CHAPTER III
"IT seems to me as if the storm is abating," said Sir George Granvilleto his week-end guest.
He moved a piece on the chess-board and then got up from his chair andwent to the window to listen to the rain on the glass.
His guest was so intent on the chess-board that he did not reply. SirGeorge Granville remained at the window, his attention divided betweenwatching for his opponent's next move and listening to the storm.
Sir George's opponent was a young man; that is to say, he was underforty. He was evidently tall, and his well-cut clothes indicated thathe possessed the well-built frame which is the natural heritage of mostyoung Englishmen of good class. But his clear-cut, clean-shaven facesuggested that its owner was a man of unusual personality and forceof character. It was a remarkable face which would have puzzled thestudent in physiognomy. The upper portion was purely intellectual intype, the forehead broad, and the head well-shaped, but the dark eyes,with a touch of dreaminess and sadness in their depths, contrastedstrangely with the energy and determination indicated by the firm mouthand heavy lower jaw.
The guest moved a piece and then looked at his host.
"You are not yourself to-night, Sir George," he said. "I think we hadbetter finish this game some other time, or cancel it."
Sir George walked over to the table and looked at the position on thechess-board.
"Perhaps it would be better to cancel it," he said, "though it isgenerous on your part to offer to do so, with a piece to the good andthe threatening development of your pawns on the queen's side. But Iam off my game to-night. I am too worried about that nephew of mine togive you a good game."
"It is a bad night to be out," said the guest. "But surely he wouldfind shelter somewhere in the downs."
"He may have met with an accident. He must have seen this storm coming.He should have been home hours ago in any case."
"Putting aside the possibility of an accident, the fact that he hasn'tturned up in the storm indicates that he has found shelter," said theguest. "He is waiting until the storm is over."
"But on the downs there are so few places where one can obtain shelterexcept at a shepherd's cottage."
Sir George sat down in an arm-chair near the fire and invited his guestto take the chair on the other side. The room they were in was a largeone, expensively furnished in black oak. The small chess-table withthe chess-board and men had been placed near the large table in thecentre of the room for the benefit of the light, but the autumn nightwas chilly, and the fire comfortable, and an open box of cigars andspirit-stand close by enhanced the appearance of indoor comfort. Afterhis guest had declined a drink, Sir George mixed himself a whisky andsoda and settled himself in an easy chair. His guest lit a cigar.
They had been seated in front of the fire but a few minutes when thesound of the telephone bell was heard in the hall. Sir George jumped tohis feet with an alacrity that was surprising in a man of his weightyfigure.
"Perhaps that is Harry," he said to his guest as he hurried into thehall.
The guest lit another cigar and leaned back in his chair as he awaitedthe return of his host. The length of time Sir George was at thetelephone would indicate to some extent the nature of the conversation.An absence of over a minute would suggest good news, and that his hostwas desirous of obtaining the full measure of it. To the surprise ofthe guest, five minutes elapsed without any sign of the return of hishost. That the telephone conversation should have lasted so long seemedimprobable.
The guest, with a delicate regard for what was due to a host, triedto keep his active mind from speculating on the nature of the news bytelephone that was keeping Sir George away. He got up to examine thepaintings on the wall, but found little in them to claim his attention.Nearly a quarter of an hour had elapsed since the telephone bell hadrung. With a smile the guest returned to his chair. He had alighted ona solution of his host's long absence: Sir George had received goodnews and had gone upstairs to announce it to his wife.
Lady Granville was the second wife of Sir George, and was many yearshis junior. The baronet was sixty-four, and in spite of the fact thathe was an experienced man of the world, whose wealth enabled him to gethis own way, he was easily managed by his beautiful young wife.
Sir George, with a passion for chess and a predilection for a quietlife, had at the instance of his wife, taken a big house on the frontat the fashionable resort of Staveley and had plunged into its socialgaieties. That afternoon he had revolted to the extent of excusinghimself from accompanying her to a garden fete in aid of the fundsof the Red Cross by declaring that he must stay at home to welcomehis guest, who was to motor down from London. Lady Granville had goneunaccompanied to the fete, and on her return home had adopted thewifely revenge of retiring to rest early, on the grounds that she had asevere headache.
When Sir George returned to his guest he was in a happy state of mind.
"It was he, Crewe," he exclaimed.
