The Cornish Coast Murder (British Library Crime Classics) (13 page)

Once more alone his thoughts returned to the problem of Tregarthan's death. He dallied with the idea of questioning Ruth point-blank about her peculiar behaviour, in the hope that she might confide in him. Then, if the matter was one which could be put right by tactful explanation, he could see the Inspector and clear Ruth's name of suspicion. This, he finally decided, would be a sensible plan. He determined to have a few minutes alone with her after dinner that evening.

This, after explaining things to his sister, he managed to do without Ruth realising that this
tête-à-tête
had been deliberately engineered. Ethel, who was engaged in the sisterly occupation of darning the Vicar's socks, suddenly remembered that she had left her needles in the bedroom. Ruth and the Vicar were left alone in the study.

For a few moments the Vicar talked all round the subject of Tregarthan's death and then mentioned the Coroner's inquest.

“It will be an ordeal for you, I know, my dear child, but in a case like this an inquest is a mere formality. The Inspector intends to call a number of witnesses, but I doubt if the Coroner will wish to ask them many questions. The collected evidence is so conflicting. Curiously so.”

“I know,” said Ruth. “I can't begin to see the end of this dreadful affair. It's all so beastly! So sordid! I wish the mystery of uncle's death could be cleared up and done with—I want to forget it all. It's beginning to prey on my mind. I dream of it at night. I think about it all day. I can't help it!”

After a little pause, the Vicar said with great seriousness.

“You know, Ruth, I'm very worried about your reticence in this matter. I quite realise that you don't wish to talk about it, but I think I ought to tell you that Inspector Bigswell was up here this afternoon questioning me about Ronald.”

Ruth glanced up quickly.

“Ronald! But what has Ronald to do with my uncle's death? He was down in the village at the time when my uncle must have been killed.”

“No, my dear. I'm afraid he wasn't. That's just the trouble. The Inspector has found out that Ronald left Cove Cottage just before the estimated time of your uncle's death, and he's not been seen since. He's disappeared.”

“Disappeared!”

“Nobody knows where he has gone to. He's just vanished into the blue, leaving no address. I'm afraid it's an unfortunate coincidence that he should disappear just at this moment, because it means that the police are naturally suspicious of his action.”

“You mean they think he murdered uncle and then disappeared to avoid the consequences? But it's absurd! It's ridiculous! They can't think that of Ronald!”

“But they do.” Suddenly the Vicar leaned forward and said with great earnestness. “My dear, do you know where he's gone? Do you know anything about his movements last night? Are you hiding anything from the police because you fear for Ronald's safety? You
must
tell me if this is so—concealment is out of the question. Truth and truth alone is the great essential at the moment. You may damage Ronald's case by holding back information. They're sure to trace his whereabouts in the end. It's only a matter of days, perhaps hours. So if you are hiding anything you must tell me, dear ... for Ronald's sake.”

“But I'm not! I'm not!” declared Ruth in a tortured voice. “It's impossible that Ronald has done this thing. The Inspector has no right, no reason to suspect him. Oh, I know he's got to make out a case against somebody, but it's absurd trying to incriminate Ronald!”

“But it's not only Ronald whom he suspects,” went on the Vicar in a quiet voice. “As much as I hate to put such an idea into words, my dear, he suspects you.” The Vicar, on seeing Ruth's look of mingled resentment and amazement, went on hurriedly. “Oh, I know it's nonsense! I told the Inspector so. We know, of course, that you had nothing to do with this terrible thing, but somehow we've got to persuade the Inspector to take the same view. Why did you leave Greylings last night when the Constable had given you strict orders not to do so? Don't you think, my dear, that it was a rather foolhardy action?”

“But I told the Inspector—I wanted to get clear of the house and breathe. I couldn't stand the atmosphere a moment longer. It was stifling me.”

“And there was no other reason?”

Ruth glanced at the Vicar and looked down guiltily at the fire.

“What do you mean?”

“You weren't attempting to get in touch with Ronald, for instance? To warn him about something?”

“But I swear to you,” cried Ruth, “that I did not see Ronald at all last night. I went along to his cottage, but he had gone out. I haven't seen him since. I'd no idea that he had disappeared until you told me a few minutes ago.”

The Vicar sighed. He realised that Ruth could or would not help him to clarify the events of the previous night.

