“Mr. Ganelon, allow me to introduce Mr. Swaffham,” said Prattmann. “I spoke of his case at our recent dinner from which I was so abruptly, ah, called away.”
Ganelon gave what was for him a cordial bow. “Please be seated, gentlemen,” said the detective, who always took a particular pleasure in shaping his mouth to speak the English tongue, the only language in which he had uttered words of love. “You are a railroad station master, Mr. Swaffham,” he observed, sitting back down behind his heavy black desk — whose legs were gilt replicas of the Place Vendome column topped at desk level by miniature Napoleons.
“As Mr. Prattmann no doubt told you, sir.”
“He neglected to do so,” said the detective. “But the leather-edged watch pocket in your vest and the sturdy steel chain suggests a professional preoccupation with time. The scorched patch on the underside of your shirtcuff announces that you carry a kerosene lantern in your work. A railroad man is not too great a leap. And your white shirt leads me to station master.”
The Englishman was visibly impressed.
Prattmann said, “A complication’s arisen in the matter of Mr. Swaffham’s dream. I have advised him to place the matter in your capable hands.” An impatient noise from the Englishman prompted him to add, “I, of course, will pay your fee myself.”
Ganelon almost smiled. “I’m sure we can work out a satisfactory price,” he said smoothly. Then he turned to the station master. “Now, sir, what’s all this talk about the gallows?”
Without any more prompting, the station master told how he had arrived back at Briggston by a late-afternoon train and curbed his curiosity about the treasure under the Dry Knight until nightfall. Then, with a small shovel and a lantern concealed in a sack, he set out for the Wye as if on an innocent evening stroll. (“Some who saw me said I skulked,” said Swaffham. “But they lie. I strolled. I whistled.”)
By the time he reached the river, the air had taken on the water’s coolness and the fireflies were haunting the grass. Beneath the tall rock, the ground was sunbaked and weedy. He lit the lantern and set about his task. Two feet down, the shovel struck something. But what he hoped to be a moneybag turned out to be a jacket. He had uncovered the remains of a man long dead.
Suddenly, a basset voice said, “Evening, Mr. Swaffham. And what might you be up to?” Twigg, the village constable, stepped out of the bushes along the shore with two twitching fish on a string. “Here, now,” he growled, peering down into the hole at the corpse of Captain Amos Pendry of Pendry Hall, who had vanished from the district three years before. The next thing Swaffham knew, he was being led away with talk of murder in the air.
“I am pleased you are not one of those with limp powers of recollection, Mr. Swaffham,” said Ganelon. “Please tell me about this Captain Pendry and his disappearance.”
Swaffham explained that three years before, the well-to-do landowner and sportsman had set out on horseback on a business trip to a neighboring county. Later that same morning, a reputable witness saw him on a country road about seven miles away, dismounted in the shade and deep in brooding thought. As the witness passed, Pendry consulted his watch as though waiting for someone. No one ever set eyes on him alive again.
“Some said amnesia.” explained Swaffham. “Others spoke of foul play, for there was talk of ruffians in the area. Later, when the Captain s strongbox was discovered to be empty of all money and valuables, many concluded he’d run off to make a new life for himself. Perhaps with another woman. But I never held with that.”
“Why not?” demanded Ganelon.
“No more than a year before his death. Captain Pendry had courted and won the hand of Miss Venetia Bland, the new governess of the Earl of Eskdale’s daughters,” explained Swaffham. “In doing so, he had also triumphed over another suitor for the young woman’s affection — a personal rival. Sir Blundell Crabbet, the Earl’s younger brother. Sir Blundell is a world traveler of some reputation, the first infidel to ever smuggle himself into the Forbidden Mosque of the Sacred City of Ohm — perhaps you’ve read his book.
“Anyway, to answer your question, it was clear to me that Captain Pendry was totally captivated by his new bride, a yellow-haired, black-eyed-susan of a woman. She had come to the castle highly recommended and I have no doubt left many a broken heart behind her in the neighborhood of Khyber Cottage, Blackheath, her previous position. The new Mrs. Pendry sprang from very handsome stock. Her brother, Mr. Reginald Bland, who came frequently to visit, was good-looking enough to be an actor with a company that toured the provinces. No, I don’t think Captain Pendry was about to run off with another woman.”
“Tell me about this rivalry between Captain Pendry and Sir Blundell Crabbet,” Ganelon said.
Swaffham explained that previous to Miss Bland’s arrival. Sir Blundell had squandered his small inheritance gambling, and then further harmed himself in the eyes of the Earl, on whom he was now dependent, by betting on sporting events with Captain Pendry on credit, using the Eskdale cameo as collateral. This famous green-and-black cameo, depicting the profiles of the first Earl Eskdale and his wife, Lady Honoria, was a gift from King James the First. Captain Pendry did not dispose of the cameo, though he had every right to do. But he refused to return it until he was repaid with interest. When the Captain’s solicitor broke into the strongbox, the cameo had not been there.
Ganelon heard all this and sat in thought for a moment. Then he said, “Let us turn back a bit to your own situation, Mr. Swaffham. What do the authorities believe would prompt you to dig up the body of the man you had murdered three years before?”
“A year ago, while Sir Blundell was with Admiral Denison’s expedition up the Amazon, his brother the Earl perished in the sinking of the Calpurnia in the Gulf of Lyons,” said Swaffham. “Since he died without male issue, the title and the estate passed to Sir Blundell. When Sir Blundell returned to Briggston, it was clear his feelings toward Mrs. Pendry had not changed. The first thing he did was offer a substantial reward for information leading to Captain Pendry’s whereabouts, dead or alive. Clearly, if Captain Pendry was dead he intended to offer Venetia Pendry his hand in marriage.”
“And just when was this reward offered?”
“The middle of April,” said Swaffham.
“And when did you have this dream of yours?”
“The beginning of May,” said Swaffham. “I’ve had many a pint retelling it at the Chalk and Cheese since then. And many another telling how I learned of the whereabouts of my dream bridge. I never thought it would make me the principal suspect in a murder investigation. I arrived back here this morning intent on finding that fellow I’d spoken to and having him make a statement on my behalf.”
“But you couldn’t find him,” said Ganelon.
“Correct,” admitted Swaffham. “The real shopkeeper, who must spend all his time river-fishing out a back window with a long line, did vaguely recall a customer fitting his description who came to browse among the wares up front. Of average height and build, my man had a swarthy complexion, a full beard, and a large mole under the left eye.”
“By taking off his jacket and standing in the doorway, a browser becomes an inquisitive shopkeeper with a dream to trade,” said Ganelon. “So much for the supernatural, my dear Prattmann. However, we now know Captain Pendry wasn’t murdered during a robbery. A random killer would have nothing to gain by leading someone else to the discovery of the body.”
Prattmann spoke up. “What about Sir Blundell? Suppose he lured Pendry to a meeting on the pretext of redeeming the cameo, killed him, and recovered the family treasure. Now he needs to have the body found so he can marry Pendry’s widow.”