The Case of the Late Pig (14 page)

It began with Professor Farringdon’s report. He came over while I was at the station with Pussey, and made it verbally.

‘Aye, it was chloral hydrate,’ he said, ‘as I told you. It was verra deeficult to decide just how much the man had taken before his death. So there is no way of knowing, you see, whether when yon stone crashed down on his head he was already dead, or if he was merely under the influence of the drug.’

Pussey and I both knew the peculiar properties of chloral hydrate; it is a very favourite dope among con-men, but we let him tell us all over again.

‘It’d make him very sleepy, you understand. That’s why it’s so diabolically useful. If ye came upon a man suffering from a slight attack of this poison, ye’d simply think he was in a deep natural sleep.’

Pussey looked at me. ‘All the time he was sitting in that chair, I reckon he was just waiting for the thing to fall upon him, helpless, unable to move. Ah! that’s a terrible thing, Mr Campion.’

The Professor went on to dilate upon the fate of Mr Hayhoe.

‘Yon was an interesting wound,’ he said. ‘Remarkably lucky, or delivered by someone who was no fool. It caught
him
just over the collar-bone, and went straight down into his neck. He must have died at once.’

He went on to describe the knife that had been used, and even drew it for us, or at least he drew the blade. Pussey didn’t know what to make of it at all, but it fitted in to my theory all right.

I left them together and went on to find Whippet. Neither he nor Effie Rowlandson were at ‘The Feathers’ when I arrived, but presently he came up alone in his little A.C.

‘I’ve been house-hunting,’ he said. ‘There’s a little villa down the road that interests me. It’s empty. I like empty houses. Do you? Whenever I’m in a district I go and look at empty houses.’

I let him ramble on for some time, and when I thought he must have tired of the subject I put my question to him suddenly. If I hoped to surprise him I was disappointed.

‘Hayhoe?’ he said. ‘Oh yes. Oh yes, Campion, I had several conversations with him. Not a nice fellow; he tried to touch me.’

‘Very likely,’ I said. ‘But what did you talk to him about?’

Whippet raised his head, and I looked into his vague pale blue eyes.

‘Natural history I think, mostly,’ he said. ‘Flora and fauna, you know.’

At that moment another great wedge of the jigsaw slipped into place.

‘Some are born blind,’ I said bitterly. ‘Some achieve blindness. And some have blindness thrust upon them. Moles come into the first category, don’t they?’

He said nothing, but remained quite still, looking out of the window.

I went back to Highwaters, and there the thing I had not
foreseen,
the thing for which I shall never forgive myself, awaited me.

Lugg had gone.

His suitcase, containing his few travelling things, had vanished, and on my dressing-table, weighted down by an ash-tray, was a crisp new pound note.

CHAPTER 16

The Red Hair

AT FIRST I
did not believe it. It was the one contingency which had never entered my mind, and for a moment I was completely thrown off my balance. I heard myself blethering around like a hysterical woman. Pepper did his best to help me.

‘A telephone call came through to you, sir,’ he said. ‘I didn’t take much notice of it, but I understood it was a London call. Mr Lugg took it, and some time afterwards he came down the back stairs with a suitcase in his hand. He went down to the village by the field path.’

And that was all there was to it. That was all anybody could tell me. The exchange was not helpful. There had been a great many incoming calls. The girl at the Post Office had been run off her feet all day. No, she hadn’t listened. Of course not! She never did.

I was beside myself. The question of time was so terribly important, and every now and again a variation of the ghastly vision which I had seen through the brass telescope rose up before my eyes.

The search began immediately.

Leo was sympathetic, and Janet did her best to be soothing. I had to explain to them all that the pound note meant nothing at all. Doubtless there are men-servants who go off at a moment’s notice, leaving a week’s wages in lieu of warning, but Lugg is not of them. Besides, he had not been seen in the village, nor at the bus stop. He had disappeared as mysteriously as Hayhoe had done; had wandered off into the fields and had vanished in precisely the same way.

I rang up Kingston. He listened to my excited story with disarming interest.

‘I say, Campion!’ His voice sounded young over the wire. ‘I’ve got an idea. I don’t know if you remember it, but I said something to you yesterday. You didn’t think much of it at the time – I saw that in your face – but I believe it’s going to come in useful now. I’ll be over right away.’

He was. In less than twenty minutes, he came panting up the drive in second gear, his face pink and his eyes burning with delighted enthusiasm. If it had been anybody but Lugg I could have forgiven him.

