The Spirit Murder Mystery (23 page)

The whole of next morning Vereker spent in a fruitless search for some trap-door, or means of entering and leaving Old Hall Farm, that was unknown to its occupants. The thickness of the wall on the south side of the entrance hall intrigued him, but after a careful investigation, he left the riddle unsolved and decided to pursue his inquiries into the Yarham mystery further afield. He passed through the village and continued his way northwards till he arrived at Ephraim Noy's bungalow. The owner was rather surprised to see him, but invited him in.

“In search of further sensational rubbish for your rag of a paper?” he asked when Vereker had seated himself.

“No. I came to see you on a matter concerning yourself, Mr. Noy,” replied Vereker seriously.

“How d'you mean?” asked Noy with a swift, anxious glance at his visitor.

“While Miss Thurlow's away from home, I'm staying at Old Hall Farm. Before leaving, she asked me to go through her uncle's papers and diaries for her, and among those papers I found a letter from you to Thurlow. In that letter you refer to some affair in India in which he got mixed up many years ago. You appear to know all about that episode.”

* Well, what the devil has it got to do with you?” asked Noy with sudden truculence.

“Nothing whatever. I'm not interested in it personally, but as it may have some bearing on Thurlow's murder, I naturally mentioned it to the police.”

‘‘You're nothing but a damned busybody! What have my private relations with Thurlow to do with his murder?” asked Noy with rising anger.

“I hope for your sake they've nothing to do with Thurlow's murder. Now, Mr. Noy, there's no need to lose your wool. Doesn't it strike you that this dancing girl business may have some connection with it? It's possible that someone who was wronged at the time may have at last taken his revenge.”

“Rot! The affair is past and done with. This revenge idea is sheer moonshine. People don't take revenges in real life unless they're bughouse.”

“I think you're right, but of course, there's just a chance that a lunatic killed Thurlow.”

“Bunk, sir, bunk!” replied Mr. Noy emphatically.

“Well, Mr. Noy, your opinion on that episode is worth having,” said Vereker diplomatically.

“Take it from me, Mr. Vereker,” continued Noy, considerably mollified, “that that Indian affair has nothing to do with the present case, nothing at all.”

“Do you know all the details of the Indian business?” asked Vereker.

“I certainly do. I was instrumental in clearing Thurlow's character when he was under suspicion of being mixed up with the murder of the woman's husband. I tell you, it was a narrow squeak for old John. He was very grateful to me for my help.”

“You were a good friend,” suggested Vereker pertinently.

“I certainly was. I told you when you last saw me that I knew nothing of Thurlow. I did so to safeguard myself, because I didn't want to be dragged into any police inquiry into his murder. My own record is none too good, and once you've been in trouble, the police are biased against you. I've had enough trouble in my life without getting into any more.”

“You had a rough time in the States, I believe,” remarked Vereker.

“My God!” exclaimed Noy with a groan. “Is that all going to be raked up again. I suppose this Scotland Yard man has been poking his long snout into my past history.”

“You might have expected that, Mr. Noy, and the best thing is to be quite frank with the police. If you try to beat them off with falsehoods, they'll only suspect you of implication in this Yarham affair.”

“But how do you know all about this?” asked Noy, after a pause.

“I'm not at liberty to answer that question,” replied Vereker.

“Ah, I see! As I said before, you pressmen are always hand in glove with the police. Well, you can tell the inspector from me that I've got a clean sheet on this count. I admit I got mixed up in a booze racket in Chicago some years ago, and our gang bumped off some of the rival guys. Over here you think that's just ordinary murder. It isn't. It's only a kind of warfare on a small scale. A gangster is nothing more nor less than a hired soldier. You stand to be shot at and you shoot first if you can. Then one of our men, Gumshoe Jim, got into serious trouble. He was always too ready to flash a gat, that is draw a gun, and he knocked off a harness bull.”

“What on earth's a harness bull?” asked Vereker.