"And nothing wrong?" asked Crewe.
"No, nothing wrong with him," was the reply. "But he has had the mostextraordinary adventure--gruesome, in fact."
"Gruesome?" The tone in which Crewe repeated the word showed that hisinterest had been aroused.
"Well, you might not call it gruesome, Crewe, as you have had so muchto do with gruesome tragedies, but the fact of the matter is the boyseems to have discovered a murder."
"A murder?"
"That is how the police look at it, he says. Harry rang me up fromthe police station at Ashlingsea--a fishing village about twelve milesfrom here along the coast. His horse went lame and he was caught in thestorm. He came across an old farm-house and went there for shelter, buthe found the house was empty. He got in somehow, and on going upstairsfound the dead body of a young man--the owner of the farm. Lumsden theowner's name is; quite a boy, that is to say, something under thirty.Cliff Farm is the name of the place. I know it well--I have oftenpassed it while out motoring."
"How was he killed--did your nephew say?"
"Shot."
"The dead body was there and the house empty," said Crewe, in ameditative voice. "That looks as if the police will not have muchdifficulty in picking up the scent. The fact that he would be alonecould not have been known to many people."
"I suppose not. I do not profess to be quite clear about everythingHarry told me because I was so pleased to hear his voice and soastonished at his adventure. I went straight upstairs and told my wife.I know she was anxious about Harry though she said nothing beforeretiring--that is her way. Of course I only told her that Harry wassafe. I said nothing about a murder because it would upset her. But, asI was saying, this young Lumsden, according to what Harry has learnedfrom the police sergeant at Ashlingsea, lived alone. He didn't farm hisland: he was a bit of a recluse."
"How far away is his farm?" asked Crewe.
"About nine or ten miles from here. What about motoring over in themorning?"
"Can we pick up your nephew? I should like to hear his account at firsthand."
"We can go over to Ashlingsea first and bring him back to the farmwith us. He is staying at an inn there, but I can get the Ashlingseapolice station, from where Harry rang up, to let him know that we willbe over for him in the car in the morning."
Crewe nodded. Sir George mixed himself another whisky and soda, and lita cigar. Crewe also lit a cigar, and then they settled themselves infront of the fire for a chat before retiring.
The tie between the great crime investigator and his host waschess. Sir George Granville had been in the front rank of Englishchess-players when Crewe disappointed the chess world by suddenlyretiring from match chess, at the outset of a brilliant career, inorder to devote his wonderful gifts of intuition and insight to crimedetection. His intellect was too vigorous and active to be satisfiedwith the sedate triumphs of chess; his restless temperament and vitalforce needed a wider and more vigorous scope.
But, despite the wide fame he had won as a criminologist, chessenthusiasts still shook their h
eads when his name was mentioned, aspeople are wont to do when they hear the name of a man of brilliantparts who has not made the most of his life. It was nothing to themthat Crewe had achieved fame in the role he had chosen for himself;that the press frequently praised him as a public benefactor who hadbrought to justice many dangerous criminals who would have escapedpunishment but for his subtle skill. These were vain triumphs for a manwho had beaten Turgieff and the young South American champion, and hadseemed destined to bring the world's championship to England.
The chess tie between Crewe and Sir George Granville had long agostrengthened into mutual regard. Sir George liked and admired Crewe,though he did not understand the depths of his character. Crewerespected the baronet for the shrewd ability with which he controlledhis large interests, and the fact that he had never allowed his careeras a business man to warp the kindliness of his nature or interferewith the natural generosity of his disposition.
They talked of various things: of chess, at first, as is inevitablewith two chess-players. Sir George pulled up the chess-table and resetthe abandoned game in order to see if there was not some defence toBlack's position at the stage when the game was abandoned--the baronethad played with the black pieces. He came to the conclusion that therewasn't, and congratulated Crewe on his attack.
"Do you know, I cannot help regretting sometimes that you havepractically given up the game," he added, as he placed the ivorychess-men one by one in the box. "It is a long while since England hashad a really great chess-player."
"Oh, I don't know," replied Crewe. "There are more things in life thanchess."
"Some people do not think so," replied Sir George, with a smile. "Yourold opponent Merton was telling me at the club the other night thathe would consider his life had been well spent if he could but find asound answer to that new opening of Talsker's."
