"It's about Mark Brown," Amberley said, without waste of words. "The inspector is inclined to pooh-pooh the necessity of watching him, and it occurs to me that that attitude may have communicated itself to Constable. Tucker. Get this, Sergeant! It's absolutely vital that Brown should not be allowed out of the police's sight. Detail a man to relieve Tucker tonight; I'll take the responsibility."
The sergeant responded nobly. "I haven't got anyone free, sir, but if you want it done I'll do it myself, that's what I'll do. Yes, what do you want?"
The constable who was on duty had come in in a hurry. "It's Tucker, Sergeant. At least, it ain't him exactly, but there's an urgent message. He wants you to go at once. It is on the Collinghurst Road."
"Well, what is it?" said the sergeant. "Come on, let's have it!"
"That young fellow he was watching, Sergeant. He's Born and fallen in the river."
"Well, you needn't make such a to-do about that," said the sergeant testily. "Anyone might have known that was bound to happen one of these days. More fool Tucker to let him."
The constable said simply: "He's dead, Sergeant."
"Dead?" The sergeant's jaw dropped; he looked blankly across at Mr. Amberley.
Amberley, who had turned quickly at the constable's entrance, stood perfectly still for a moment. Then he drew out his cigarette case and took a cigarette from it with extreme deliberation. His eyes met the sergeant's; he shut the case with a snap and felt in his pocket for matches.
The sergeant sat gazing at him somewhat numbly. Mr. Amberley lit his cigarette and flicked the dead match into the grate. He inhaled a long breath of smoke and glanced at the constable. "Who sent the message?"
"I dunno his name, sir. He was a gentleman, all right. He said he had passed in his car and Tucker asked him to drive to the nearest house and get through to us."
"I see. I'll run you out there, Sergeant."
The sergeant roused himself. "Yes, sir. Harmer, get hold of Mason and Philpots, and tell them to bring the hand-ambulance along." The constable went out. The sergeant got up, looking at Amberley. "Lor', sir was that why you wanted him watched?" he said. "Was this what you was expecting?"
"It was what I was afraid of. Damn that fool Tucker!"
The sergeant dropped his voice lower. "Is it murder, Mr. Amberley?"
Amberley gave a grim smile. "Getting quite acute, aren't you? You'll find the coroner's jury will return a verdict of accidental death. Are you ready to start?"
Not until he was seated beside Amberley in the car did the sergeant speak again. Then he said: "If it was murder are you going to let it go at that, sir?"
"Did I say it was murder?" said Amberley.
The big Bentley tore through the town but slowed as it drew clear of the last straggling houses. The ground dipped here, and they ran into a thick mist which grew denser as the road approached the river.
"Steady, sir!" besought the sergeant. "Get a lot of fog here at this time of the year. It's the clay."
"Yes. You could almost bank on running into fog, couldn't you?"
A little farther along the road they saw a figure loom up through the mist, waving. Amberley ran the car into the side of the road and stopped. The mist was floating in wreaths across the glare of the headlights; through it they could see the blurred outline of a second man and of a figure lying face downwards on the ground.
The sergeant got out of the car as quickly as his bulk would permit. "Is that you, Tucker? How did this happen?"
Mr. Amberley suddenly put up his hand to his spotlamp and switched it on. Its beam swung to the left and rested on the second man. It was Collins, dripping wet, and in his shirt-sleeves. "How very interesting!" said 1VI r Amberley, and got out of the car.
The sergeant strode up to Collins. "And what miglü you be doing here, my man?" he inquired.
The valet's face was grey; sweat stood on his forehc;i& he seemed exhausted.
"It was him got Brown out," Tucker said reluctantly "When I - when I come up, he was trying to bring him round. We've been working on him solid, but it's no good, Sergeant. He's dead."
"Yes, and that's something you'll explain back at the station," said the sergeant. He looked at Collins. "As for you, you'll come along too, and explain yourself. Keep your eye on him, Tucker." He turned away and went to join Amberley, who was on his knees beside Mark's body.
The boy's head was turned to one side, and his arms were stretched out.
Amberley spoke without looking up. "A light, Sergeant."
The sergeant produced a torch from his pocket. Amberley took it and turned it full on to Mark's head, searching closely. "Help me to turn him over, will you?"
They shifted the limp body on to its back; Mark's eyes were closed, and his jaw sagged slightly. Amberley pushed the wet hair gently off his brow and brought the torch nearer. After a moment he switched the light off and rose.
"Not a sign of a blow. Accidental death, Sergeant."
"What, with that Collins standing here?" muttered the sergeant. "We'll see about that!"
"I'm afraid we shall," said Amberley. He walked back to the car. "You'd better get inside and put that rug round you, Collins." He got into the car himself as he spoke, and sat down at the wheel, looking frowningly ahead of him.
The sergeant wanted to know whether Collins had been cautioned, and upon hearing that he had not, promptly cautioned him himself. The valet said nothing.
The sergeant spread Tucker's discarded coat over Mark's body and stood beside it, waiting for the ambulance to come up. Tucker began to stammer out an explanation and was sternly checked. "We'll hear all about that up at the station," said the sergeant.
It was very cold on the road, and the mist spread a depressing dampness. The valet was shivering in the back of the car, his pale eyes fixed on the dead man. He raised them to the sergeant's face for a moment. "And," said the sergeant afterwards to Mr. Amberley, "say what you like, if ever a man looked like murder it was him. Dived in to rescue him, did he? Dived in to push him under, more likely. I tell you, sir, when I caught his eye he was looking like a fiend. And I'm not exaggerating neither."
The hand-ambulance came up at last, and Mark's body was lifted on to it and covered with a rug. The two policemen who had brought it set off with it towards the mortuary, and the sergeant climbed into Amberley's car again.
The drive back to the police station was accomplished in silence. When they arrived Collins was sent off under escort to get a change of clothing, and Tucker and Amberley went off with the sergeant into his office.
Tucker's account of the accident was necessarily incomplete, as he had not been near enough to witness it. In obedience to his instructions he had followed Mark to the Blue Dragon earlier in the evening and had hung about outside for some time. He had looked in after a while and observed that Mark was, as usual, sitting at a table in the corner in a kind of huddle, too drunk to get up to any mischief. He had understood from the inspector that Mr. Amberley suspected Brown of meaning to do something that would have some connection with Dawson's murder; he had not thought that in that fuddled state the boy could need much watching. Besides, he never came out till closing-time. He had only gone a few steps up the road to get himself a cup of hot tea, and he had not imagined any harm would come of sitting for a bit in the warm and having a chat with the man who kept the eating-house. He had returned to his post only a few minutes after closing-time to find that Mark had already set out for home. He followed, not that he had seen much sense in it, but those had been his orders. Brown must have left the Blue Dragon before it closed, for although he had walked along at a brisk pace he had not caught up with him. It was just as he had approached the bend in the road that brought it alongside the river that he had heard someone shouting for help. He had broken into a run and arrived on the scene of the accident just in time to see Collins, obviously in an exhausted condition, drag Brown's body up the bank, turn it onto its face, and start to apply artificial respiration. He had joined him at once; they had worked like niggers to bring the young man back to life. He himself had felt sure after ten minutes that it was too late, but Collins cursed him and made him go on. Collins had kept on panting that the boy hadn't been under long enough to be drowned, that they must bring him back to life. But they had not succeeded in getting so much as a flicker out of Mark.