“Why did you suddenly stop on the path, look in at the sitting-room and then run into the house?” asked the Vicar. “You didn't know then that your uncle was dead.”

“How do you know——?”

“Oh, I know, my dear. I used these eyes which God has been kind enough to grant me. But why did you do that?”

“I—I wanted to get in out of the rain,” said Ruth glibly. “I saw the fire-light and the lamps burning and suddenly realised how wet I was. So I naturally ran the rest of the way. There was nothing odd about that, was there?”

“Nothing at all,” agreed the Vicar with haste. “I merely asked you the question, my dear, because I wanted to know.”

“It seems that everybody wants to ask me questions,” said Ruth with a long sigh. “First Grouch, then the Inspector, now you. Shall I ever be able to forget this horrible nightmare?”

The Vicar rose, and, sitting on the arm of Ruth's chair, he took her hand.

“My dear child,” he said. “You may be sure that I should not ask these questions unless I thought them essential. I want to find out things, analyse all the evidence, use my imagination, seek and find out. From now on I'm determined not to rest until I've persuaded the Inspector that you and Ronald have absolutely nothing to do with this dastardly crime. And having done that, I want to be in a position to tell him exactly who did have something to do with it.”

“You've found out something?” asked Ruth with intense anxiety.

The Vicar shook his head.

“So far I've found out nothing. I know far less about the facts of this case than Inspector Bigswell. But you see, I have a method. I call it the intuition method of investigation—which may prove in the long run to be a very present help in a time of trouble. Shall we leave it at that, Ruth?”

CHAPTER IX

COLLABORATION?

I
NSPECTOR BIGSWELL
after having put through his call to the Superintendent at Greystoke decided not to remain in Boscawen, as he had originally planned, to cross-examine Mrs. Mullion when she returned from Porth. In all probability the midwife had had an unadventurous journey back from Towan Cove, certainly an uncomfortable one. It was no easy matter to walk with one heel missing. If she had anything of importance to tell she would, thought the Inspector, have imparted it to Grouch before setting off for Porth that morning. It seemed certain, considering the swiftness with which the news of Tregarthan's murder had travelled, that she could not have left Boscawen ignorant of his death. Time enough to question her on the morrow, Wednesday, since the inquest was not until the day after. He left instructions, therefore, with Grouch, that he was to cycle up to her cottage later on and arrange for Mrs. Mullion to meet him at the Constable's office early next morning.

Grimmet then drove the Inspector back to Greylings, where a sprinkling of morbid sightseers was hanging about the drive entrance and the surrounding common. He found the burly Constable in charge, besieged by a couple of avid reporters, and after helping them out with a few guarded details of the affair, he arranged for the Constable to stay the night. He warned him not to let anybody into the house and to keep his mouth shut if questioned by any enterprising journalists. Then with a word to Grimmet to “step on it,” he was speeded back, thinking hard, to Greystoke.

On arrival he learnt that the Superintendent wanted to see him without delay. He went through at once to the office. The Superintendent, a bullet-headed, grey-haired man of about fifty, was sitting at his desk writing. When the Inspector entered he looked up, nodded, pushed away his work and motioned Bigswell into a chair.

“Look here, Bigswell,” he said without preliminary, “I'd better tell you straight that the Chief is getting a bit rattled over this business. I know you're not expected to get results in a day, but for heaven's sake, man, if you've got the first glimmerings of a theory, then trot it out. We don't want to bring the Yard into this. You know the Chief's motto—‘Give ’em a chance and they'll take two.’ And them, in this case, means you and me and the rest of the crowd here. You know as well as I do that if you've got no definite line of investigation to work on, it means letting in the experts.”

Inspector Bigswell grinned.

“I like that, sir. The experts!”

“Well, that's what it amounts to. Criminal investigation is, in a manner of speaking, a sideline for the County Police. You know that. There's enough routine work to keep us busy, without sparing a man for any fancy business. See what I'm getting at?”

“You mean that the Chief will have to call in the Yard unless I can prove to him that I'm following up a definite line of enquiry?”

“Bluntly—that's what it amounts to. Well, what about it, Bigswell—any theory?”

For a moment the Inspector hesitated, then taking a deep breath he pulled out his note-book and flipped it open.

“Yes—I think I've got a really workable theory at last. You're acquainted with the main facts of the case, aren't you, sir?”

