CHAPTER VII
DETECTIVE GILLETT made a journey to London in order to visit SomersetHouse and inspect the will left by James Lumsden, the grandfather ofthe man who had been murdered. He had been able to ascertain, fromlocal sources of information at Ashlingsea, some of the details ofthe will, but as an experienced detective he knew the value of exactdetails obtained from official sources.
His perusal of the will showed him that Cliff Farm and all thetestator's investments and personal property had been left to hisnephew Frank, with the exception of legacies to three old servants whohad been in his employ for over a quarter of a century.
Gillett had ascertained from previous inquiries that Frank was atthe front in France when his grandfather died. He had been brought upat the farm, but as his inclinations did not tend to a farming life,he had left his grandfather, and gone to London, where he had earneda livelihood as a clerk prior to enlisting in the Army. According toAshlingsea gossip, old James Lumsden had been a man of considerablewealth: though local estimates of his fortune varied considerably,ranging from L20,000 to five times that amount. Gillett's inspection ofthe terms of the will convinced him that the lower amount was somewhatnearer the correct figure; and an interview with Messrs. Holding,Thomas & Holding, the London solicitors who had drawn up the will,supported this view.
It was the elder Mr. Holding, the senior partner of the firm, whohad transacted Mr. Lumsden's business and had taken the instructionsfor drawing up the will. The document had been executed seven yearsago. Mr. Holden, senior, a white haired old gentleman whose benignappearance seemed out of harmony with the soulless profession headorned, told Gillett that Mr. Lumsden had consulted him on severaloccasions about business matters, but the old man was extremelyintelligent and capable, and kept his affairs so entirely in his ownhands that he was not a very profitable client.
The solicitor did not even know the extent of the old farmer'sinvestments, for his client, who hated to disclose much of his privateaffairs even to his solicitor, had taken care when the will wasdrawn up not to tell him much about the sources of his income. Mr.Holding had been consulted by Frank Lumsden after he had come into hisgrandfather's estate, and on his behalf had made some investigationsconcerning the time the old man had converted his securities into cash.Of course the grandfather had lost heavily in doing so, for the stockmarket was greatly depressed immediately after the war broke out. Buthe had probably realized between ten and fifteen thousand pounds incash.
Where this money had gone was a mystery. All the ready money thatFrank Lumsden had handled when he came into the property was the sumof eighty-five pounds, which had been standing to the old farmer'scredit in the bank at Staveley. Most of this amount had been swallowedup by the funeral and legal expenses connected with the transfer ofthe deeds. The young man had naturally been eager to find some traceof the missing money. Mr. Holding was inclined to the belief that theold man's mental balance had been disturbed by the war. He thought thatfear of a German invasion had preyed on his mind to such an extentthat he had buried his money, intending to dig it up after the war wasover. Frank had sold some of the farming machinery in order to providehimself with ready money. In this way over L200 had been obtained.
Nothing had been paid to the three old servants who had been leftlegacies. The old farmer had fractured his skull through fallingdownstairs, and had died without recovering consciousness, andtherefore without realizing the emptiness of the reward he had left tohis faithful servants. To Mrs. Thorpe, his housekeeper, he intendedto leave L200, and legacies of half that amount to two of his oldfarm-hands, Samuel Hockridge and Thomas Jauncey.
Mrs. Thorpe was a widow who had had charge of the domestic managementof the house for thirty-seven years. Hockridge, who was over seventyyears of age, had spent over thirty years with James Lumsden asshepherd, and Jauncey, another shepherd, had been twenty-eight years atCliff Farm.
Detective Gillett had no difficulty in tracing each of these threeold servants and interviewing them. Mrs. Thorpe had gone to live witha married daughter at Woolwich. Gillett found her a comparativelycheerful old woman, and, though the loss of her legacy which her oldmaster had intended to leave her was a sore memory, she had littlecomplaint to make against him. She was full of hope that her master'smoney would ultimately be found and that she would get her legacy.
