The Dartmoor Enigma (23 page)

“Why, of course. It shall take you anywhere you like.”

For a wonder at that time of year the sun was shining brightly over the moor at eight o'clock when the car started on its long pull up to Duketon. Richardson passed the scene of the tragedy with feelings very different to those which had depressed him at the outset of his inquiry. Then everything pointed to failure; now the weathercock was set fair for the run home.

“I want you to pull up at the Duchy Hotel,” he said to the driver.

“You had better come in with me, Jago. I shall want you to make a note of the interview I'm going to have with the innkeeper.”

At this early hour the bar and the other rooms on the ground floor looked most uninviting. It was being swept out and the granite floors were being swabbed; the proprietor was in his shirt-sleeves cleaning the bar counter.

“I'm afraid you'll find us in rather a mess,” he said. “We don't expect visitors so early as a rule.”

“I'm not going to detain you for more than five minutes,” said Richardson. “Where can we go for five minutes' quiet talk?”

“Come into the back parlour, sir. We shall be quiet in there.” He led the way.

“You remember my last visit, Mr. Tovey, when I told you that we were officers from Scotland Yard?”

“Very well indeed.”

“And you remember telling me of a young holiday-maker who stayed a night with you and asked you about Mr. Dearborn? He mistook him for someone else. You couldn't remember the name he gave you…”

“And if you've come to ask me for the name now I should have to tell you the same. All I can say is that I should know it again if I heard it.”

“Yes, but please be careful when I suggest a name. Don't try to please me by saying yes unless you're quite sure. A great deal depends upon your, answer, Mr. Tovey.”

“You've only to say the name and if I'm not quite sure I'll tell you so.”

“Was it Sutcliffe?”

Tovey shook his head.

“Was it Willis?”

“No, it wasn't a common name like that.”

“Was it Instone?”

“Yes!” The affirmative came almost in a shout. “Yes! Instone was the name. I could swear to it in any court of law.”

Richardson gave the order to the driver to set them down at The Firs in Winterton.

“Shall you be wanting the car any more to-day, sir?” asked the driver.

“I can't tell you yet, until I've had a talk with Superintendent Carstairs.”

They found Mrs. Dearborn at home. She came out of her kitchen, wiping her hands.

“I'm sorry to break in upon you at such an early hour,” said Richardson.

“On the contrary, I've been expecting your visit for more than an hour. I'll just run into the kitchen for a moment and turn off the gas, and I'll join you in the sitting-room.”

A moment later she was with them. “You were going to tell me who my husband really was,” she said. ‘Of course I have guessed by now that he must have been passing under an assumed name. What was his real name?”

“Charles Instone.”

She stared at him. “I suppose that that invalidates our marriage.”

“You will have to ask a lawyer about that, Mrs. Dearborn. I can't tell you what effect a marriage ceremony with a person who gave an assumed name will have upon the widow.”

“Why was he hiding his identity?” she asked. “Don't be afraid to tell me; I'd rather know the truth.”

“Well, he was clerk to a solicitor in Bristol and he had, I am sorry to say, embezzled a good deal of his employer's money.”

A horrified look showed in Mrs. Dearborn's eyes. “You mean that the money that I'm living on was stolen?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Well then, of course it must be restored to the person to whom it belongs, and I must find a situation somewhere.”

“Don't do anything in a hurry. That's my advice to you. Wait until the whole case has been cleared up.”

“But this house? At least I can put it into the hands of house-agents to sell for me. I shouldn't wish to stay on here in any case.”

“I know nothing to prevent you from selling the house if you can find a purchaser, and that ought not to be difficult. Where do you think of going to when you leave?”

“To London. I believe that it would be easier to find the kind of work for which I am fitted in London than in a country town. I thought of putting the house into agents' hands to-day and going up to London to-morrow.”

“Where shall I be able to find you in London in case there are other questions to ask you?”

“In the same hotel where you called on me last time. I suppose that if I should need your advice I could always communicate with you through Scotland Yard?”

“Yes, your letters would always be forwarded, but I shall be seeing you constantly before the case is finished; and now I must wish you good-bye and good luck.”

When Richardson informed Superintendent Carstairs that he was called to Clifton for an inquiry, the Superintendent in the fullness of his heart offered him the use of the car.

“No,” said Richardson. “It is very kind of you to suggest it, but to take the car over a hundred miles and let it come back empty would be an abuse of your hospitality. We will do the journey by train.”

“But you will be coming back here later on?”

“I don't know yet, Superintendent. I have to make my detailed report to my chiefs at the Yard and see what they decide. In the meantime can one of your clerks work out our journey to Clifton?”

In less than five minutes the time-table was arranged. They were to take the car to North Road and lunch on the train. The train connections appeared to work in together.

Richardson glanced at the clock. “I suppose we ought to be off,” he said.

“I've ordered the car, sir,” said the policeman clerk. “I fancy that it is at the door now.”

Richardson shook hands with the Superintendent and the expressions of goodwill were reciprocated on both sides.

“You'll be back again, Mr. Richardson, very shortly, if only to have an interview with the murderer,” said Carstairs, laughing.

