Peter had undoubtedly taken the affair very much to heart and so had Elsie. After some talk the two men walked down to the lake. Three boats were in use, the two from The Moat boat-house and one belonging to Peter’s neighbour. In each were two men, one at the oars and one manipulating the large rake-like drag. Bray was in one of the boats. A constable stood at the boat-house and saluted respectfully as Peter and Charles approached.

Peter engaged him in conversation, but without result. The dragging was the authorities’ idea, and the constable did not know what had made it necessary. No, they had not found anything so far, but of course they hadn’t much more than started. He did not know what they had found in the boat-house, if anything. He could not say how long they would keep up their efforts. In fact the constable was an excellent police representative.

For some little time the three men stood watching the sinister operations. The police were working systematically and Charles felt sure that if they continued as they had begun, they would find the body. At present they were keeping to the shore, but each new path they swept was a little farther out. To reach the middle of the lake was a mere question of time.

The day dragged interminably. Charles could settle to nothing. He cancelled his golf and hung about The Moat with Peter. He was longing to go home and be alone, but he could not tear himself away from the chance of news. When night came and nothing had been found he could scarcely have told whether he was the more distressed or relieved.

The next day was the same. Indeed it was almost worse. He knew that the boats would by this time have crept a good deal nearer to that ghastly spot in the centre of the lake. He would have given a lot of money to know just how far they had still to go, but he dared not exhibit that kind of interest. No, there was nothing for it but to get through the day as best he could, showing pressing interest in nothing but his business.

That evening his body was aching all over from sheer weariness. For almost the first time in his life he was drunk when bedtime came.

On the following morning a splitting headache was almost a relief. It gave him something to think of, or rather it took his mind to some extent off the lake. He tried to concentrate on business. Almost he succeeded.

Then in the middle of the morning the news came. Peter rang up to say that the body had been found.

Peter did not seem to have obtained much information beyond the mere facts that the body had been discovered and that the case was one of murder. He asked Charles to go over to lunch and discuss the situation. Charles, fighting his fears, agreed.

Charles found both Peter and Elsie still very much upset when he reached The Moat. Already Peter had been warned to remain at home for the next day or two, as he would be wanted at the inquest.

‘As if we hadn’t had enough of that sort of thing,’ Elsie complained. ‘I’m terribly sorry for poor Weatherup, though he was a man I didn’t really care for. But I’m also sorry for ourselves, having to go through all this police business again and so soon. I don’t think we’ll be able to stay here. This place has become utterly hateful.’

Charles asked for details of the discovery.

‘There’s not much to tell,’ Peter returned, and Charles soon found that this was the case. Peter, however, had two items of information, one of which Charles found disquieting and the other reassuring.

‘Did you know,’ went on Peter, ‘that the Scotland Yard man was here still and all this work at the lake has been done at his request? He’s been here asking questions and I found him at the lake yesterday. I went down to see how they were getting on and he was there talking to Bray. Bray was deferring to him in the most obsequious way.’

This was an unexpected blow. Charles, however, managed a creditable reply.

‘I thought – what’s his name? – French had gone back to town? hadn’t heard anything of him lately.’

‘I thought so, too, but we were wrong. I wonder what he thinks he’s getting at.’

Charles shook his head vaguely. It was what was so terribly agitating himself.

‘You say,’ he went on, ‘that it was definitely a case of murder. How did they know that?’

‘His skull was fractured. He had evidently been hit over the head with something heavy, and Bray thinks it may have been a piece of lead pipe. Two pieces of lead pipe were tied to the body to weight it down. It shows the affair was premeditated, doesn’t it, if the murderer had provided himself with weights.’

Charles agreed. ‘Makes it more mysterious than ever,’ he commented. ‘In the first place, if Weatherup was murdered for the money, how did the murderer know he had it on him?’

‘I don’t know,’ Peter returned. ‘I saw that difficulty myself. Indeed, I put it to Bray.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said he had been puzzled by the same thing. The police are not giving much away.’

‘I thought you believed they agreed with me?’ put in Elsie.

‘Well, I did,’ Peter admitted slowly; ‘I thought so, but I’m not sure. I had precious little to go on.’

Charles turned to his cousin. ‘You had a theory, Elsie? What was it?’

‘I suggested,’ Elsie answered, ‘that some unknown person had burgled the house and that Weatherup had heard him and gone down. Perhaps he had followed him out and challenged him and the burglar had turned on him and murdered him to save himself being caught.’

‘That’s ingenious, Elsie,’ Charles declared. ‘To me that sounds the most likely theory yet. And you say you think the police accept it, Peter?’