The Hog's Back Mystery (13 page)

The others looked at Sheepshanks with approval. Right or wrong, his view had been worth putting forward. “Then that's the other side of it,” Sheaf said heavily and the trio relapsed into silence. At last Sheaf made an impatient movement.

“I will admit, French,” he declared, “that for a man who was proving this was a disappearance, you've been fair to the opposition.”

French shrugged. “Take care of the cons and the pros will take care of themselves,” he retorted. “You know that as well as I do, super. I've been as clear as I could about these difficulties, because the disappearance theory depends on them. If they can't be met, the theory's false: that's all.”

The superintendent grunted. “Can they be met?” he asked. “What do you say, sergeant?”

This time Sheepshanks was not certain. It did not seem to him a clear case. On the balance he thought the facts pointed to a disappearance, but he didn't think this was conclusively proved.

“I declare, French, I agree with Sheepshanks,” the superintendent said at last. “You've made too good a list of difficulties. Tell me, would you really be satisfied yourself to leave the case as it is?”

French laughed. “That's a nasty one.” He thought for some moments. “I don't mind confessing,” he went on, “that I'd rather have the thing cut and dry, and all these ends that seem to be over tidied away. But it's going to mean the deuce of a lot of work, for which, I presume, you'll pay. Under the circumstances, I think it's up to you to call the tune.”

Sheaf appreciated that, but he didn't want anything afterwards to come out which would indicate that the Farnham police and their superintendent had been caught napping. “I would suggest, French, if you're agreeable, that you stick it a little while longer. Let's see, this is Friday night: that's less than a fortnight since the thing happened. What about trying for another week, and then if nothing fresh has turned up, we can have another talk about it?”

French agreed readily, indeed almost with enthusiasm. It was exactly what he wished himself. There was nothing he hated more than to leave a case incomplete.

“Right then,” he finished up. “I'll go up to Town now and to-morrow try and tighten up the general search, and on Monday I'll come down and have another shot here.”

Before Sheaf could reply his telephone bell rang out.

“Yes?” he grunted into the instrument; “speaking. Oh, it's you, super? Yes? Oh, you have? Good!…Well, Inspector French is here now and I'll tell him. Hold on a sec.” He turned to French. “Guildford super speaking. He has news of your nurse. He wants you to go over in the morning.”

“Not to-night?”

“Not to-night, super?…” Then again to French. “No, he thinks nothing would be gained. Fact is, he doesn't think what he's got will be much help to you.”

“Right,” said French. “I'll go in the morning on my way to Town.”

“He'll be with you first thing in the morning, super,” Sheaf repeated and rang off.

“He didn't say who saw her?” went on French.

“No; no details.”

The tracing of the nurse's possible arrival at the Hog's Back being a local enquiry, French had asked Sheaf to put it in hand; and Sheaf, on the grounds that the area in question was outside his district, had passed the matter on to the Guildford authorities.

Next morning French took an early bus to Guildford and in ten minutes had heard the superintendent's news. It appeared that the nurse had kept her appointment for that Sunday afternoon. Careful enquiries had led to the discovery of two persons who had seen her. The first was the conductor of a bus running from Guildford to Farnham. He said that a lady answering the given description and whom he recognised from the accompanying photograph, had boarded his bus, the 5.50 p.m. from Guildford, at the Technical Institute in Guildford, the regular stopping-place. She had travelled with him up on to the Hog's Back to where the road to Compton branched off. There she had got out. It was dusk at the time and he had not seen in which direction she had gone. She had seemed perfectly normal in every way and not at all excited, though as his bus was well filled, he had not observed her with any special care.

The superintendent had not been content with this result, and had continued to press his enquiries. These at last had resulted in the discovery that a Mr. Kenworthy, of Guildford, had also been at the place just before six o'clock and had also seen the nurse. Mr. Kenworthy had been walking along the Hog's Back road in the direction of Farnham, and was just approaching the Compton road junction, when a bus overtook him and stopped at the junction. A lady got out, and he was just near enough to see that she was dressed in some lightish colour such as grey. The bus passed on towards Farnham and she walked in the same direction, Mr. Kenworthy following some distance behind. At the Farnham side of the by-pass underbridge, some hundred yards farther on, a car was standing. As the lady reached it a man got out and spoke to her. Then she got in and the car moved off towards Guildford. Mr. Kenworthy had not, however, observed whether when it reached the road junction, it went on towards Guildford, or turned down the hill towards Compton. Presumably, however, it had gone towards Compton, as the nurse would scarcely have been taken back to the place from which she had just come.

