“Oh yes, my lord. He was there, and a terrible row he made with Mrs. Wilbraham after the theft. It upset poor Sir Charles very much. Mr. Edward as good as told the old lady that it was all her own fault, and he wouldn’t hear a word against Deacon. He was certain Elsie Bryant and Cranton had fixed it all up between them. I don’t believe myself that Mrs. Wilbraham would ever have cut up so rough if it weren’t for the things Mr. Edward said to her, but she was — is — a damned obstinate old girl, and the more he swore it was Elsie, the more she swore it was Deacon. You see, Mr. Edward had recommended Deacon to his father—”
“Oh, had he?”
“Why, yes. Mr. Edward was working in London at the time — quite a lad, he was, only twenty-three — and hearing that Sir Charles was wanting a butler, he sent Deacon down to see him.”
“What did he know about Deacon?”
“Well, only that he did his work well and looked smart. Deacon was a waiter in some club that Mr. Edward belonged to, and it seems he mentioned that he wanted to try private service, and that’s how Mr. Edward came to think of him. And, naturally, having recommended the fellow, he had to stick up for him. I don’t know if you’ve met Mr. Edward Thorpe, but if you have, my lord, you’ll know that anything that belongs to him is always perfect. He’s never been known to make a mistake, Mr. Edward hasn’t — and so, you see, he couldn’t possibly have made a mistake about Deacon.”
“Oh, yes?” said Wimsey. “Yes, I’ve met him. Frightful blithering ass. Handy thing to be, sometimes. Easily cultivated. Five minutes’ practice before the glass every day, and you will soon acquire that vacant look so desirable for all rogues, detectives and Government officials. However, we will not dwell on Uncle Edward. Let us return to our corpse. Because, Blundell, after all, even if it is Cranton come to look for emeralds — who killed him, and why?”
“Why,” returned the policeman, “supposing he found the emeralds all right and somebody lammed him on the head and took them off him. What’s wrong with that?”
“Only that he doesn’t seem to have been lammed on the head.”
“That’s what Dr. Baines says; but we don’t know that he’s right.”
“No — but anyway, the man was killed somehow. Why kill him, when you’d already got him tied up and could take the emeralds without any killing at all?”
“To prevent him squealing. Stop! I know what you’re going to say — Cranton wasn’t in a position to squeal. But he was, don’t you see. He’d already been punished for the theft — they couldn’t do anything more to him for that, and he’d only to come and tell us where the stuff was to do himself quite a lot of good. You see his game. He could have done the sweet injured innocence stunt. He’d say: ‘I always told you Deacon had the stuff, so the minute I could manage it, I went down to Fenchurch to find it, and I did find it — and of course I was going to take it straight along to the police-station like a good boy, when Tom, Dick or Harry came along and took it off me. So I’ve come and told you all about it, and when you lay your hands on Tom, Dick or Harry and get the goods you’ll remember it was me gave you the office.’ Oh, yes — that’s what he could have done, and the only thing we’d have been able to put on him would be failing to report himself, and if he’d put us on to getting the emeralds, he’d be let off light enough, you bet. No! anybody as wanted those emeralds would have to put Cranton where he couldn’t tell any tales. That’s clear enough. But as to who it was, that’s a different thing.”
“But how was this person to know that Cranton knew where the necklace was? And how did he know, if it comes to that? Unless it really was he who had them after all, and he hid them somewhere in Fenchurch instead of taking them to London. It looks to me as though this line of argument was going to make Cranton the black sheep after all.”
“That’s true. How’d he come to know? He can’t have got the tip from anybody down here, or they’d have got the stuff tor themselves, and not waited for him. They’ve had long enough to do it, goodness knows. But why should Cranton have left the stuff behind him?”
“Hue and cry. Didn’t want to be caught with it on him. He may have parked it somewhere when he drove off, meaning to come back and fetch it later. You never know. But the longer I look at these photographs, the more positive I feel that the man I met was Cranton. The official description agrees, too — colour of eyes and all that. And if the corpse isn’t Cranton, what’s become of him?”
“There you are,” said Mr. Blundell. “I don’t see as we can do much more till we get the reports from London. Except, of course, as regards the burying. We ought to be able to get a line on that. And what you say about Miss Thorpe’s notion — I mean, as to the wreaths and that — may have something in it. Will you have a chat with this Mrs. Gates, or shall I? I think you’d better tackle Mr. Ashton. You’ve got a good excuse for seeing him, and if I went there officially, it might put somebody on his guard. It’s a nuisance, the churchyard being so far from the village. Even the Rectory doesn’t overlook it properly, on account of the shrubbery.”
“No doubt that circumstance was in the mind of the murderer. You mustn’t quarrel with your bread and butter, Superintendent. No difficulty, no fun.”
“Fun?” said the Superintendent. “Well, my lord, it’s nice to be you. How about Gates?”
“You’d better do Gates. If Miss Thorpe’s leaving tomorrow, I can’t very well call without looking a nosey parker. And Mr. Thorpe doesn’t approve of me. I daresay he’s issued an order: No Information. But you can invoke all the terrors of the law.”
“Not much, I can’t. Judges’ rules and be damned. But I’ll have a try. And then there’s—”
“Yes, there’s Will Thoday.”
“Ah!… but if Miss Thorpe’s right, he’s out of it. He was laid up in bed from New Year’s Eve till the i4th January. I know that for certain. But somebody in his house may have noticed something. It’ll be a bit of a job getting anything out of them, though. They’ve had a taste of the dock once, and they’ll get frightened, ten to one, the minute they see me.”
“You needn’t worry about that. You can’t very well frighten them worse than they’re frightened already. Go and read the Burial Service to them and watch their reactions.”
“Oh!” said the Superintendent. “Religion’s a bit out of my line, except on Sundays. All right — I’ll take on that part of it. Maybe, if I don’t mention that dratted necklace… but there, my mind’s that full of it, it’ll be a mercy if it don’t slip out.”
Which shows that policemen, like other people, are at the mercy of their sub-conscious preoccupations.
THE FOURTH PART
LORD PETER DODGES WITH MR. BLUNDELL AND PASSES HIM
“Dodging “is taking a retrograde movement, or moving a place backwards out of the ordinary hunting course… She will be seen to dodge with a bell, and pass a bell alternately throughout her whole work.
TROYTE.