"That is proof that chess gets hold of one too much," replied Crewe,with an answering smile.
"Still, you might have been champion of England," pursued Sir Georgemeditatively.
Crewe shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"One cannot have it both ways," he said.
"You prefer crime investigation to chess?" continued Sir Georgeinquiringly.
"In some ways--yes. Both have their fascination, but in chess thehuman element is lacking. It is true you have an opponent, but he isnot like your hidden opponent in crime. When your hidden opponenthas intelligence, then the game is wonderful--while it lasts. Butintelligence in crime is as rare as it is in every other walk of life.Most crimes are like chess problems--once you find the key-move,the rest is easy. The really perfect crime mystery is as rare as aperfect chess problem. As a rule, the machinery of the human brain isnot delicately adjusted enough, or sufficiently complex, to devise aproblem both complex and subtle in crime--or in chess."
Sir George did not speak. It was so rarely that Crewe could be inducedto speak of his experiences in crime investigation that he did not wishto check him by interrupting. But Crewe showed no sign of continuing.He sighed slightly, threw his half-smoked cigar into the fire, produceda large brierwood pipe with an amber mouthpiece, and slowly filled it,with his eyes fixed on the flames.
They remained thus for some moments in silence, though Sir George keptglancing from time to time at his companion. Several times the baronetwas on the verge of speaking, but checked himself. At length Crewe,without looking away from the fire, said:
"You would like to ask me to go into this case your nephew hasdiscovered to-night, but you do not think it would be quite courteouson your part to do so, because I am your guest."
"Well, yes, I _was_ thinking that, though I don't know how you guessedit," said Sir George, in some surprise. "For more reasons than one I amworried about my nephew getting mixed up with this tragedy."
"Tell me why," said Crewe sympathetically, turning away from the fireand looking at his host.
It was past one o'clock when Crewe retired to his room. The object ofhis visit to Sir George Granville had been to obtain a rest after someweeks of investigation into the Malmesbury case, as the newspaperscalled it; his investigation having resulted in the capture of theelusive Malmesbury who had swindled the insurance companies out ofL20,000 by arranging his own death and burial.
Crewe smiled to himself once or twice as he slowly undressed. Insteadof entering into a quiet week-end he found that within a few hoursof his arrival he was on the threshold of another investigation. Hehad not met his host's nephew, Harry Marsland, as the young man hadleft for his ride on the downs before Crewe reached the house. Butfrom what Sir George had told him Crewe felt attracted to the youngman. Marsland, who was the only son of Sir George's only sister, hadpurchased a junior partnership in a firm of consulting engineersshortly after attending his majority, but as soon as the war broke outhe offered his services and obtained a commission.
He had seen over six months' fighting before being wounded by a shell.The long strain of warfare, the shock of the explosion and the woundshe had received in the head from shell splinters made his recoveryvery slow. He had been in hospital for three months, and though nowconvalescent he would never be fit for service again and had beeninvalided out of the army. There had been a time in hospital when hislife hung by a thread. During days and nights of delirium his mind hadbeen haunted by the scenes of horror he had witnessed at the front. Hehad seen hundreds of men go through the agonies of death from terriblewounds and gas torture; he had seen human forms blown to pieces, andthe men falling in hundreds from machine-gun fire as they charged theGerman trenches.
The hospital doctors had hinted to Sir George of the possibility ofhis nephew's reason being affected by what he had gone through, butfortunately the young man was spared this calamity. Sir George had beenwarned not to let his nephew talk about the war and to keep his mindoccupied with more cheerful subjects of conversation. In pursuance ofthese instructions no reference was made to the war in young Marsland'spresence, and his rank as captain was studiously forgotten.
It was on the ground of his nephew's health and the danger that layin mental worry that Sir George Granville begged Crewe, before heretired, to promise to investigate the crime at Cliff Farm if it turnedout to be a case which was likely to baffle the police and result inprotracted worry to those innocently brought into it. Crewe recognizedthe force of the appeal and had promised to give some time to thecase if the circumstances seemed to demand it. He reserved his finaldecision until after the visit to Cliff Farm, which Sir George hadarranged to make in the morning.
Anxiety on his nephew's behalf got Sir George out of bed early, andwhen Crewe reached the breakfast-room he found his host waiting forhim. The heartiness with which he greeted Crewe seemed to embody somerelief after a strain on patience.
