CHAPTER XIV
CREWE steered to the stone landing-place and tied the little motor-boatto a rusty iron ring which dangled from a stout wooden stake, wedgedbetween two of the seaweed covered stones. The tide was out, and thetop of the landing-place stood well out of the water, but it was aneasy matter for a young and vigorous man to spring up to the top,though three rough and slippery steps had been cut near the ring,perhaps for the original builder in his old and infirm days.
Looking down, he noticed that while his little boat floated easilyenough alongside, a boat of slightly deeper draught would have scrapedon the rocky bottom, which was visible through the clear water. Thesurface of the landing-place was moist, and the intersections betweenthe rough stones were filled with seaweed and shells, indicating thatthe place was covered at high tide.
Crewe had come from Staveley by boat instead of motoring across, hisobject being to make a complete investigation of Cliff Farm withoutattracting chance attention or rural curiosity about his motor-car,which was too big to go into the stables. He wanted to be undisturbedand uninterrupted in his investigation of the house. As he enteredthe boat-house, he looked back to where he had left his boat, and sawthat the landing-place was high enough out of the water to preventpassers-by on the cliff road seeing the boat before high tide. By thattime he hoped to have completed his investigations and be on his wayback to Staveley.
The boat-house was a small and rickety structure perched on a roughfoundation of stones, which had been stacked to the same height asthe landing-place. The inside was dismal and damp, and the woodworkwas decaying. Part of the roof had fallen in, and the action of windand sea and storm had partly destroyed the boarded sides. Many of theboards had parted from the joists, and hung loosely, or had fallenon the stones. An old boat lay on the oozing stones, with its name,_Polly_, barely decipherable on the stern, and a kedge anchor androtting coil of rope inside it. Crewe had no doubt that it was theboat James Lumsden used to go fishing in many years ago. A few decayedboards in front of the boat-house indicated the remains of a woodencauseway for launching the boat. In a corner of the shed was a rustyiron windlass, which suggested the means whereby the eccentric old manhad been able to house his boat without assistance when he returnedwith his catch.
Having finished his scrutiny of the boatshed and its contents, Crewemade his way up the cliff path, and walked across the strip of downs tothe farm.
Cliff Farm looked the picture of desolation and loneliness in thechill, grey autumn afternoon. Its gaunt, closely-shuttered uglinessconfronted Crewe uncompromisingly, as though defying him to wrest fromit the secret of the tragic death of its owner. It already had that airof neglect and desertion which speedily overtakes the house which haslost its habitants. There was no sign of any kind of life; the meadowswere empty of live-stock. Somewhere in the outbuildings at the side ofthe house an unfastened door flapped and banged drearily in the wind.Even the front door required main strength to force it open afterit had been unlocked, as though it shared with the remainder of thehouse the determination to keep the secret of the place, and resentedintrusion. The interior of the house was dark, close and musty. Throughthe closed and shuttered windows not a ray of light or a breath of airhad been able to find an entrance.
Crewe's first act was to open the shutters and the windows on theground floor; his next to fling open the front and back doors, and thedoors of the rooms. He wanted all the light he could get for the taskbefore him, and some fresh air to breathe. He soon had both: wholesale,pure strong air from the downs, blowing in through doors and windows,stirring up the accumulated dust on the floors, causing it to float anddance in the sunbeams that streamed in the front windows from the raysof an evening sun, which had succeeded in freeing himself in his lastmoments above the horizon from the mass of grey clouds that had madethe day so chill and cheerless.
Crewe commenced to examine each room and its contents with theobject of trying to discover something which would assist him inhis investigation of the Cliff Farm murder. He worked carefully andminutely, but with the swiftness and method of a practised observer.
The front room that he first entered detained him only a few minutes.Originally designed for the sitting-room, it had been dismantled andcontained very little furniture, and had evidently not been used for aconsiderable time. A slight fissure in the outside wall explained thereason: the fissure had made the room uninhabitable by admitting windand weather, causing damp to appear on the walls, and loosening thewall-paper till it hung in festoons.