Hockridge had gone into the service of a neighbouring sheep-farmer onthe Staveley Downs. It was true that his best days were over, but hehad a profound practical knowledge of sheep, and as labour was scarce,owing to the war, the farmer had been glad to get him. When Gillettinterviewed him in his new employment he found that the loss of hispromised legacy from his old master had soured him. To the detective'soptimistic view that the missing money would be found, he replied thatit would be too late for him--he would be in his grave.
One hundred pounds was more than his year's earnings, and itrepresented wealth to him. He dwelt on the ease and comfort he wouldhave been able to command with so much money. He could give no clueregarding the hiding-place of the old farmer's fortune. He was familiarwith every foot of ground on the farm, but he knew of no place thatsuggested a hiding-place for a large sum of money. If it had beenburied, his old master must have buried it himself, and therefore thegarden was the most likely place. But the garden had been turned overby zealous searchers under the direction of Master Frank, and no traceof money had been found there.
It was evident to Detective Gillett that this feeble old man had notkilled Frank Lumsden. Although he regarded the loss of the legacyas the greatest disappointment that could befall any man, he feltno active resentment. He accepted it as a staggering blow from fatewhich had dealt him many blows during a long life. The detective'sinquiries showed that on the day of the murder, and for weeks beforeit, Hockridge performed his ordinary duties on the farm of his newemployer, and therefore could not have been near Cliff Farm, which wasten miles away from the farm on which he was now employed.
Thomas Jauncey was an inmate of Staveley Infirmary, suffering from asevere attack of rheumatism which rendered him unable to get aboutexcept with the aid of two sticks. Gillett's inquiries established thefact that he was crippled in this way when Frank Lumsden was murdered.Nevertheless, he went over to Staveley to interview the old man. Hefound him sitting in a chair which had been wheeled into the yard tocatch the weak rays of the autumn sunshine. He was a tall old man,with a large red weather-beaten face surrounded by a fringe of whitewhisker, and his two hands, which were crossed on a stick he held infront of him, were twisted and gnarled with the rheumatism that hadcome to him as a result of half a century's shepherding on the bleakdowns. The mention of the legacy he had not received brought a spark ofresentment to his dim eyes.
"Seems to me I ought to have been paid some'et of what belongs to me,"he said to Detective Gillett, after that officer had engaged him inconversation about his late master. "Why didn't Master Frank sell thefarm and pay his grandfather's debts according to what the will said?That's what ought to be done."
"Well, of course, he might have done that," said the detectivesoothingly. "But there are different ways of looking at things."
"There is a right way and a wrong way," said the old shepherd, in atone which ruled out the idea of compromise as weakness. "I ought tohave been paid some'et. That's what my son says."
"Ah!" said Gillett, with sudden interest. "That is how your son looksat it, is it? And now I come to consider it, I think he's right. He's aman with ideas."
"No one can't say as he ain't always been a clever lad," said thewithered parent, with a touch of pride in his offspring.
"I'd like to meet him," said the detective; "Where is he to be found?"
"He is gard'ner to Mrs. Maynard at Ashlingsea. Mrs. Maynard she thinksa heap of him."
"Ah, yes," said Gillett. "I remember Sergeant Westaway telling me thatyou had a son there. I'll look him up and have a talk with him aboutyour legacy. We may be able to do something--he and I."
On returning to Ashlingsea
, Detective Gillett made inquiries concerningthe gardener at "Beverley," the house of Mrs. Maynard. SergeantWestaway was able to supply him with a great deal of information, as hehad known young Tom Jauncey for over a score of years. Young Tom wasonly relatively young, for he was past forty, but he bore the odd titleof Young Tom as a label to distinguish him from his father, who to thepeople of Ashlingsea was old Tom.
The information Gillett obtained was not of a nature which suggestedthat young Tom was the sort of man who might commit a murder. Mrs.Maynard lived on her late husband's estate two miles south fromAshlingsea. The household consisted at present of herself, herdaughter, a cook, a housemaid and young Tom, who was gardener, groomand handy man. Young Tom bore a reputation for being "a steady sort ofchap." He liked his glass of ale, and was usually to be found at _TheBlack-Horned Sheep_ for an hour or so of an evening, but no one hadever seen him the worse for liquor.
