CHAPTER II
P.C. ROBINSON "TAKES A LINE"
"It will help me a lot, sir," he said, "if you tell me now what you knowabout this matter. If, as seems more than likely, murder has been done, Idon't want to lose a minute in starting my inquiries. In a case of thissort I find it best to take a line, and stick to it."
His tone was respectful but firm. Evidently, P.C. Robinson was not one tobe trifled with. Moreover, for a sleuth whose maximum achievementhitherto had been the successful prosecution of a poultry thief, it wassignificant that the unconscious irony of "a case of this sort" shouldhave been lost on him.
"Do you really insist on conducting your investigation while the body islying here?" demanded Grant, deliberately turning his back on the girl inthe distant cottage.
"Not that, sir--not altogether--but I must really ask you to clear up oneor two points now."
"For goodness' sake, what are they?"
"Well, sir, in the first place, how did you come to find the body?"
"I walked out into the garden after finishing breakfast a fewminutes ago, and noticed the rope attached to the staple, just asyou see it now."
"Did you walk straight here?"
"No. Not exactly. I was--er--curious about the face I saw, or thought Isaw, last night, and looked into the room through the same window. Bydoing so I scared Mrs. Bates, who was clearing the table, and shescreamed--"
"Her would, too," put in Bates. "Her'd take 'ee for Owd Ben's ghost."
"You shut up, Bates," said the policeman. "Don't interrupt Mr. Grant."
Grant was conscious of an undercurrent of suspicion in theconstable's manner. He was wroth with the man, but recognized that hehad to deal with narrow-minded self-importance, so contrived again tocurb his temper.
"I am not acquainted with old Ben or his ghost," he said quietly. "I canonly tell you that I went inside to reassure Mrs. Bates, and thenstrolled slowly to this very spot. Naturally, I could not miss the ropeand the stable. To my mind, it was not intended that I or anyone elseshould miss them. I regarded them as so peculiar that I shouted forBates. He came at once, and drew the body out of the water."
"And you recognized the dead woman as the one you saw last night?"
"Yes."
"At about ten minutes to eleven?"
"Yes."
"Is it likely, sir, that any other person saw her in these grounds abit earlier?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, sir, I can't put it much plainer. Could anybody else have seen herhere, say about 10.15?"
Grant met the policeman's inquiring glance squarely before he answered.
"It is possible, of course," he said, "but most unlikely."
"Were you alone here at that hour?"
Again Grant sought and held that inquisitive gaze, held it until Robinsonaffected to consult his notes. There was a moment of tense silence. Thenthe reply came with an icy stubbornness that was not to be denied.
"I decline absolutely to be cross-examined about my movements. If you areunable or unwilling to order the removal of the body, I'll telegraph tothe chief of police at Knolesworth, and ask him to act. Further, I shallrequest Dr. Foxton to examine the poor lady's injuries. It strikes me asa monstrous proceeding that you should attempt to record my evidence atthis moment, and I refuse to become a party to it."
"Now, then, Robinson, stop yer Sherlock Holmes work, an' help me to liftthis poor woman on to the stretcher," said Bates gruffly.
The policeman's red face grew a shade deeper with annoyance, but he hadthe sense to avoid a scene. He was not popular in the village, and waswell aware that the two rustics pressed into service as stretcher-bearerswould joyfully retail the fact that he had been "set down a peg or two byMr. Grant."
"I'll do all that's necessary in that way, sir," he said stiffly. "Isuppose you have no objection to my askin' if you noticed any strangefootprints on the ground hereabouts?"
"That was the first thing I looked for, both here and outside thewindow--the latter, of course, for another reason. I found none. Thesestones would show no signs. The ground is so dry that even the five mennow present leave no traces, but I remember seeing in the bed of thestream certain marks which, unfortunately, were obliterated when Bateshauled the body ashore. They were valueless, however--shapelessindentations in the mud and sand."
"Were they wide apart or close together, sir?"
"Quite irregular. No one could judge by the length of the stride whetherthey were made by the feet of a man or a woman, if that is what you havein mind ... but, really--"
Grant's impatient motion was not to be misunderstood. Robinson stooped,removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how itwas tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well. Thenhe and the villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug beingrequisitioned once more to hide that wan face from the vivid sunshine.
Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers whenpuzzled; he did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull hisjaws apart in order to emit speech.