Crewe next examined the opposite front room in which Sergeant Westawayconducted his preliminary inquiries into the murder. This room wassimply furnished with furniture of an antique pattern. Apparently ithad been used at a more or less recent date as the sitting-room, for afew old books and a couple of modern cheaply bound novels were lyingabout; a needle with a piece of darning cotton which was stuck in thewall suggested a woman's occupation, or perhaps the murdered man or hisgrandson had done bachelor darning there in the winter evenings. Thelatter hypothesis seemed most probable to Crewe: only a very untidymember of the other sex would have left a darning needle sticking inthe sitting-room wall.
Crewe then examined the room behind the front room in which Marslandand Miss Maynard had sat before discovering the murdered man. It wasthe front room of an English farm-house of a bygone age, kept for showand state occasions but not for use, crowded with big horse-hair chairsand a horse-hair sofa. There were two tables--a large round one with amahogany top and a smaller one used as a stand for the lamp Marslandhad lit--a glass case of stuffed birds; an old clock in a black caseon the mantelpiece, which had been stopped so long that its workswere festooned with spiders' webs; a few dingy oil-paintings on thewalls, alternately representing scenes from the Scriptures and theEnglish chase, and a moth-eaten carpet on the floor. There was alsoa small glass bookcase in a corner containing some bound volumes ofthe _Leisure Hour_ of the sixties, _Peter Parley's Annual, Johnson'sDictionary,_ an ancient _Every Day Book_, and an old family Bible withbrass clasps.
It was in the room next to the sitting-room that Crewe found the firstarticle which suggested possibilities of a clue. It was a small room,which had evidently been used by a former occupant as an office, for itcontained an oak case holding account books, some files of yellowingbills hanging from nails on the wall, and an old-fashioned writingbureau. It was this last article that attracted Crewe's attention. Itwas unlocked, and he examined closely the papers it contained. But theythrew no light on the mystery of Cliff Farm, being for the most partbusiness letters, receipted bills, and household accounts.
There was a bundle of faded letters in one of the pigeon-holes tiedwith black ribbon, which had been written to Mrs. James Lumsden fromsomebody who signed himself "Yours to command, Geoffrey La Touche."These letters were forty years old, and had been sent during a periodof three years from "Her Majesty's sloop _Hyacinth_" at differentforeign ports. They were stiff and formal, though withal courteousin tone, and various passages in them suggested that the writer hadbeen an officer in the Royal Navy and a relative of Mrs. Lumsden. Theyceased with a letter written to "James Lumsden, Esq.," expressing thewriter's "deep regret and sincere sorrow" on learning of his "dearniece's sad and premature end."
There was another room opposite this office which had doubtless beenintended for a breakfast-room, but was now stored with odds and ends:superfluous articles of furniture, some trunks, a pile of bound volumesof the _Illustrated London News_, and a few boxes full of miscellaneousrubbish. The passage on which these rooms opened terminated in twostone steps leading into the kitchen, which was the full width of thehouse. A notable piece of furniture in this room was an oaken dresserwith shelves reaching to the ceiling. There were also a deal table,some kitchen chairs, and an arm-chair.
From the blackened beams of its low sloping ceiling some hams andstrings of onions hung, and an open tea-caddy stood on the table, witha leaden spoon in it, as though somebody had recently been makingtea. An old brown earthenware t
eapot stood by the fire-place withtea-leaves still in the pot, and Crewe noticed on the mantelpiece achurchwarden pipe, with a spill of paper alongside. He found a pair ofhorn spectacles and an old newspaper on the top of the press beside theold-fashioned fire-place. Evidently the kitchen had been the favouriteroom of Frank Lumsden's grandfather--the eccentric old man who hadbuilt the landing-place.
