Ten Star Clues (13 page)

“If that is so,” he said, “he may think I saw him and know who he is?”

It was an uncomfortable idea that had already come to Bobby and he had decided to suggest to the colonel that it might be wise, short-handed as they were, to tell off a plain-clothes man to provide some sort of protection for the vicar. It was not necessary to make the suggestion, however, for the possible danger had evidently occurred to the colonel as well.

“It would be as well,” he said, “if you had one of our men within call. I don't take it seriously, of course, there's no real danger, but all the same, precautions mean safety. The murderer may think you know him.”

“But if he does,” protested Mr. Longden, “and if there's a policeman about, that might keep him away.”

“Well, yes, that's why,” the colonel explained, not quite understanding, or, rather, thinking that the vicar did not quite understand.

“You see,” explained Mr. Longden in his turn, “if he thinks I know who he is he may come to me for help and advice and I may be able to bring the unfortunate man to a better frame of mind. He might be brought to realize his terrible sin and to show his repentance by confession.”

The colonel blinked. The idea was not one that had occurred either to him or to Bobby. Nor, in spite of the glowing enthusiasm in Mr. Longden's voice, did they think such a result very probable. What struck them both much more forcibly was the danger that the unknown murderer might try to remove a possible witness. But this, when it was hinted at, Mr. Longden waved aside. In his opinion, no man, laden with the guilt of one murder, could conceivably wish to add that of another to the burden of remorse he must of necessity know himself to be condemned to bear.

“There is no risk of that,” he declared with emphasis. “Quite out of the question. And if any such danger did exist, it would be quite unimportant against the smallest chance that this most unhappy man may come to me for help.”

None the less, when Mr. Longden had departed, Bobby, with the colonel's consent, took such steps as were possible to ensure that an unobtrusive watch was kept on the vicarage. They were both inclined to take the danger seriously, and then Arthur Hoyle, whom it had been decided it would be best to interview next, made his appearance.

“I was hoping,” he said ungraciously, as he came in, “that I could get away long before this. I am a business man with a good many things needing my attention; and dreadful and shocking as all this is, and though I don't want to seem callous, still a good many people are going to suffer if my work is held up indefinitely.”

“Oh, not indefinitely,” Bobby protested. “There are just one or two points on which we thought you might like to supplement your statement. You remember I mentioned we found footprints and cigarette ends in the grounds at a spot from which these library windows can be clearly seen. It seems certain someone was there for some time, presumably watching the house. Naturally that interests us as there was a murder committed. We wonder if that watcher was the murderer. We wonder if he saw or heard anything.”

Bobby paused. Arthur muttered angrily and uneasily:— “Well, how should I know?”

“The footprints,” Bobby continued, “are too indistinct and confused to be of much value. But they do suggest that the person making them wore a rather unusually large size of shoe. Most likely a number ten. Perhaps a nine and a half. Difficult to be sure. Except that it was an outsize shoe.” He paused and carefully did not look at Arthur Hoyle's feet, encased in number ten shoes, for Arthur, though not a big man, had both big hands and big feet, a plebeian inheritance from his mother's side of the family. Involuntarily Arthur made a movement to withdraw his feet under his chair, and then, recognizing the futility of so doing, thrust them ostentatiously forward. He did not speak, and Bobby went on:—“The cigarette ends were a not very common Greek brand—blend of Grecian and Turkish tobacco. ‘Le Proche Orient' it's called. We have made a few inquiries, and we understand it is a brand you smoke and that you have some interest in the manufacture, isn't it?”

“Not in the manufacture,” Arthur answered. He spoke more quietly now, and seemed to have recovered a self-possession that for the moment had been badly shaken. “I am a director of a small private company, a distributing company, trying to popularize the use of Greek tobacco. The Greeks are our allies, Greek tobacco is first rate, we think it would be good for both countries and for our own pockets as well, if we could create a demand here for Greek tobacco.” He smiled faintly. “Patriotism and profit. Unluckily we haven't had much success so far. Now look here.” He leaned forward and spoke with emphasis. “It's plain enough what you're driving at. I'm not the only person who takes a big shoe. I'm not the only person who smokes those cigarettes. I give them away freely myself, I've seen they are on sale in every retailer's in the district, and the company has offered a bonus for biggest increase in sales. We're pushing 'em. I do take an outsize in shoes. I do smoke ‘Le Proche Orient' cigarettes. I wasn't anywhere near here last night after I left about nine or a quarter past, after dinner. Got that? Now, something else, I understand your insinuations and I resent them. Got that?”

