The Inspector nodded, his eyes on the Doctor, who was kneeling behind the body. “Sergeant Hamlyn says you identified him. Who is he? Don't seem to know his face.”
“Well, I daresay you might not, sir. It's Mr Vereker, of Riverside Cottage.”
“Oh!” said the Inspector with a little sniff. “One of those week-end people. Anything out of the way, Doctor?”
“I shall have to do a PM, of course,” grumbled the Doctor, getting up rather ponderously from his knees. “But it looks quite a straight case. Knife wound a little below the left shoulder-blade. Death probably occurred instantaneously.”
The Inspector watched him at work on the body for a moment or two, and presently asked: “Formed any opinion of the time it was done, sir?”
“Say two to four hours,” replied the Doctor, and straightened his back. “That's all for the present, thanks.”
The Inspector turned to Constable Dickenson. “Know how the body was sitting when you found it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Put it back as near as you can. Ready with that flashlight, Thompson?”
Constable Dickenson did not care much for the task allotted him, but he went up at once to the body and raised it to the original position, and carefully laid one arm across the stiffening legs. The Inspector watched him in silence, and, when he stepped back at last, made a sign to the photographer.
By the time the photographer had finished his work the police ambulance had arrived, and a light was turned on in one of the windows of an adjacent cottage. The Inspector cast a shrewd glance up at the window and said curtly: “Right. You can take him out now. Careful how you touch that bar! We may get a finger-print.”
The bar of the stocks was raised, the body lifted out and carried to the ambulance, just as the lighted window was thrown up and a tousled head poked out. A ghoulishly expectant voice called out: “What's the matter? Has there been an accident? Anybody hurt?”
“Just a bit of an accident, Mrs Duke,” replied Constable Dickenson. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
The head was withdrawn, but the voice could be heard adjuring one Horace to get up quick, because the police were outside with an ambulance and all.
“What I know of this village, we'll have a whole pack of busybodies here inside of ten minutes,” said the Inspector, with a grim little smile. “All right, you men: mortuary. Now then, Dickenson , lets here what you can tell us. When did you discover the body?”
“By my reckoning, sir, it would be about ten minutes to two. It was just on two when I rung up the Station, me having been out on patrol.”
“You didn't see anyone here? No car? Didn't hear anything?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
“Was the man - what's his name - Vereker, staying at Riverside Cottage?”
“Not to my knowledge he wasn't sir, but then he didn't, not during the week as a general rule. It being Saturday, I figured it out he must have been on his way down to the Cottage. Mrs Beaton would know whether he was there. She'd have had her orders to go in and make things ready for him.”
“Does she live out?”
“Yes, sir. Pennyfarthing Row, a couple of minutes from the cottage. She keeps the place clean, and gets in milk and eggs and such, when he's coming down. He often gets down late on Saturdays, so she was telling me. I have known him to bring his valet down to do for him, but just as often he comes alone.” He paused, and corrected himself. “When I say alone, I mean he often don't bring a servant with him.”
“What do you mean?” inquired the Doctor.
“Well, sir, he sometimes bring friends down with him.” He gave a little cough. “Most often females, so I've heard.”
“Wife? Sister?” interrupted the Inspector.
“Oh no, sir! Nothing like that,” replied the Constable, rather shocked.
“Oh , that kind of female!” said the Inspector. “We'd better go round first thing in the morning to Riverside Cottage, and see if there's anything to be got there. There's nothing here. Ground's too dry for footprints. We'll get along, Doctor, if you're ready. You'll hand in your report tomorrow, Dickenson, see? You can go off to bed now.” He moved away towards the car with the Doctor. Constable Dickenson heard him say in his dry way: “Looks to me like a case for the Yard. London man. Nothing to do with us. Nice easy case too - if they can lay their hands on the woman.”
“Quite,” agreed the Doctor, smothering a yawn. “If he had a woman with him.”
Chapter Two
Inspector Jerrold made a very early call on the Chief Constable next morning, and found him eating his breakfast. He apologised for disturbing him, but the Colonel merely waved him to a chair, and said: “Not at all. What's your trouble? Anything serious?”
“Pretty serious, sir. Man found stabbed to death at Ashleigh Green at 1.50 this morning.”
“Good God! You don't say so! Who is it?”
“Gentleman of the name of Arnold Vereker, sir, of Riverside Cottage.”
“God bless my soul!” ejaculated the Colonel, putting down his coffee-cup. “Who did it? Any idea?”
“No, sir, none. No clues at all so far. The body was found by Constable Dickenson - in the stocks.”
“In the what?”
“Does sound odd, doesn't it, sir? But that's how it was.”
“Do you mean he was put in the stocks and then stabbed, or what?”
“It's hard to say, sir. Not much bleeding, you see: nothing on the ground. Might have been stabbed first, though why anyone should take the trouble to put the body in the stocks I can't make out. He was in evening dress, no hat or overcoat, and the only thing we've got so far that looks like helping us at all is his hands, which were dirty. Smear of motor-oil on one, inference being he'd had to change a tyre, or do some repair on a car. But his car's not there, and not at the garage either. Of course, he may have walked into the village from Riverside Cottage - it's under a mile away - but it seems a funny thing to do at that hour of night. The Doctor doesn't put the hour of the murder earlier than twelve o'clock, or thereabouts. No, it looks like he was motoring down with someone or other for the week-end. What I thought, sir, was that I should go off to Riverside Cottage first thing after seeing you to find out if he was staying there, or expected down last night. Seems to have been a gentleman with irregular sort of habits.”
“Yes, I believe so,” said the Colonel. “Didn't know him myself, but one hears things. A city man - mining interests, so I was informed. I don't fancy it's much of a case for us, Inspector. What do you feel about it?”
“Well, sir, pretty much what you do. Of course, we don't know that it wasn't a local affair, but on the face of it it doesn't look like it. I've got a man out at Ashleigh Green making inquiries, but I don't expect to get much. You know what it is out in the country, sir. Folks go to bed early, and if there wasn't any noise made, barring the car - assuming there was a car - no one would be likely to wake up - or take any notice if they were awake. The Doctor's of the opinion death must have been pretty well instantaneous. There's no sign of any struggle. Dickenson tells me this Mr Vereker was in the habit of bringing friends down from town over the week-end. What we want is his car. That might tell us something. How I look at it sir, is we'll have to get on to the Yard for information, whatever happens.”
“Quite right. Not our case at all. Still, you should certainly go to this cottage you speak of and see what you can pick up. Does he keep any servants there?”
“No, sir. There's a woman by the name of Beaton who keeps the place tidy, by what I understand, but she lives out. I'll see her of course, but I don't expect to find anyone at the Cottage. It isn't likely. But I might get a line on it.”