"I rang up Ashlingsea police station half an hour ago and asked themto make some inquiries about Harry," said Sir George. "He doesn't seemto be much the worse for his night's experience. At all events, thelandlady sent word back that he had gone out for a swim."
"I am very glad to hear that he is all right," said Crewe.
"They have given him our message," continued Sir George, "so he will bewaiting for us."
"It ought not to take us much more than half an hour to run over. Isthe road good?"
"Fairly good. We will get away as soon as we have finished breakfast.I told my wife not to expect us back until after lunch. That will giveyou time to look over the farm-house where the man was murdered."
Crewe smiled slightly at his host's idea that it would not take himlong to reconstruct the crime.
"Are we to keep the object of our journey a secret from Lady Granvillewhen we return?" he asked.
"Well, no. The fact of the matter is that I told her all about it thismorning. It was best to do so. She will be of valuable assistance inlooking after Harry if he has been upset by his experiences of lastnight."
They finished breakfast quickly, and Sir George got up from his chair.
"I told Harris to have the car ready," he said
. "It will be waiting forus."
A few minutes later they were in the car and were going along the frontat a good rate. When the houses became scattered, the road left theoutline of the shore, made a detour round some sand dunes about a milefrom Staveley, and then stretched like a white ribbon along the cliffs,between the downs and the sea, to the distant village of Ashlingsea.The road justified Sir George's description as fairly good, butthere were places where it was very narrow, the width being scarcelysufficient to allow one vehicle to pass another. On the side where theroad joined the downs there was a ditch, and in some places the waterhad collected and formed a pool.
"What is this?" exclaimed Sir George, as he pointed to an object at theside of the road some distance away.
The object was a motor-car, which had struck the ditch and overturned.Part of the car was lying on the downs. One of the front wheels hadbeen wrenched out of position. To Crewe's surprise the chauffeur drovepast without more than a sidelong glance at the wreck.
"Stop!" said Crewe. "We must have a look at this."
"Yes, we may as well have a look at it," said Sir George, as the carstopped. "But it is only one of Gosford's old cars. He has a garage atStaveley and has three or four old cars which he lets out on hire. Theyare always coming to grief. Quite a common thing to find them stuck upand refusing to budge. The occupants have to get out and walk."
Crewe got out of the car to inspect the wreck, but Sir George did notfollow him. He was content to look on from his seat in the car. Withsome impatience he watched Crewe, as the detective examined the carfirst on one side and then the other. Crewe went back along the roadfor about forty yards and examined the track the wheels had made inrunning off the road and striking the ditch. Then he stood back a fewyards, and, going down on his knees, examined the grass. He put hisshoulder underneath the upturned side of the car to judge the weight ofthe vehicle.
"I believe we could turn it over," he called out to Sir George. "It isnot very heavy."
"Get out, Harris, and see what you can do," said Sir George.
He sat and watched Crewe and Harris exerting their strength to lift thecar. They were not successful in moving it.
"Do you mind, Sir George?" said Crewe persuasively.
Sir George did mind, but convention demanded that he should pretend tohis guest that he did not.
"Gosford won't thank us," was the length of the protest he offered. "Wemay give the thing a bump that will bring it to pieces."
"I do not want to shove it right over," explained Crewe. "If we canget it on its side so that I can have a look at it inside I will besatisfied."
Sir George's contribution to the task turned the scale. Slowly thecar was raised until it rested on its right side. Crewe bent down andinspected the inside of the car and the driver's seat.
"Thanks," he said. "I've got all I want."
"And what is that you wanted?" demanded Sir George, in astonishment.
"Several things," said Crewe. "I wanted to get an idea of when theaccident took place."
"How on earth could you expect to tell that?" asked Sir George.
"By the state of the car--outside and inside. The way the mud issplashed on the outside indicates that the car was out in last night'sstorm. The wet state of the cushions inside showed that rain had fallenon them--they must have got wet before the car capsized."
"Extremely interesting," said Sir George. "I'd never have thought ofthese things. Perhaps you can tell how many people were in the car atthe time."
"No. All I can say is that one of them was injured, but not veryseriously, as far as I can make out."
"And how do you make that out?" asked Sir George.
"By the blood-stains on the grass at the side of the car."