“When I get excited I fall back into American slang,” remarked Noy apologetically. “A harness bull's a policeman in uniform. That was more than I could stand, so I chucked the racket. I managed to make a getaway and returned home to England. I thought I was safe here but bless my soul...” Ephraim Noy left the sentence unfinished and ran his fingers wearily through his unkempt hair. “Have they got a line on the man who did this Yarham job?” he asked after a pause.

“That I can't say; I'm not in the know. Have you any idea of what lies behind it?” asked Vereker.

“No, but only a year or so ago, Thurlow did some sharp work through agents on the American stock market. I only have that on hearsay, but there may be some truth in it. Somebody's probably got his own back.”

“You never quarrelled with him yourself?” asked Vereker.

“Never in my life. Thurlow was very good to me. When I came and settled down here, I found out he was living in Old Hall Farm. I went to look him up, but he didn't want to renew our old friendship. I was rather sore about the way he did it. Simply turned me away from the door. He might have been more tactful. In the heat of temper I wrote and reminded him of that Indian affair, and told him I could make the place pretty hot for him. Not that I meant it. Later on I met him and apologized. He found out that I was in rather low water, and gave me a cheque for five hundred to set me on my feet. He was a generous man when he liked. That was the last time I ever spoke to him. If I knew anything about this dirty business of his murder I'd put the police wise right away.” '

“Has the inspector been to see you?” asked Vereker.

“No. Did he say he was coming?” queried Noy anxiously.

“I'm almost certain he'll question you about the Indian affair,” replied Vereker guardedly, “but as far as I can see, you've nothing to fear on that score. I should also be perfectly frank with him if he probes you on your activities in America, because he's sure to know all about them.”

“I guess he does. In any case, he can do nothing to me about that now,” replied Noy, but his tone lacked conviction.

For a few minutes he sat lost in his own thoughts. From the expression on his face it was evident to Vereker that there was something on his mind that was troubling him.

“There's a question I'd like to ask you, Mr. Vereker,” he said at length, “but you needn't answer it unless you like.”

“Put the question, Mr. Noy, and I'll soon let you know,” replied Vereker eagerly.

“Did the inspector mention my name in connection with some trouble at Doncaster some time ago?” queried Noy and looked at Vereker with anxious eyes.

“No, he didn't, but don't persuade yourself that he's ignorant of it because he didn't mention it to me. What was the nature of the trouble?”

“If you don't know, I'm not the man to tell you. I daresay the police ferreted that out when they were going into my past history in America,” replied Noy, and by turning the conversation on to the well that he was having sunk behind his bungalow, indicated that his secret was not going to be wrested from him.

A little later, on Noy's invitation, Vereker accompanied him to the well shaft and inspected the progress that had been made in that operation. Feeling that no more information was to be gained by prolonging his visit, he bade Noy good-morning and took his departure.

On returning to Old Hall Farm, he learned from one of the maids that Ricardo had rung him up on the telephone during his absence. Ricardo had given no message, but said he would ring up again about lunch-time. The maid had hardly left Vereker when the telephone bell rang again, and he answered it himself.

“That you, Algernon?” came the query.

“Yes, Ricky, anything important? Where are you?”

“London. I've made thumping good progress and am returning to Yarham to-morrow.”

“Seen Miss Garford?”

“Not yet, but when I do I'll put her through a mild form of third degree. I'll tell you all about that when I see you.”

“D'you think she has any connection with this Yarham case?”

“At present I see no connection myself, but when you bring your amazing powers to bear on the matter, perhaps you'll spot the connection.”

“Good. I want you to do another job for me at once, Ricky. Go along to the British Museum Reading Room and get permission to hunt through the newspaper files. Go back two or three years. Our friend Ephraim Noy got into some trouble at Doncaster some time back, and it may have been reported in the London Press. If it was at all valuable from a news point of view, you're almost certain to run across it. Copy it out and bring it along with you. So long. I'll see you to-morrow.”