“Fine, super,” French said warmly when he had assimilated these details. “That's bound to be a help to us. This man Kenworthy wasn't able to describe the car?”

“No, but I didn't push him very hard. I thought you would probably like to see him yourself. As a matter of fact he was with me here last night when I rang Sheaf up, and I told him you'd be over this morning and asked him to keep in touch. He said he'd be at his house all day,” and the super gave the address.

The house was up on the hill at the back of the old High Street. A delightful position, French thought it, as fifteen minutes later he knocked at the door. Mr. Kenworthy was elderly, evidently a retired business man. But he could not tell French more than he had already told the superintendent. There is a footpath over the by-pass bridge on the right side, facing Farnham, and he, Kenworthy, was walking along this. When the lady got out of the bus on the far side of the road she crossed and walked along the footpath a few yards in front of him. The car was standing at the same side of the road, facing towards them as they came up. The lady had got into the car, and the car had just started as Kenworthy came up.

As to the man who had got out and spoken to the lady, Mr. Kenworthy could give no particulars. It was dusk, nearly dark, in fact, and he had only seen him as a smudge. No, he couldn't be certain that it was not a lady. Someone got out, and that was really all he knew.

Nor could he tell anything about the car except that it was a saloon. He had not observed the make or the size; in fact it had not attracted his attention in any way. French, seeing he could get no more, thanked the man and walked slowly down to the station
en route
for Town.

As he thought over what he had heard, he swore. This information about the nurse was damnably puzzling. His next step, he supposed, must be to find the car which had met her. But that wasn't going to be so frightfully easy. It meant the usual elimination. He must find out where all the possible cars had been at six o'clock. And the possible people also.…

And where had the nurse gone? …

Curse it all! He was sick of the whole confounded business. French realised that he had gone stale and that what he wanted was a week-end away from the case. Well, he was on his way home now and until Monday morning he wouldn't let another thought of the darned affair into his mind. Sufficient unto the day!

Chapter XII

Ursula Stone

That Saturday night a severe rainstorm passed over the whole country. French, wakened by the downpour, had listened to it with actual distress. For in furtherance of his design for achieving a complete change of thought, he had planned one of his usual Sunday excursions with Mrs. French. It was to be a rather special occasion, inasmuch as they proposed to go farther afield than usual, or at least farther than was usual at this time of year. They had decided on the Romney Marsh. Neither of them had ever been there, though both had read about it, and both were looking forward with keen pleasure to seeing this stretch of new and distinctive country.

When morning came, however, they were both delighted to find that the wind had fallen, the clouds had vanished, and the sun was shining as if it were May. As they looked out of the express they saw that everything simply looked the fresher for the rain. Taking a bus from Hastings, they drove through Winchelsea to Rye, explored the streets and church of the quaint old town, and ended up with a long tramp along the shore towards Dungeness. They enjoyed every minute of it and found the breath of sea air invigorating and wholly delightful. These excursions counted for a good deal in both their lives. Though married for more years than French cared to contemplate, he and his wife remained as good pals as ever they had been. Healthily tired and pleased with themselves and life, they reached home in the evening in time for a late supper.

When the meal was over French settled down in his arm-chair before the fire, determined to end a day of relaxation with a couple of lazy and luxurious hours over a novel. But Fate willed otherwise. About nine o'clock, before he had read a dozen pages, his telephone bell rang.

It was the Yard. A message had just come through from Farnham. The officer on duty read it in a dull unemotional way which threw French into a paroxysm of impatience. “From Superintendent Sheaf, Farnham, to Inspector French, Scotland Yard. Ursula Stone disappeared. Please come at once. Will have car to meet 9.30 from Waterloo at Guildford.”

French gave vent to an oath which surprised even Mrs. French. “That Farnham case,” he cried; “I've got to go down,” and running to his room he packed his bag and hurried off to the Yard. There he picked up the suitcase containing his notebooks, and such apparatus as he used in his work, and went on to Waterloo. Fifty-one minutes later he left the train at Guildford.

“What's gone wrong now?” he asked the constable who was driving the waiting car.

“I don't know, sir, except that there was a 'phone through from St. Kilda about nine o'clock saying that Miss Stone had disappeared. The super and Sergeant Sheepshanks have gone out. I was told to repeat the message to the Yard and then meet you here. There are better trains to Guildford than to Farnham at this hour.”

French felt as if the bottom had been knocked out of his world. The bottom had certainly been knocked out of his case. What he was up against, he now saw, was infinitely bigger than anything which up till now had entered his mind. He had been working on some neat little theory to cover the vanishing of Earle and the nurse, but the vanishing of Earle and the nurse was only a part of what was going on. What terrible and sinister agency could be behind these manifestations?