“I am afraid,” Bobby said gently, “that I might reply that we resent your suggestion that we have insinuated anything. I have made no insinuations. I have made a plain statement and asked a plain question. But it would be a pity, don't you think? if we just stand about resenting each other. It is our duty, as police, to find who murdered Earl Wych. I am sure you will agree that it is the duty of every citizen to help us, especially your duty, Mr. Hoyle, if I may say so, since his lordship was the head of your family. I suppose you are in the line of inheritance yourself?”

“What the devil do you mean by that?” demanded Arthur, angry again.

“Merely what the question means itself,” Bobby answered. “Indeed, it was hardly a question, more a statement of a fact well enough known. Mr. Hoyle, you are helping neither yourself nor us by taking this tone. Now I must ask you another plain question and please don't ask me what it means, because it means exactly what it says, neither more nor less. You left this house about a quarter past nine. There is, of course, proof that Earl Wych was alive then. He and Mr. Ralph Hoyle were in the library together much later than that. Where did you go when you left here?”

“Home. But if you want to know I didn't go straight home. I drove around for a while. I like night driving. I daresay it was midnight when I got home. Make what you like of that.”

“Could you tell us exactly where you went? Did you stop anywhere, speak to any one?”

“No, I didn't,” Arthur said. “Why should I? The pubs shut pretty early, you know. I just had an enjoyable drive in the fresh air, round by Wychwood Forest. I couldn't say exactly what roads I followed. I didn't notice. I wasn't afraid of getting lost. It's pretty lonely round there. I don't remember that I saw more than one or two other cars. I didn't notice them and I don't suppose they noticed me. I drove pretty fast. I'm not a speed merchant, but I don't believe in mooching around either. I daresay I had done more than a hundred miles—well, not more, but not far short—when I got home. I'm not the only person taking an outsize in shoes, I'm not the only person smoking those cigarettes, I'm not the only person who was out last night, and I'm going straight from here to have a talk with my lawyers.”

“Always more satisfactory to have legal advice,” agreed Bobby. “I can assure you we are very well aware of all you've been saying. Certainly you are not the only person out late last night. Very odd if you had been. Mr. Longden for instance, was close by somewhere about the time of the murder, as far as we can judge. In fact, it was through him that we came across the footprints and the cigarette ends I told you about.”

“Longden? the vicar?” repeated Arthur with a start of surprise that made Bobby wonder if it would be fair to call it exaggerated. “If Longden says he saw me there, he lies. That's all. It's a dirty lie.”

“Really, Mr. Hoyle,” Bobby protested, “I said nothing of the kind. Nor did Mr. Longden. I said ‘through him'. What happened is simply that he left his umbrella standing against a tree. Apparently he has a trick of leaving odd possessions about. When the umbrella was noticed, naturally further search was made and the cigarette ends and footprints were found. Mr. Longden had nothing to do with it, but if he hadn't left his umbrella there, very likely no special search would have been made in that particular spot. That's all.”

Arthur was evidently thinking deeply.

“Look here,” he said. “Have you thought of this? If he left his umbrella leaning against a tree—well, doesn't that suggest he wasn't merely on his way home? Looks to me as if he had stopped there for a time. Or why did he put his umbrella down? Thought of that?”

“Well, yes,” agreed Bobby, “but no one could possibly suspect him, could they? what possible motive...?”

“He might have been meaning to have it out with the old man, if he had been a bit worried over that girl of his. Anyhow, that's likely enough, and a lot more sensible than talking about outsizes in shoes and cigarette ends.”