"I've a sort of idee, sir," he said slowly, "that Robinson saw DorisMartin on the lawn with 'ee last night."
Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
"Miss Martin's name must be kept out of this matter," he growled.
But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
"All very well a-sayin' that, sir, but a-doin' of it is a bird of anothercolor," argued Bates firmly.
"How did you know that Miss Martin was here?"
"Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk knoweverythink about other folk's business? Sometimes we know more'n theyknows themselves. You've not walked a yard wi' Doris that the women'stittle-tattle hasn't made it into a mile."
No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth. For a fewseconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and nearlyblurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue. Luckily,since Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to saysarcastically:
"Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you canassure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some strangewoman, tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river."
"Me an' my missis couldn't help seein' you an' Doris a-lookin' at thestars through a spyglass when us were goin' to bed," persisted Bates. "Weheerd your voices quite plain. Once 'ee fixed the glass low down, an'said, 'That's serious. It's late to-night.' An' I tell 'ee straight, sir,I said to the missis:--'It will be serious, an' all, if Doris's fathercatches her gallivantin' in our garden wi' Mr. Grant nigh on teno'clock.' Soon after that 'ee took Doris as far as the bridge. The windowwas open, an' I heerd your footsteps on the road. You kem' in, closed thewindow, an' drew a chair up to the table. After that, I fell asleep."
Perturbed and anxious though he was, Grant could hardly fail to see thatBates meant well by him. The mental effort needed for such a long speechsaid as much. The allusion to Sirius, amusing at any other time, was nowmost valuable, because an astronomical almanac would give the hour atwhich that brilliant star became visible. Other considerations yielded atonce, however, to the fear lest Robinson and his note-book were alreadybusy at the post office. Without another word, he hurried away by theside-path through the evergreens, leaving Bates staring after him, and,with more whisker-pulling, examining the rope and staple, which, by thepoliceman's order, were not to be disturbed.
Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with thestretcher were crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a hundredyards below The Hollies. A slight, youthful, and eminently attractivefemale figure, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, came in sightat the same time, and Grant almost groaned aloud when the newcomer stoodstock still and looked at the mournful procession. He, be it remembered,was somewhat of an idealist and a poet; it grieved his spirit that thosetwo women, the quick and the dead, should meet on the bridge. He took itas a porte
nt, almost a menace, he knew not of what. He might haveforeseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented it, but his brainrefused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and bizarre crime hadbemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of waking nightmare.
He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt andexchange some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quitedefinite if equally mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonablebehavior. He was saved from an act of unmitigated folly by the girlherself. She caught sight of him, apparently broke off her talk with thepoliceman abruptly, and, in her turn, took to her heels.
Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to thecrown of the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two menjogging along with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a youngwoman running towards each other, and a discomfited representative ofthe law, looking now one way and now the other, and evidently undecidedwhether to go on or return. Ultimately, it would seem, Robinson wentwith the stretcher-bearers, because Grant and the girl saw no more ofhim for the time.
Grant had received several shocks since rising from the breakfast-table,but it was left for Doris Martin, the postmaster's daughter, toadminister not the least surprising one.
Though almost breathless, and wide-eyed with horror, her opening wordswere very much to the point.
"How awful!" she cried. "Why should any-one in Steynholme want to kill agreat actress like Adelaide Melhuish?"
Now, the name of the dead woman was literally the last thing Grantexpected to hear from this girl's lips, and the astounding factmomentarily banished all other worries.
"You knew her?" he gasped.
"No, not exactly. But I couldn't avoid recognizing her when she asked forher letters, and sent a telegram."
"But--"
"Oh, Robinson told me she was dead. I see now what is puzzling you."
"It is not quite that. I mean, why didn't you tell me she was inSteynholme? Has she been staying here any length of time?"
The girl's pretty face crimsoned, and then grew pale.
"I--had no idea--she was--a friend of yours, Mr. Grant," she stammered.
"She used to be a friend, but I have not set eyes on her during the pastthree years--until last night."
"Last night!"
"After you had gone home. I was doing some work, and, having occasion toconsult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window near thebookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman's face, _her_ face, peering in,and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but everything wasso still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken."
"Oh, is that what it was?"
Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some feelingdistinctly akin to despair.
"You don't usually speak in enigmas, Doris," he said. "What in the worlddo you mean by saying:--'Oh, is that what it was?'"