“Right-ho!” came Ricardo's reply. “I'll get on with the job right away. I'll just have time to finish it and take Gertie Wentworth out to Crawley for tea. She thinks my car's quite a dandy projectile. Good-bye!”

Vereker had hardly laid down the receiver when the front door bell rang, and a few minutes later the Rev. William Sturgeon was ushered in.

“I thought I'd call and see how you were getting on, Vereker,” he said. “Solved the Yarham mystery yet?”

“Not quite, but I've made a little progress. It's about lunch-time. Will you stay and lunch with me?”

“My dear boy, that's what I came for. Timed it beautifully,” replied the rector with his boyish laugh. “Old Hall Farm always puts up an attractive meal, and on the quiet, I'm a bit of a gourmet. Heard from Miss Thurlow?”

“No; have you?”

“She never writes to me. When is she coming back?”

“I'm not quite certain. By the way, Rector, do you know the lady very well?”

“Yes, I think I can say I do. I knew her parents, too. Why do you ask?”

“Is there any mental trouble in the family?”

“Nothing very serious. Her mother, you know, suffered from minor epilepsy. That's bad enough, but it didn't affect her general health to any degree. She was all right as long as she took care of herself and lived quietly. I think they call the trouble
petit mal
.”

“Has Miss Eileen any tendency that way?” asked Vereker anxiously.

“Never shown any to my knowledge. Old Cornard thinks it may develop. That's why I've tried to get her to discontinue this cult of spiritualism. It will do her no good. But she's rather a strong willed young lady, and in some things it's useless to advise her. She goes her own way in spite of everyone.”

For some minutes Vereker was lost in thought. His mind had reverted to the strange apparition of the night before and its general resemblance to the height and build of Miss Eileen Thurlow. He had, of course, only seen that figure in the gloom of an unlighted room, and yet the resemblance had struck him forcibly. But he could not, by any stretch of imagination, see why Eileen Thurlow should carry out this ridiculous deception. Against his theory that it might be she, was the incontrovertible evidence afforded by the finger prints he had discovered on certain ornaments and articles of furniture, after a previous visit of what Eileen Thurlow had called a “poltergeist.” Those finger prints were certainly not hers and could hardly have been faked. Faked finger prints were in the same category as faked footprints, a very remote possibility.

“Hello, what have you got here?” suddenly asked the rector, his exclamation rousing Vereker rudely from his reverie.

“Oh, that book; it's a history of the village. My friend Ricardo, while he was here, picked it out when looking over the books in Thurlow's library.”

“And I've been on the track of this volume for ages. It's long since out of print and has no value, but it gives a very full history of the village, especially of my church. Are you reading it?”

“When I had nothing else to do, I dipped casually into it, but it'll be of more interest to you than me.”

“I'll borrow it if I may. Miss Thurlow wouldn't mind, and I'll let her have it back when I've finished with it.”

The rector relapsed into silence as he pored over the pages of his discovery. After a few minutes he began to fidget excitedly in his chair and then, unable to contain himself any longer, remarked: “So that's the truth about the tunnels leading from the church!”

The exclamation at once roused Vereker to attention. The history of those tunnels had intrigued him considerably for some time, but for reasons quite different from the rector's.

“What does it say?” he asked eagerly.

“That there are three tunnels leading from the crypt at the foot of the stone steps. The writer explored two of them; the one leading to the right and the one leading directly ahead from the central vault. The central one leads to Riswell Manor. This I knew. The one to the right to Old Yarham Hall. The third tunnel was not explored.”

“Where is Old Yarham Hall?” asked Vereker.

“This house is the old hall or manor. When the Honington family died out, it became a farm and then got its present name, ‘Old Hall Farm.' Subsequently its fortunes went up in the world and it reverted to a country house, which it has been ever since.”

“By jove, that's most interesting!” exclaimed Vereker in undisguised excitement.

“It is, and to think that that man Orton has put an end to my idea of exploring those underground passages. He's an obstructionist of the worst type.”

“Why? What has happened?