“You mean Miss Sophy Longden?” Bobby asked. “The young lady who is a kind of nurse-companion- secretary to Lady Wych. Why? do you mean there's been gossip about her?”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

“I never paid it any attention,” he said. “The old man used to be a bit of a lad in his time—gay Edwardian, that sort of thing. They went the pace before the last war just as much as they did after it, if all tales are true. Anyhow, he still had an eye for a pretty girl, and Sophy Longden is that all right enough. Plenty of opportunity, too. Naturally, the old boy would be in and out of his wife's room at all hours. She has had a sort of separate suite since her illness. Miss Longden has the next room. Not that I ever believed a word of it. My own idea is that that Martin fellow started the talk. Trying to make mischief. Or perhaps just for something to say. A good butler who knows his job may be hard to get and worth keeping when you find him, but I wouldn't have that fellow in my house at any price. Malice and mischief making, if you ask me. But if Longden heard about it— well, he's a clergyman with extra strict ideas, and it might explain why he was mooching around and leaving his umbrella about and saying his prayers and all that. And if there was a row, Earl Wych wasn't the kind of man to stand being talked to. He had a pretty big idea of himself. Natural, I suppose; he was always very much his lordship, the Earl Wych and all the rest of it. Anything might have happened. Mind you, that's only a possibility. I wouldn't mention it to any one but you.”

“I shouldn't,” said Bobby drily. “But you may be sure it's a possibility we shan't forget. Everything has to be considered, no matter how improbable on the face of it, or how apparently insignificant—even cigarette ends, for instance. By the way, you had already heard about Mr. Longden's umbrella?”

“Every one has,” Arthur retorted. “Wasn't it one of the servants who spotted it first?”

“The under-gardener, I think,” Bobby agreed, aware that the news of the discovery had been widely spread. “You mentioned that Mr. Longden was saying his prayers. I think that was what you said?” 

Arthur's expression changed suddenly. Till now he had looked confident and self-possessed. He had answered every question readily with no sign of hesitation. But now he did hesitate, a wary look came into his eyes, he almost stammered as he said:—

“Oh, well, well now, well, he always does, you know. Hang it,”—the words came more fluently now—“if you ask me, he never sets out to catch the 'bus for Midwych without stopping to pray he may be in time. And that probably makes him lose it, ha! ha!”

But the laugh with which he concluded his sentence sounded forced and unreal, nor did he look at all comfortable under Bobby's steady and questioning gaze.

“Mr. Hoyle,” Bobby said slowly, “I must put a direct question. Was it you under the rhododendron bushes last night?”

“It was not,” Arthur almost shouted, “and you've no right to ask me such an insolent question.”

“I am sorry if you think it insolent,” Bobby answered, quite unmoved by this protest, “but we have not only the right, but the duty to ask questions. I must ask you another. Were you anywhere near the castle about half-past eleven last night? If you were, did you see or hear anything unusual?”

“I wasn't and I didn't,” Arthur answered sulkily, “I've already told you I like night driving, and I was just having a run round.”

“Do you wish,” Bobby continued, “to add anything to your remark about Mr. Longden's ‘saying his prayers'? I think we must agree that unless there was some special reason, it would be a little unexpected, even for a clergy-man, to be obviously offering a prayer at that time and place. You see, we are wondering what gave you the idea?”

“I've told you,” Arthur answered again, and even more sulkily. “It was just a casual remark—a sort of joke it you like. Trying to poke fun at the old boy. That's all.”

He turned sharply on Colonel Glynne. “Do you permit this sort of thing?” he demanded. “Trying to catch you out, trying to put meanings into your words?”

“If I had heard anything improper, I should certainly have interfered,” the colonel answered stiffly. “In my opinion, you were asked none but reasonable questions. If any suspicion were in our minds—I'm not saying for a moment that there is or was—it is largely, Mr. Hoyle, your own manner and show of temper that would be the cause.”

That ended the interview, and when the door had closed behind him the colonel said:—

“What do you make of that, Owen? Think he's our man? Badly scared, I should say, and very anxious to draw our attention to someone else. That prayer business smells a bit fishy to me. Looks very much as if he had been there and been watching.”