CHAPTER IV
POLICE-SERGEANT WESTAWAY sat in the sitting-room of Cliff Farmpreparing an official report, with the assistance of his subordinate,Police-Constable Heather, whose help consisted in cordially agreeingwith his superior on any point on which the sergeant condescended toask his advice.
The constable was a short, florid-face, bullet-headed young man, andhe whistled cheerfully as he explored the old farm-house. His superiorofficer was elderly and sallow, with hollow dark eyes, a long blackbeard streaked with grey, and a saturnine expression, which was theoutward manifestation of a pessimistic disposition and a disorderedliver.
Sergeant Westaway looked like a man who found life a miserablebusiness. A quarter of a century spent in a dull round of officialduties in the fishing village of Ashlingsea, as guardian of the moralsof its eight hundred inhabitants, had deepened his natural bent towardspessimism and dyspepsia. He felt himself qualified to adorn a muchhigher official post, but he forebore to air his grievance in publicbecause he thought the people with whom his lot was cast were not worthwasting speech upon. By his aloofness and taciturnity he had acquired alocal reputation for wisdom, which his mental gifts scarcely warranted.
"Heather," he said, pausing in his writing and glancing up irritablyas his subordinate entered the room, "do not make that noise."
"What noise, sergeant?" asked Constable Heather, who gathered hisimpressions slowly.
"That whistling. It disturbs me. Besides, there is a dead man in thehouse."
"All right, sergeant, I forgot all about him." Constable Heatherstopped in the middle of a lively stave, sat down on a chair, got upagain, and went out of the room with a heavy tread.
Sergeant Westaway returned to his official report with a worriedexpression on his gaunt face. He was a country police officer withno previous experience of murders, and twenty-five years' officialvegetation in Ashlingsea, with nothing more serious in the way of crimeto handle than occasional outbreaks of drunkenness or an odd case ofpetty larceny, had made him rusty in official procedure, and fearful ofviolating the written and unwritten laws of departmental red tape. Hewrote and erased and rewrote, occasionally laying down his pen to gazeout of the open window for inspiration.
It was a beautiful day in early autumn. The violent storm of theprevious night had left but few traces of its visit. The sun wasshining in a clear blue sky, and the notes of a skylark singingjoyously high above the meadow in front of the farm floated in throughthe open window. The winding cliff road was white and clean after theheavy rain, and the sea was once more clear and green, with littlewhite-flecked waves dancing and sparkling in the sunshine.
Sergeant Westaway, gloomily glancing out at this pleasing prospect,saw two men entering the farm from the road. They had been cycling, andwere now pushing their machines up the gravel-path to the front door.One of them was in police uniform, and the other was a young man aboutthirty years of age, clad in cycling tweeds and knickerbockers, with atweed cap on the back of his curly head. He had blue eyes and a snubnose, and a cigarette dangled from his lower lip. He was a strangerto Sergeant Westaway, but that acute official had no hesitation inplacing him as a detective from Scotland Yard. To the eye of pessimismhe looked like the sort of man that Scotland Yard would send to assistthe country police. His companion in uniform was Detective-InspectorPayne, of the County police headquarters at Lewes, and was well knownto Sergeant Westaway. The latter had no difficulty in arriving at theconclusion that the County Commissioner of Police, having several othermysterious crimes to occupy the limited number of detectives at hisdisposal, had asked for the assistance of Scotland Yard in unravellingthe murder at Cliff Farm. Sergeant Westaway knew what this would meanto him. He would have a great deal to do In coaching the Scotland Yardman regarding local conditions, but would get none of the credit ofsheeting home the crime to the murderer. The Scotland Yard man wouldsee to that.
"How are you, Westaway?" exclaimed Inspector Payne, as he stood hisbicycle against the wall of the house near the front door. "What doyou mean by giving us a murder when we've got our hands full? We'veburglaries in half a dozen towns, a murder at Denham, two unidentifiedbodies washed ashore in a boat at Hemsley, and the disappearance fromLewes of a well-known solicitor who is wanted for embezzling trustfunds. Let me introduce you to Detective Gillett, of Scotland Yard. I'mturning the investigation of this murder of yours over to him. You willgive him all the assistance he wants."
"Yes, sir," replied Sergeant Westaway.
"Glad to meet you, Westaway," said Detective Gillett, as he shook handswith the Sergeant.
Sergeant Westaway had come to the door to meet the new-comers, and henow led the way back to the room where he had been preparing his report.
Detective Gillett took up a position by the open window, and sniffedgratefully at the soft air.
"Fine view, here," he said, waving his hand in the direction of thecliff road and open bay. "Fine, bracin' air--sea--country--birds--andall that sort of thing. You chaps in the country have all the best ofit--the simple life, and no hustle or bustle."
Sergeant Westaway looked darkly at the speaker as though he suspectedhim of a desire to rob him of the grievance he had brooded over insecret for twenty-five years.
"It's dull enough," he said ungraciously.
"But the air, man, the air!" said the London detective, inhaling greatgulps of oxygen as he spoke. "It's exhilarating; it's glorious! Why, itshould keep you going until you reach a hundred."
"Too salt," commented Sergeant Westaway curtly.
"The more salt in it the longer it will preserve you," said Gillett."What a glorious day it is."
"The day is right enough," said Westaway. "But to-morrow will bedifferent."
"Westaway doesn't like to be enthusiastic about this locality for fearwe will shift him somewhere else," said Inspector Payne. "However, letus get to business. I must be on my way back to Lewes in an hour."
Sergeant Westaway coughed in order to clear his throat, and then beganhis narrative in a loud official voice:
"At five minutes past nine last night a gentleman named Marsland cameto the police station. I was in my office at the time, preparing areport. He told me that he had found the dead body of a man in thishouse."