Before examining the upper portion of the house Crewe closed the doorsand windows he had opened, restoring things to the condition in whichhe had found them. Then he went upstairs, and, after opening thewindows and blinds as he had opened them downstairs, entered the roomin which the murdered man had been discovered.
It was while Crewe was thus engaged that his quick ears detected aslight crunch of footsteps on the ground outside, as though somebodywas approaching the house. The room he was searching looked out onpasture land, but he was aware that there was a gravel path on theother side, running from the outbuildings at the side to the rear ofthe house. He crossed over to the corresponding room on that side ofthe house, and looked out of the open window, but could see no one.
He ran quietly downstairs and into the kitchen. His idea was to watchthe intruder by looking through one of the kitchen windows, withoutrevealing his own presence, but he found to his annoyance that thelittle diamond shaped kitchen window which looked out on the back wasso placed as to command a view of only a small portion of the brickedyard at the back of the house.
He waited for a moment in the hope that the visitor would enter thehouse through the unlocked kitchen door, but as he heard no furthersound he decided to go in search of the person whose footsteps he hadheard. He opened the door and looked over the empty yard. Suddenlya woman's figure appeared in the doorway of the barn on the left.Immediately she saw Crewe she retreated into the shed in the hope thatshe had not been seen. In order to undeceive her on this point, Crewewalked down the yard to the barn, but before he reached it she came outto meet him. She was young and pretty and well dressed.
"You are Mr. Crewe," she said with composure.
"And you are Miss Maynard. We have not met before, but I have heard agreat deal about you."
She read suspicion in his use of the conventional phrase and shedecided to meet it.
"I came out to look at the old place--at the scene of this dreadfultragedy--before finally deciding what I ought to do."
He realized that having said so much she had more to say, and he gaveher no assistance.
"Perhaps Mr. Marsland has not told you, Mr. Crewe, that I was with himin the house when he discovered the body."
"He has not," replied Crewe.
"That makes it all the more difficult for me. I do not mind tellingyou, for you are his friend, and you are such a clever man that I feelI will be right in taking your advice."
Crewe's mental reservation to be slow in offering her advice was anindication that his suspicions of her were not allayed.
"I also sought shelter here from the storm on that fateful night," shecontinued. "But because I was afraid of the gossip of Ashlingsea Iasked Mr. Marsland if he would mind keeping my name out of it. And hevery generously promised to do so."
"A grave error on both sides," said Crewe.
She was quick in seizing the first opening he gave her.
"That is the conclusion I have come to; that is why I think I oughtto go to the police and tell them that I was here. They may be ableto make something out of my story--they may be able to see more in itthan I can. My simple statement of facts might fit in with some otherinformation in their possession of which I know nothing, and in thatway might lead to the detection of the man who killed Frank Lumsden.But how can I go to them and tell them I was here after I begged Mr.Marsland to say nothing about me? He would never forgive me for placinghim in such an embarrassing position. It would not be right."
"And it is not right to keep from the police any information to whichthey are entitled."
"That is my difficulty," she said, with a smile of gratitude to him forstating it so clearly.
"I have no hesitation in advising you to tell the police the wholetruth," said Crewe.
"And Mr. Marsland?"
"He must extricate himself from the position in which his promise toyou has placed him. He knows that the promise should never have beenmade, and doubtless in the end he will be glad to have been releasedfrom it."
"I hope he will understand my motives," she said.
"Perhaps not. But he will begin to realize, what all young men have tolearn, that it is sometimes difficult to understand the motives whichactuate young ladies."
That reply seemed to indicate to her that their conversation hadreached the level of polite banter.
"Will you plead for me?" she asked.
"That is outside my province," was the disappointing reply. "Iunderstood you to say, Miss Maynard, that you came here that night forshelter from the storm. Did you arrive at the house before Marsland orafter him?"
There was a moment of hesitation before her reply was given.
"A few minutes before him."
"No doubt you will materially assist the police by giving them a fullaccount of what you know," said Crewe.