The girl--she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragicmystery entered her sheltered life--seemed to recover herself-possession with a quickness and decision that were admirable.
"There is no enigma," she said calmly. "My room overlooks your lawn.Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have anotherpeep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help seeing youfling open the French windows, stand a little while on the step, and goin again."
"Ah, you saw that? Then I have one witness who will help to dispel thatstupid policeman's notion that I killed Miss Melhuish, and hid her bodyin the river at the foot of the lawn, hid it with such care that thefirst passerby must find it."
Every human being has three distinct personalities. Firstly, there is theman or woman as he or she really is; secondly, there is the much superiorindividual as assessed personally; thirdly, and perhaps the mostimportant in the general scheme of things, there is the sameindividuality as viewed by others. For an instant, the somewhat idealizedfigure which John Menzies Grant offered to a pretty and intelligent butinexperienced girl was in danger of losing its impressiveness. But, sinceGrant was not only a good fellow but a gentleman, his next thoughtrestored him to the pedestal from which, all unknowing, he had nearlybeen dethroned.
"That is a nice thing to say," he cried, with a short laugh of sheervexation. "Here am I regarding you as a first-rate witness in my behalf,whereas my chief worry is to keep you out of this ugly businessaltogether. Forgive me, Doris! Never before have I been so bothered.Honestly, I imagined I hadn't an enemy in the world, yet someone hastried deliberately to saddle me with suspicion in this affair. Not that Iwould give real heed to that consideration if it were not for the unhappyprobability that, strive as I may, your name will crop up in connectionwith it. What sort of fellow is this police constable? Do you think hewould keep his mouth shut if I paid him well?"
Grant was certainly far from being in his normal state of mind, or hewould have caught the tender gleam which lighted the girl's eyes when sheunderstood that his concern was for her, not for himself. As it was,several things had escaped him during that brief talk on the sunlit road.
On her part, Doris Martin was now in full control of her emotions, andshe undoubtedly took a saner view of a difficult situation.
"Robinson is a vain man," she said thoughtfully. "He will not let go thechance of notoriety given him by the murder of a well-known actress. Wasshe really murdered? Robinson said so when I met him on the bridge."
"I'm afraid he is justified in that belief, at any rate."
"Well, Mr. Grant, what have we to conceal? I was in your garden at arather late hour, I admit, but one cannot watch the stars by day, and abig telescope with its tripod is not easily carried about. Of course,father will be vexed, because, as it happens, I did not tell him I wascoming out. But that cannot be helped. As it happens, I can fix the timeyou opened your window almost to a minute, because the church clock hadchimed the quarter just before you appeared."
Grant, however, was not to be soothed by this matter-of-fact reasoning.
"I am vexed at the mere notion of your name, and possibly your portrait,appearing in the newspapers," he protested. "Miss Melhuish was acelebrated actress. The press will make a rare commotion about her death.Look at the obvious questions that will be raised. What was she doinghere? Why was she found in the river bordering the grounds of my house?Don't you see? I had to decide pretty quickly whether or not I wouldadmit any previous knowledge of her. I suppose I acted rightly?"
"Why hide anything, Mr. Grant? Surely it is always best to tellthe truth!"
He looked into those candid blue eyes, and drew from their limpid depthsan element of strength and fortitude.
"By Jove, Doris, small wonder if a jaded man of the world, such as I waswhen I came to Steynholme, found new faith and inspiration in friendshipwith you," he said gratefully. "But I am wool-gathering all the time thismorning, it would seem. Won't you come into the house? If we have todiscuss a tragedy we may as well sit down to it."
"No," she said, with the promptitude of one who had anticipated theinvitation. "I must hurry home. There are accounts to be made up. AndRobinson and others will be telegraphing to Knoleworth and London. I mustattend to all that, because dad gets flustered if several messages arehanded in at the same time."
"Come and have tea, then, about four o'clock. The ravens will havefled by then."
"The ravens?"
"The police, you dear child, and the reporters, and thephotographers--the flock of weird fowl which gathers from all points ofthe compass when the press gets hold of what is called 'a first-ratestory,' By midday I shall be in the thick of it. But, thank goodness,they will know nothing to draw them your way until the inquest takesplace, and not even then if _I_ can manage it."