"Who is this Marsland?" asked Inspector Payne. "Does he live in thedistrict?"
"He does not," replied the sergeant. "He lives at Staveley. That is tosay, he lives in London, but he is staying at Staveley. He is stayingthere with his uncle, Sir George Granville."
"I know Sir George," said the inspector. "And so this young gentlemanwho discovered the body is his nephew. How old is he?"
"About twenty-eight, I should say."
"What sort of young man is he? How did he impress you?"
"He impressed me as being an honest straightforward young gentleman.He gave me a very clear statement of who he was and how he came to callin at this farm last night. Nevertheless, I took the precaution oftelephoning to Inspector Murchison at Staveley and asking him to haveinquiries made. The inspector's report coincides with what Mr. Marslandtold me. He has been in ill-health and came down from London toStaveley to recuperate. He has been there five days. Yesterday he leftStaveley for a ride on the downs. He got lost and was caught in thestorm which came up shortly after dusk. His horse went lame, and seeingthis house he came here for shelter. The horse is in the stable now.There was no light in the house, and when he went to the front doorto knock he found it open. He struck a match and lit a candle whichwas on the hallstand. He could see no one about. Then he lit a lamp inthis room and sat down to wait until the storm was over. He was sittinghere for some time listening to the rain when suddenly he heard a crashabove. He took the lamp and made his way upstairs. In a sitting-roomon the first floor he found the dead body of a man in an arm-chair. Atfirst he thought the man had died a natural death, but on inspectingthe body he found that the man had been shot through the body. As thestorm was abating, Mr. Marsland made his way down to Ashlingsea andreported his discovery to m
e."
"And what did you do?" asked Inspector Payne, in an authoritative voice.
"I closed the station and in company with Mr. Marsland I knocked upPolice-Constable Heather. Then the three of us came here. I found thebody as Mr. Marsland had described. I identified the body as that ofFrank Lumsden, the owner of this farm. Leaving Heather in charge ofit, I returned to Ashlingsea accompanied by Mr. Marsland, and reportedthe matter by telephone to headquarters at Lewes, as you are aware,inspector. This morning I returned here to make a minute inspection ofthe scene of the crime and to prepare my report."
"Is the body upstairs now?" asked Detective Gillett.
"It has been left exactly as it was found. I gave Heather orders thathe was not to touch it."
"What sort of a man was this Lumsden?" asked Inspector Payne. "Had heany enemies?"
"He may have," replied the cautious sergeant. "There are some who borehim no good will."
"Why was that?"
"Because they thought he hadn't acted rightly by them. He was theexecutor of his grandfather's will, but he didn't pay the legacies hisgrandfather left. He said there was no money. His grandfather drew allhis money out of the bank when the war broke out, and no one was everable to find where he hid it. But there are some who say Frank Lumsdenfound it and stuck to it all."
"This is interesting," said Detective Gillett. "We must go into itthoroughly later on."
"And what makes it more interesting is that a sort of plan showingwhere the money was hidden has disappeared," continued SergeantWestaway. "It disappeared after Lumsden was murdered. Mr. Marsland toldme that he found it when he was going upstairs to find out the causeof the crash he heard. It was lying on the second bottom stair. Mr.Marsland picked it up and put it on the table with the candle stuck ontop of it. But when we came here this morning it was gone."
"That is strange," commented Inspector Payne. "What was the plan like?And how does Mr. Marsland know it had anything to do with the missingmoney?"
"Of course he doesn't know for certain. But when I happened to tell himabout the murdered man's grandfather and the missing money he calledto mind a strange-looking paper he had picked up. As he described itto me, it had some figures written in the shape of a circle on it, andsome letters or writing above and below the circle of figures. He didnot scrutinize it very closely when he first found it, for he intendedto examine it later."
"And it disappeared after Mr. Marsland left the farm to go to thepolice station?" asked Detective Gillett.
"Showing, to my mind, that the murderer was actually in the house whenMr. Marsland left," added Sergeant Westaway, with impressive solemnity."In all probability the murderer was hiding in the top floor at thetime. I have ascertained that the crash Mr. Marsland heard was causedby a picture being knocked down and the glass broken. This pictureI found on the stairs leading to the top floor. It used to hang onthe wall near the top of the stairs. My theory is that the murderer,feeling his way in the dark while Mr. Marsland was in this room,accidentally knocked it down."
"I take it that Marsland did not go up to the top floor but left thehouse after examining the body," remarked Detective Gillett.
"That is so," replied the Sergeant. "He forgot about the crash when hefound the body of a murdered man. His first thought was to communicatewith the police."
"And the murderer, leaving the house after Marsland had gone, foundthis plan on the table and took it?" suggested Detective Gillett.
"That is my theory," replied Sergeant Westaway. "I forgot to say,however, that the plan was probably stolen in the first place from themurdered man's pocket-book--his pocket-book was found on the tablenear him. It had been opened and most of the papers it contained hadbeen removed. The papers were scattered about the table. The way I seethe crime is this: the murderer had killed his victim, had removed hispocket-book, and had obtained possession of the plan. He was making hisway downstairs to escape when he saw Marsland in the doorway. In hisalarm he dropped the plan on the stairs and then crept softly upstairsto the top of the house. After Mr. Marsland left, the murderer camedownstairs again, looked about for the plan, and after finding it thenmade off."
"A very ingenious reconstruction, sergeant," said Inspector Payne. "Ishouldn't wonder if it proved to be correct. What do you say, Gillett?"
"Westaway is wasting his time down here," said the young detective."We ought to have him at Scotland Yard."