“I read your report of last night,” said the Superintendent, slowly filling his pipe. “And I suppose your phone call this afternoon more or less posted me up to date with regard to to-day's investigations?”

“That's it, sir. Well, I've been doing some pretty stiff thinking on my way back from Boscawen and, as I see it now, the facts of the case are something like this. Ruth Tregarthan and Ronald Hardy were in collaboration. They had been planning this murder for some time, deliberately and efficiently. Tregarthan was violently opposed to their friendship. What hold he had over them, I can't as yet fathom. It may be that he knew something about Hardy's past life, something disreputable, and threatened to divulge this if they took matters into their own hands and ran away. As to the reason why he was so violent in his opposition to the girl's marriage—well that to me is pretty obvious. Money. Some arrangement, I dare say, in which the girl was to come into a packet of her father's money when she married, but which Tregarthan had a free hand with until she did. You see how I mean, sir? Now, as I see it, the murder was fixed for last night. Hardy was to creep along the cliff-path at the scheduled time and the girl was to absent herself while the business was being done. This would obviate any risk of her being tripped up if any awkward questions were asked. As luck would have it, Tregarthan quarrelled with her at dinner that evening—she seized the opportunity and dashed out, using the quarrel as her excuse. You see, sir, there was that storm. It would have looked a bit odd if she'd gone out in the middle of it. She may even have provoked her uncle to quarrel, to make her exit look more natural. That's as maybe. Well, now we come to the puzzle of the footprints. The three tracks. The girl's going both ways and Mrs. Mullion's going from Towan Cove to Boscawen. I confess I was puzzled at first. I didn't quite see how Hardy entered into the scheme of things, seeing that he couldn't have walked along the cliff-path without leaving some impression behind him. Yet as soon as I heard he'd disappeared, I felt certain that he'd had a hand in Tregarthan's murder.” The Inspector paused and added with a deceiving air of nonchalance. “Well, sir, I think I've cleared that little difficulty away.”

It was obvious that he really felt rather pleased with himself over the solving of what, at first sight, seemed an insoluble puzzle. The Superintendent puffed vigorously at his pipe.

“Well, go on, Bigswell,” he said eagerly. “Let's have it!”

“It was Grouch—the local Constable, by the way—who first put the idea into my head. He'd railed off the cliff-path at the bottom of the garden with a couple of hurdles. Sensible chap, Grouch. I saw, at once, where he'd got them from—there was a pile of about half a dozen leaning against the garden wall. At the time I didn't think anything of it. But later, on my way back here in fact, I realised that in that innocent-looking pile of hurdles lay the solution to the mystery of the footprints! You take me, sir?”

The Superintendent refused to commit himself.

“Go ahead, Bigswell.”

“Well, sir—it struck me that Ruth Tregarthan, on leaving the house by the side-door, went along the path at the bottom of the garden until she came to the pile of hurdles leaning against the north wall. That's the wall on the Boscawen side of the garden. All she had to do then was to place the hurdles on end to cover the soft patch of mud which borders the north track for a distance of about fifteen feet. These hurdles—wattled ones, by the way—are about six foot long. She had then formed a perfect track between the wall and the firmer, unspoiled grass of the common. She then goes back and picks up her track at the corner of the wall and starts off along the cliff-path to let Hardy know that the stage is set.”

“You think it was her idea—those hurdles?” asked the Superintendent dubiously.

“No—his. He'd seen a few duck-boards in his time, I daresay. He probably arranged for the girl to have them planted by the wall for some reason or other and given her proper instructions as to what she was to do.”

“I see. Go on.”

“Well, now I come to something which I don't quite understand. Why did Hardy use his car? It looked as if he'd decided on his vanishing trick at the last moment, doesn't it? Actually he'd arranged to meet the girl on the cliff-path and get the O.K. from her about the hurdles. Then on account of last-minute wind-up he took out his car, so as to make a quick get-away, and approached Greylings by the road. That's how he missed the girl. Gave her a bit of a shock, I daresay, when she reached Cove Cottage and found he'd gone. Daresay she wondered if things had gone a trifle crooked at the critical moment. You'll notice she didn't wait long at his cottage. When, after a few minutes, he didn't turn up, she hurried off along the cliff-path to get those hurdles back into position. Natural, wasn't it?”