The trains suited admirably. The two Metropolitan officers found themselves at Clifton in time to interview the lady who had signed herself Dora Straight between tea-time and dinner. A taxi carried them to her house—an affluent-looking one for a single woman. Richardson gave the maid one of his cards and asked to see her mistress on a rather urgent matter.

“It's one of her bridge-party days, sir,” objected the girl.

“Tell her, please, that I'm very sorry to disturb her at such a time, but that if they could play dummy for a few minutes that would suffice.”

The maid sped upstairs and delivered the message. She must have left the door open, for sounds of protest and indignation floated down the stairs. They caught the words, “But it's not the ordinary police; it's Scotland Yard.” A hushed silence ensued; it was broken by a petulant voice. “Here, Alice, you come and take my hand. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Will you step this way, gentlemen, please,” said the maid. She led them into the dining-room on the ground floor and shut the door after them.

It opened again to admit a tall, masculine-looking lady with bobbed hair stippled with grey, and a red face which at that moment was lowering like a thundercloud. “Sit down,” she commanded, “and tell me as shortly as possible what is your business with me.”

“I think, madam, that you were the writer of this letter.” Richardson produced the letter that they had found unopened in the box of papers from Sutcliffe's office.

She took it, read the contents, and glanced at the date. “But this was written more than three years ago,” she said.

“Yes, madam, but it reached the gentleman to whom it is addressed only yesterday. He has been away in the country for the past three years.”

“Psha! What's the good of beating about the bush? I know just as well as you do that he has been in a convict prison, and what's more, I flatter myself that I helped to send him there.”

“By sending a letter to the Chief Constable of Bristol?”

“Exactly. He and his confederate had cheated me out of two thousand pounds, and naturally as I'd lost my money I decided to get even with them.”

“You were warned that the gold mine in Borneo to which Mr. Sutcliffe invited subscriptions was a fraudulent concern?”

“I was.”

“Would you mind giving me the name of the person who gave you that warning?”

“I should mind very much. The warning was given to me in confidence.”

“By a man who was consistently robbing his employer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, didn't you know? Mr. Charles Instone, who gave you that warning and so was instrumental in the prosecution of his employer, made away with a very large sum of money belonging to that employer. I feel sure that a lady with your obvious sense of justice will not hesitate to help me by telling all she knows when once the true facts are brought to her notice.”

“And in the meantime I'm to be robbed of two thousand pounds on a bogus prospectus and have no redress.”

“The two thousand pounds you subscribed to the gold mine will probably be refunded to you.”

“Have you been sent down here to tell me this?”

“No, madam; I've been sent down here to investigate the circumstances of the murder of the late Mr. Instone.”

“Instone murdered! When?”

“On the 29th of September last.”

“Who did it?”

“That is what I have to find out, and I thought I might count on your help. I gather that the warning you received did come from the late Mr. Instone. Did it come by letter or by word of mouth?”

“By letter, of course. I have it upstairs.”

“May I see it?”

“Well, the poor man made it a condition that I should keep his letter confidential. He said that in writing it he was risking his job in my interests.”

“Yes, but since he's dead, the condition can scarcely hold good; especially when we have to think of justice to the living.”

“I suppose you're right,” she said doubtfully.” I'll just look through the letter and see whether there's anything in it that it's not fair to divulge. Don't get up; sit where you are till I come down.”

The letter took some time to find, or else the bridge-party had waylaid the lady on her way upstairs. In the end, however, she made her appearance with the letter in her hand.

“I'm sorry to have been so long. I had to hunt for it. I don't think there's anything in the letter that I ought not to show you. Here it is.”

As Richardson read the missive he reflected that this was one of the most sickening documents that he had ever been called upon to peruse:

“May I keep this letter, madam?” asked Richardson.

“No, but if you like to take a copy of it…it struck me as the letter of a man of very high principles. Don't you think so?”

“Before I express an opinion, let me ask you one or two questions. When you received this letter had you paid over the money for your shares?”

“Yes, of course I had.”

“You hadn't only sent in your application for shares in the mine?”

“No, I'd paid the money over. This letter didn't reach me till several days later. I think that it was after the shares had gone to allotment.”

“Didn't it strike you that Mr. Instone's warning came a little late? If all he says in this letter about his motives were true, wouldn't he have written to you when your application for shares was received, thus leaving you time to cancel it?”

“That, I confess, had never struck me. Then you think that he had some ulterior motive?”

“I do. A Mr. Frank Willis had lately been frequenting the office.”

“Yes, Mr. Instone mentioned him in an interview I had with him. He said that he didn't trust him.”

“Perhaps the feeling of distrust was mutual.” He turned to Jago. “Have you finished copying that letter?”

“Just finished.”

Richardson handed the missive back to the lady with a courtly bow. “I'm very much obliged to you, Miss Straight. I hope that you will be able to pick up your rubber upstairs without any very heavy losses.”

“Thank you.” For the first time during the interview she permitted herself to laugh almost gaily.

As they left the house to walk to the station, Jago remarked, “I give you top marks for the way in which you conducted that interview, Mr. Richardson. Lord! What fire and slaughter she was breathing when she came into the room.”

“Yes, the temperature went up about ten degrees.”

“But you soon cooled it down. How did you know that she'd had a letter from that swine Instone?”