"Don't mind me, Mr. Grant. You must not keep anything back on my account.I'll try and come at four. But I may be very busy in the office. By theway, you ought to know. Miss Melhuish came here on Sunday evening. Shearrived by the train from London. I--happened to notice her as she passedin the Hare and Hounds 'bus. She took a room t
here, at the inn, I mean,and came to the post office twice yesterday. When I heard her name Irecognized her at once from her photographs. And--one more thing--Iguessed there was something wrong when I saw you, and Robinson, andBates, and the other men standing near a body lying close to the river.That is why I came out. Now I really must go. Good-by!"
She hastened away. Grant stood in the road and looked after her.Apparently she was conscious that he had not stirred, because, when shereached the bridge, she turned and waved a hand to him. She wasexceedingly graceful in all her movements. She wore a simple white linenblouse and short white skirt that morning, with brown shoes and stockingswhich harmonized with the deeper tints of her Titian red hair. As shepaused on the bridge for a second or two, silhouetted against the sky,she suggested to Grant's troubled mind the Spirit of Summer.
Returning to the house by way of the main gate, which gave on to thehighway, he bethought him of Mrs. Bates and Minnie. They must beenlightened, and warned as to the certain influx of visitors. He resolvednow to tackle a displeasing task boldly. Realizing that the worstpossible policy lay in denying himself to the representatives of thepress, who would simply ascertain the facts from other sources, andunconsciously adopt a critical vein with regard to himself, he determinedto go to the other extreme, and receive all comers.
Of course, there would be reservations in his story. That is what everyman decides who faces a legal inquiry as a novice. It is a decision toooften regretted in the light of after events.
Meanwhile, P. C. Robinson was hard at work. In his own phrase, he "took aline," and the trend of his thoughts was clearly demonstrated when asuperintendent motored over from Knoleworth in response to a telegram. Hetold how the body had been found, and then went into details gathered inthe interim.
"Miss Melhuish hadn't been in the village five minutes," he said, "beforeshe asked Mr. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds, where The Hollieswas, and how long Mr. Grant had lived in the village. She went for a walkin the direction of his house almost at once. Tomlin watched her untilshe crossed the bridge. That was on Sunday evening."
Superintendent Fowler allowed his placid features to show a flicker ofsurprise. In that rural district an actual, downright murder was almostunknown. Even a case of manslaughter, arising out of a drunken quarrelbetween laborers at fair-time, did not occur once in five years.
"Oh, she came here on Sunday, did she?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Yesterday, too, she spoke of Mr. Grant to Hobbs, the butcher,and Siddle, the chemist."
The two were closeted in the sitting-room of Robinson's cottage, whichwas situated on the main road near the bridge. It faced the short, steephill overhanging the river. A triangular strip of turf formed the villagegreen, and the houses of Steynholme clustered around this and a side roadclimbing the hill. From door and windows nearly every shop and residencein the village proper could be seen. In front of the Hare and Hounds hadgathered a group of men, and it was easy to guess the topic they werediscussing. The superintendent, who did not know any of them, had nodifficulty in identifying Hobbs, who looked a butcher and was dressedlike one, or Tomlin, who was either born an innkeeper or had been coachedin the part by a stage expert. A thin, sharp-looking person, pallid andblack-haired, wearing a morning coat and striped trousers, must surely beSiddle, while a fourth, the youngest there, and of rather sporting guise,was apparently a farmer of a horse-breeding turn.
"Who is that fellow in the leggings?" inquired the superintendentirrelevantly. He was looking through the window, and Robinson consideredthat the question showed a lack of interest in his statement, though hedared not hint at such a thing.
"He's a Mr. Elkin, sir," he said. "As I was saying--"
"How does Mr. Elkin make a living?" broke in the other.
"He breeds hacks and polo ponies," said Robinson, rather shortly.
"Ah, I thought so. Well, go on with your story."
Robinson was irritated, and justly so. His superior had put him off his"line." He took it up again sharply, leaving out of court for the momentthe various rills of evidence which, in his opinion, united into aswift-moving stream.
"The fact is, sir," he blurted out, "there is an uncommonly strong caseagainst Mr. John Menzies Grant."
"Phew!" whistled the superintendent.
"I think you'll agree with me, sir, when you hear what I've gatheredabout him one way and another."
Robinson was sure of his audience now. Quite unconsciously, he hadapplied the chief canon of realism in art. He had conveyed his effect byone striking note. The rest of the picture was quite subsidiary to thebold splurge of color evoked by actually naming the man he suspected ofmurdering Adelaide Melhuish.