“ ‘No,’ I said. ‘In fact I had rather not. I only wanted to be sure that it actually did give him the leverage he seems to have assumed it gave him. How did he find this out?’
“Wickley shook his head.
“ ‘I don’t know. He could have found out in one or two ways, if he set to work to find things out about me. And he obviously did.’
“ ‘Why did he want to buy your place?’
“ ‘Simply because he hated me, and knew that was the way to hit me hardest. He didn’t want more land or an extra house.’
“ ‘I see,’ I said. ‘Go ahead.’
“ ‘Well, after that note came I want you to understand, Mr. Carrington, that things happened right on end, one after the other, without giving me time to cool down or think quietly. I had a lot of woodland on my place, and was rather keen about forestry. It was a hobby of Spencer’s, and he had started me, and, curiously enough, the pruning-knife I was carrying that afternoon was a present from him. He got one for himself and one for me. I picked it up and took it with me simply automatically, because I had been carrying it every day lately. But I was thinking of nothing but that note.
“ ‘Imagine what it meant for me! To hand over a place my family had owned for four hundred years — hand it over to this unspeakable bounder, lose everything worth having, and clear out of the county — imagine what it meant! As to the other alternative, I felt I would rather shoot myself first. Perhaps I don’t express myself very well, Mr. Carrington, but I daresay you can more or less understand.’
“His words may have been restrained, but his face was working and his eyes blazing, just as they must have been when he set out on that walk. I did understand, and I told him so. He seemed pleased, and for a moment almost smiled. And then his face set, and he went on—
“ ‘Without thinking where I was going I wandered about the Lord knows where, but, anyhow, at last I headed for a certain wood where I had been doing some pruning before. It was just on the boundary of the two properties. In fact, the stream that formed the boundary ran through it. It was a winter afternoon, and quite dark by this time. I entered the wood and then about ten paces from the outer edge of it I pulled up dead. Spencer was standing, half leaning against a tree, with his back to me!’
“Wickley stopped for an instant, and looked at me hard.
“ ‘I am trusting you with everything!’ he said.
“ ‘I know you are.’
“He moistened his lips and went on—
“ ‘The sound of the running water had drowned my footsteps. It still drowned them as I took three more steps, and then let him have it in the broad of his back with the pruning-knife. I remember striking sort of slanting and downwards so as to give the curved knife a chance. I’m pretty strong, and it did give it a chance. It went in up to the handle and stopped there. He fell on his face without a sound or a struggle. I had seen dead men before, and I knew he was one. And then, suddenly, I realised what I had done.’
“He paused and licked his lips afresh.
“ ‘How long ago was this?’
“ ‘Eight years,’ he said.
“ ‘Eight years!’ I exclaimed. ‘But I never remember hearing—’
“ ‘Wait a bit,’ said he. ‘The interesting part of the story hasn’t begun yet.’
“I wondered what his idea of an un-interesting story was, but I said nothing, and he went on—
“ ‘I don’t mind confessing that I lost my head — or anyhow my nerve utterly. I remember I could only say one thing to myself — “I didn’t know what I was doing!” I hurried home and made no attempt to seem cool. I got out my car, drove it myself at break-neck speed to the station, and simply left it standing outside. I took the first train to London, and made so little effort to hide what I was feeling, that everybody who saw me stared. I got to London late in the evening, and wandered about the streets all night. In the morning I still kept wandering, trying to avoid newspapers and posters. Then I suddenly got desperate and bought a paper. There was nothing about the murder in it. So I bought another and then another, till I had bought six papers, but still there was nothing. And then I got reckless. I went straight off to the Hotel Metropole in Northumberland Avenue, the place where both Spencer and I generally stayed when we wanted an hotel in London, ordered a room and went straight to bed.’
“ ‘Your story is interesting enough now, Mr. Wickley.’
“ ‘Wait!’ he said. ‘I haven’t come to the interesting part yet.’
“I really began to think the man was off his head.
“ ‘I slept almost all day,’ he continued, ‘and when I woke up in the late afternoon my head was pretty clear again. And, Heavens! I was afraid now! I dressed very quickly, and then sat in my room waiting for some one to come for me. And then I suddenly got reckless again, walked out into the corridor, and boldly went down by the lift. I stepped out of the lift, and was crossing the hall, when out of the corner of my eye I seemed to see some one I knew. I looked round, and as I’m a living sinner, Carrington, there was Toddy Spencer sitting in an armchair looking at me!’
“He stopped abruptly and added—
“ ‘That’s the interesting part.’
“And I had to confess he was right.
“ ‘What did you do?’ I asked.
“ ‘Simply stared at him, just as he was staring at me, only he wasn’t staring quite so hard. And then he suddenly spoke to me in quite a friendly voice, almost, nervously in fact. I answered him in just the same tone, and there we were talking together in the hall of the Metropole as if nothing had happened at all.’
“ ‘What did you talk about?’
“ ‘The weather, I think, and we each made the pretty obvious remark that the other seemed to have come up from Devorsetshire. We exchanged about half a dozen sentences or so, and then we each nodded, and I went out.
“ ‘I’m not a murderer after all!’ was my first thought, and for half an hour I was happy as a boy.
“ ‘And then the whole thing began to come back to me — Spencer standing in the wood — the way he fell — everything. I simply couldn’t have imagined it! And yet equally I couldn’t have imagined talking to Spencer in the Metropole. I stayed three days in London hesitating, and then I simply had to go back and see for myself.’
“Again he stopped abruptly and asked—
“ ‘Now what’s your impression so far, Mr. Carrington?’
“ ‘That you were overwrought, and imagined — or else dreamt — the murder scene.’
“Wickley’s voice sank.
“ ‘I went back to that wood, very cautiously, and taking care that nobody was about — and there was a freshly filled-in grave there. Some one had been buried, very roughly and hurriedly, and not very deep. Who was it?’
“I thought he was going to answer the question himself, but instead lie waited for me to speak.
“ ‘Do you mean to say you never discovered?’
“He shook his head.
“ ‘It’s an absolute mystery to me! Nobody in the neighbourhood apparently was missing. Nothing was ever said, or whispered, or rumoured, of a murder. Nothing more ever happened. I couldn’t possibly live on in that place. I let the house, but not the shooting — because I didn’t want people to be going through that wood, and I’ve been a wanderer for eight years. Last week I came to London and met a cousin who persuaded me to go to the Devorset dinner last night. And there I saw Spencer again, for the first time since we parted in the Metropole. That started the whole thing again in my mind. And then when I heard you were a private inquiry agent, I suddenly decided to end the suspense and come to you. I want you to find out what happened — who that man was.’