Detective Gillett took a stroll over to "Beverley" in order tointerview young Tom. The house, an old stone building, stood in themidst of its grounds--well away from the sea--on a gentle eminencewhich commanded an extensive view of the rolling downs for many milesaround, but the old stone building was sheltered from the fury ofChannel gales by a plantation of elm-trees.
The detective found his man digging in the kitchen-garden and preparingthe ground for the spring sowing. Young Tom was a thickset man ofmiddle age with a large round face that he had inherited from hisfather. He was a man of slow thought, slow actions, and hard to moveonce he had made up his mind. According to Gillett's standards hisappearance scarcely justified the parental description of him as aclever lad.
The detective was not an expert in gardening, his life having beenspent in congested areas of London where the luxury of a plot ofground is unknown, but something in young Tom's method of diggingattracted his attention. It was obvious that young Tom was not puttingmuch energy into the operation. The fact that his shirt-sleeves werenot rolled up but were buttoned at the wrist seemed to bear outthis opinion. With his heavy boot young Tom pressed down the spadevigorously, but he brought up only a thin spadeful of earth each time.Then with his spade in his right hand he twisted the blade among theearth so as to break it up.
Detective Gillett brought the conversation round from the weather andvegetable growing to his recent visit to young Tom's father. He spokeof the legacy and expressed regret that old Tom, who if he had hisrights would be able to pay for proper care and nourishment, shouldhave had to go to the infirmary. But, according to Detective Gillett,even adversity had its uses. The fact that old Tom was practicallybedridden when the murder was committed prevented the idle gossip ofthe town from trying to connect him with the tragedy.
The detective had not expected to find in young Tom a fluentconversationalist, but after a few moments he came to the conclusionthat he was a more than ordinarily hesitating one, even according tothe slow standard of Ashlingsea. Apparently young Tom did not want todiscuss the murder. Detective Gillett kept the conversation on thatsubject and soon arrived at the conclusion that young Tom was uneasy.It came to him suddenly that what was wrong with the man's method ofdigging was that to all practical purpose he was using only one arm.Young Tom was careful not to put any weight on his left arm.
"What is wrong with your arm?" exclaimed the detective in animperative tone.
Tom stopped digging and looked at him.
"Nothing," he replied in a surly tone.
"Let me have a look," said the detective, stepping towards him.
"No, I won't," answered young Tom, stepping back slowly.
Gillett looked him over from head to foot as if measuring him. His eyesrested on the man's boots, and then turned to an impression made on thesoft earth by one of the boots.
"I want you to come along to the police station with me," he saidsuddenly.
"What for?" asked Tom in a tone of defiance.
Gillett looked him over again as if to assure himself that he had madeno mistake in his first measurements.
"I'll tell you when you get there," was the reply.
"I had nothing to do with it," said Tom.
It was plain to Gillett that the man was undergoing a mental strain.
"With what?" asked the detective.
"With what you want to ask me about."
For a clever lad young Tom seemed to be making a hash of things.
"I have not said what it is," said Gillett.
"But I know," said Tom.
If that was the extent of young Tom's cleverness it seemed to beleading him in the direction of the gallows.
"You think it is about this murder?" suggested Gillett.
There was a long silence. Gillett kept his eyes steadily on his man,determined not to help him out by substituting another question for theplain one that Tom found it so difficult to answer.
"I'll come with you to the police station," said Tom at length. "Butyou go first and I'll follow you behind."
It was obvious to Detective Gillett that Tom wanted to avoid giving thevillage cause for gossip by his being taken to the police station by adetective. The detective was not disposed to consider Tom's feelings,but he reflected that his main purpose was to get Tom to the station,and that since he was not prepared to arrest Tom at present it wasdesirable to get him there as quietly as possible.
"No," he said. "You go on ahead and I'll follow."