One thing at least seemed to leap out from them, clear and unmistakable. Ursula Stone could scarcely have disappeared voluntarily. In her case there could surely be no motive for such a step. Besides, the coincidence of three voluntary disappearances coming so close to one another would be too remarkable to be accepted without the most overwhelming proof. No; this time it looked, at first sight at all events, a definite case of murder. And if so in Ursula's case, what about the others? Must it not follow that they also…? French had seldom felt more bewildered.

So much at all events for his theory. The one alleviating feature in the affair was that he had not pressed his theory unduly and had agreed to continue working on the case. But it had been a narrow shave. He had been tempted to take up a much stronger attitude.

They drove quickly up on to the Hog's Back, then turning left, passed down through Puttenham and round the corner at the Tarn to St. Kilda.

Here French found a tense atmosphere. Sheaf was very obviously in command, and round him, pale faced and trembling, were Julia Earle, Marjorie Lawes, and Alice and Flo Campion, while Lucy, the maid, hovered in the background. A little distance away Dr. Campion was discussing something with Sergeant Sheepshanks. A constable stood at the door.

“Oh, here you are, French,” said Sheaf heavily. “It looks like Miss Stone this time. She's been missing since five o'clock.”

“Since five o'clock?” French repeated in surprise. Why in hades had they waited for four hours before giving the alarm?

“Yes, she was last seen at five o'clock, but it wasn't till nearly eight that it was suspected she was missing. Mrs. Earle will tell you. Will you take over from now? I've done nothing except to have the woods and road searched.”

“Very well,” French returned. He crossed the room and drew Sheepshanks into a corner. “Have you felt the car radiator?” he whispered.

“Directly I got here, sir. It was quite cold.”

French addressed the company. “First of all, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to hear just what has happened. Perhaps, Mrs. Earle”—he turned to Julia—“I might begin with you. Would you mind coming into the dining-room and sitting down and telling me about it?”

Julia was pitiably shaken and nervous. Her face was drawn and livid, her teeth chattered, and she kept jerking restlessly about. French did not at all like her appearance.

“You've had a nasty shock,” he said kindly. “Perhaps I might suggest a drop of whisky. I think you'd feel better for it.”

“We all want a pick-me-up,” Julia admitted. “You see, we were so upset we didn't really have any supper. What can it all mean, inspector? If anything has happened to Miss Stone, I think after the other it will kill me.”

French beckoned to Lucy. “Mrs. Earle wants some wine or whisky. Will you bring something. You'll excuse me, madam,” he went on to Julia, “but you can't tell me a proper story unless you're feeling fit yourself.”

A whisky and soda made Julia feel a new woman, and while the others were helping themselves, she told her story.

“Miss Stone, you know, was here when my husband disappeared,” she began. “She had intended to leave on the following day, the Monday, but I persuaded her to remain on with us, and she did so. She agreed to stay an extra fortnight, and was intending to leave to-morrow.

“After tea this afternoon she went up to her room to lie down. She frequently did so in the afternoons, though not always. I was upstairs myself and I looked in to see that she was comfortable. That was just about five o'clock, and she was then lying down with a book and seemed quite all right in every way. I came back to Miss Lawes here in the sitting-room. We were doing nothing particular, just reading and chatting a little. Then the Campions looked in to see how we were, the doctor and his two sisters. After they left I think my sister and I fell asleep; I did at all events. About seven I went out to get supper: cold supper we have on Sundays because Lucy is out. It was ready about half-past seven and I rang the bell. Miss Stone didn't come down, and after a few minutes I said, ‘Ursula can't have heard the bell. I'll ring again.' My sister told me not to ring, saying that she would go up. She did so and I heard her moving about upstairs. Then she called me. There was a kind of urgency in her voice and I ran up quickly. ‘Ursula isn't here,' she said. ‘She's taking a bath before supper,' I said, but my sister said no, that she had looked everywhere upstairs and she wasn't there. For a time we didn't realise that anything could be wrong, though there was a sort of fear at the back of our minds. We searched the entire house, but she wasn't anywhere in it. Then we thought she had gone out for a breath of air before supper and we looked in her room for her things. All her outdoor things were in her room; her hats and coats and outdoor shoes. By this time it was getting on towards eight o'clock, and of course she knew supper was at half-past seven. We looked at each other in a sort of horror: it was all so like this day fortnight. We had a quick look round the hall to see that no wraps had gone, and also a look round the grounds. We could find nothing unusual, and then we rang up Dr. Campion. At first Dr. Campion made light of it. He was like ourselves at first, he could not believe anything had gone wrong, but when we told him we had found that none of her outdoor clothes had been taken, he thought more seriously of it. You know, it's a cold night. They came over at once, he and his sisters, and they've been here ever since.”