Tom accepted this plan and walked up the village street to the policestation with the detective about forty yards behind. Constable Heatherwas in charge of the station, and when he saw Tom he greeted himaffably. When Heather was made to realize by Tom's awkwardness thatDetective Gillett was responsible for his visit, he whistled in asignificant manner.
When Gillett entered the building Tom rolled up the sleeve of his leftarm and displayed a bandage round the upper part.
"Do you want to see this?" he asked doggedly.
"I do," replied the detective with keen interest. He was anxious as tothe nature of the wound, but he was too cautious to display a curiositywhich would reveal his ignorance. He assisted at unwinding the bandage.
"Be careful," said Tom wincing, as the detective's hand touched hisarm. "The bullet is in it."
"Is it?" said Gillett.
When the bandage was off he examined the wound carefully. It was abullet wound through the fleshy upper part of the arm, dangerouslyinflamed and swollen from dirt and neglect.
"You had better get this attended to," said Gillett. "There is a riskof blood poisoning and the bullet must be removed. You'll be morecomfortable without that bullet, and I want it."
"I had nothing to do with him," said Tom. He spoke in a loud excitedvoice. It was evident that he was feeling the strain of being undersuspicion.
"But you were at Cliff Farm the night Frank Lumsden was murdered," saidGillett, eyeing him closely as he put the question.
Young Tom nodded a surly admission, but did not speak.
"What were you doing there? How did you get this?" Detective Gillettpointed to the wound. "Take my advice and make a clean breast of it.I'll give you five minutes to make up your mind." Gillett picked up apair of handcuffs from the office table as he spoke, and jingled themtogether nonchalantly.
Young Tom's ruddy colour faded as he glanced at the handcuffs, andfrom them his eyes wandered to Police Constable Heather, as thoughseeking his counsel to help him out of the awkward position in whichhe found himself. But Police Constable Heather's chubby face was setin implacable lines, in which young Tom could recognize no trace ofthe old acquaintance who for years past had made one of the friendlyevening circle in the tap-room of _The Black-Horned Sheep_. Young Tomturned his gaze to the floor and after remaining in silent cogitationfor some moments spoke:
"I was in the garden. It was before the storm came on. I don't know whokilled Frank Lumsden. I didn't see either of them. They were in thehouse before I got there. I saw a light in a room upstairs. Then a gunor something of the kind was fired and I felt that I was hit. I got upand ran."
"Do you mean that some one fired at you from the house?"
"That's what I mean."
"Whereabouts were you?"
"Just near the cherry-tree at the side of the house."
"Did you see who fired it at you?"
"No."
"Didn't anyone call out and ask you what you were doing there?"
"No."
"He just fired--whoever it was."
"I heard the gun go off and then I felt a pain in my arm. I touched itand saw it was bleeding. Then I ran and that is all I know."
"I want to know a lot more than that," said Gillett sternly. "Yourstory won't hold water. What were you doing there in the first place?Why did you go there?"
"I went there to look for the money. I thought there was no one at homeand I meant to look for it in the garden round about."
"Did you take a spade with you?" asked Gillett.
"What would I want to do that for?" asked Tom.
"Well, you can't dig without a spade," said Gillett.
"There's spades enough in the barn," said Tom.
"You meant to dig for the money?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In the garden."
"Whereabouts in the garden? Don't you know that the garden has beenturned over several times?"
"I've heard that, but I wanted to dig for myself."
"It would take one man a week to dig over the garden. No one knows thatbetter than you."
"I was going to try just near the pear-tree. I count that's a likelyplace."
"And did you dig there?"
"No. Didn't I tell you there was lights in the house when I got there?"
"A likely story," sneered the detective. "You went there to dig inthe garden, although you knew it had been turned over thoroughly. Youdidn't take a spade with you, and you didn't turn over as much as asingle clod. But you came away with a bullet wound in the arm from ahouse in which the murdered body of the owner was subsequently found."
Dull as young Tom was, he seemed to realize that the detective had agift of making things appear as black as they could be.
"I've told you the truth," he said obstinately.
"And I don't believe a word of your story," said Detective Gillett.