“About what time did they arrive?” French asked.

“They came at once. They must have got here about eight or a few minutes past: I didn't really look. Dr. Campion spoke of ringing up the police immediately, then we thought we'd have a look round ourselves first. Perhaps we were wrong about that, inspector, but you know how people feel about that sort of thing. Dr. Campion was splendid. He organised a search, just as had been done this day fortnight, giving everybody an area to search. We looked for some time, then shortly before nine we all met again and Dr. Campion said we could not delay any more in ringing up the police, and he did so.”

Julia had shown evidences of strong emotion all the time she was speaking, and it was with an obvious effort that she had compelled herself to remain calm and tell her story consecutively.

“That's all very clear, Mrs. Earle,” French said. “Now I want you to wait here for a moment till I speak to Superintendent Sheaf, then there are just one or two questions that I should like to ask you.”

Sheaf was waiting for him in the hall. “I'm going now, French,” he said. “Is there anything you'd like us to do?”

“That's what I wanted to discuss with you before you left,” French answered. “You say you've had the roads and wood searched?”

“Yes, as far as torches would allow. I don't believe much can be done in that way till we get daylight.”

“I agree with you, super. Can you let me have some help in the morning for this purpose?”

“Yes, I'll send you half a dozen men as soon as it's properly light; say at seven. Now is there anything else?”

French hesitated. It was scarcely his place to detail jobs for the Farnham men.

“Don't you think we should make the same enquiries that we did in the case of Earle?” he asked. “I mean enquiries along the roads, at the stations, from bus conductors, and so on?”

The superintendent dropped his voice. They had strolled out to Sheaf's car and were alone.

“I'm afraid we must do so,” he returned, “but I don't believe we'll learn anything. This is no disappearance, French. This woman wouldn't have wanted to disappear. This is murder. All these enquiries were based on the possibility of Earle's having disappeared voluntarily.”

French nodded. “That's what I thought coming down in the train,” he agreed. “But we might come on some trace of the murderer.”

“Not a chance, I should say. The man that's done this thing knows his way round too well to be caught napping. All the same, I agree we daren't omit these local lines and I'll take them on, same as I did in Earle's case. That'll leave you free to follow up anything special you get on to. How's that?”

“First rate, super. Nothing could be better. Just let's get out a description of Miss Stone, and perhaps you would 'phone it up to the Yard for circulation? Then I'll stay here all night and give those fellows a hand to make their search in the morning.”

The description complete, Sheaf drove off with his men, while French returned to the dining-room. It seemed to him that nothing could be done out of doors till the morning, and that he could best spend his time in getting the fullest details possible from the members of the household.

“Now, Mrs. Earle,” he said, “just two or three questions if you please. I'll not keep you long, but I want to know everything you can tell me in as great detail as possible. And first about Miss Stone herself. Did you notice anything unusual in her manner recently?”

“Absolutely nothing whatever.”

“You think she didn't foresee that anything—er—out of the common was about to take place?”

“I'm positive of it.”

“No signs of excitement?”

“None.”

French nodded. “Did she get any message to-day which might have led her to go out this afternoon?”

“Not as far as I know. In fact I may say definitely that she didn't. There's no post on Sunday, and I've been about all day and would have heard the telephone.”

“No caller?”

“No.”

“Nor note delivered by hand?”

“No.”

“Were there no other callers to-day except the Campions?”

“Only Mr. Slade.”

“When was that, Mrs. Earle?”

“About three. He only stayed a few minutes.”

“Any special subject under discussion at tea?”

“No,” Julia answered again. “So much so that now, half a dozen hours afterwards, I couldn't tell you what we talked of.”

French paused. That seemed to cover all he could hope to get about Ursula Stone. He thought for a moment, then went on.

“It was about five o'clock, you say, when Miss Stone went to lie down and you saw her in her room. When did the Campions arrive?”

“About quarter of an hour later; say quarter-past five.”

“Did Miss Stone know they were here?”

“If she were awake she must have heard them,” Julia replied. “Her room is in the front of the house and she would have heard the car and then their voices.”

“Would she not have come down if she had heard them?”

“Not necessarily, I think. It's true she was a friend of the Campion sisters, but after all it was to me that they were paying the visit. I couldn't say, she might reasonably have come down or not come down.”