We held a consultation on the front lawn.

‘It’s that chap Whippet,’ he said. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on him. I know how you feel – old school friends and that sort of thing – but you don’t really know him at all, and things have been happening, haven’t they? Someone must be behind them.’

‘Yes, well,’ I said, impatiently, ‘go on.’

He was a little overwhelmed to find me so receptive, I think, but he hurried on eagerly enough.

‘There’s a house,’ he said, ‘an empty villa which stands all by itself at the end of a partly made-up road. It was the beginning of a building scheme which got stopped when the parish council found out what was happening. Whippet’s been down there once or twice. I don’t say anything definite, but didn’t it occur to you that that fellow Hayhoe must have been killed somewhere other than out in the open field? It’s a lonely little place. Just the place for a spot of bother. Let’s go down.’

There was a great deal in what he said, and I did not want to waste time arguing. I moved over towards his car. He looked a little shamefaced.

‘I’m afraid we’d better take yours,’ he said. ‘Mine’s not very young, you know, and she developed a spot of her
usual
trouble coming along just now. The oil gets in somewhere and rots up the ignition. That is, unless you can wait while I clean a plug or two?’

I was not in the mood to wait, and I got out the Lagonda. He settled beside me with a little sigh of sheer pleasure at its comfort.

‘Straight down the hill,’ he said, ‘and first on the left.’

We turned out of the village and took the long lonely road which winds up through Tethering and on to Rushberry. Presently we turned again. There was a little beer-house, ‘The Dog and Fowl’, sitting coyly under a bank of elms about half a mile farther on, and as we neared it he touched my arm.

‘You’re rotting yourself up,’ he said. ‘You haven’t been sleeping, and now this shock on top of it is getting you down. You’d better stop and have one.’

I cursed at the delay, but he insisted and we went in.

It was an unattractive little place, old and incredibly dirty. The bar was a mass of cheap advertising trophies, and the only other customer at the time we entered was a toothless old person with a Newgate fringe.

Kingston insisted on beer. There was nothing like old beer for steadying one, he said, and while the half-wit landlady hambled off to fill our tankards, Kingston interrogated the old man concerning Lugg. He did it very well, all things considered, using the idiom of the county.

The old gentleman could not help us, however. He was short of sight and hard of hearing, so he said, and never took much count of strangers, anyway.

It was after the two greasy tankards had been pushed towards us that Kingston showed me the cottage we were going to investigate. It was just visible from the tiny window of the bar. I could see its hideously new red roof peering out amid a mass of foliage about half a mile away.

‘Yes, well, let’s get on,’ I said, for I had no great hopes of finding my unfortunate old friend there and time was getting short.

Kingston rose to the occasion.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘We won’t wait for another.’

He drained his tankard and so did I. As I turned away from the bar I stumbled and inadvertently caught the old man’s pewter mug with my elbow. Its contents were splattered all over the floor and there was another few minutes’ delay while we apologized and bought him another drink.

When I got out to the car I stood for a moment looking down at the steering wheel.

‘Look here, Kingston,’ I said, ‘d’you think it’s really necessary to go to this place?’

‘I do, old boy, I do.’ He was insistent. ‘It’s odd, you know, a stranger hanging about an empty house.’

I got in and began to drive. A quarter of a mile up the road the car swerved violently and I pulled up.

‘I say,’ I said a little thickly, ‘would you drive this thing?’

He looked at me and I saw surprised interest on his round, unexpectedly youthful face.

‘What’s the matter, old man?’ he said. ‘Feeling tired?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That stuff must have been frightfully strong. Drive on as quick as you can.’

He climbed out, and I moved heavily over into the place he had vacated. A minute later we were roaring down the road again. I was slumped forward, my head on my chest, my eyes half closed.

‘Can’t understand it,’ I said, my words blurred. ‘Got to get ol’ Lugg. I’m tired – terribly tired.’

I was aware of him pulling up, and through my half-closed eyes I saw a dilapidated little villa, its white stucco streaked with many rains. At the side of the house there was
a
garage with a badly made little drive of a yard or so leading up to it.

I was aware of Kingston unlocking the doors of this garage and then I was down at the bottom of the car, my eyes closed and my breath coming at long regular intervals.

Kingston stepped behind the steering wheel again and we crawled into the narrow garage. I heard him stop and then I heard him laugh. It was like no sound I had ever heard from him before.

‘Well, there you are, my clever Mr Campion,’ he said. ‘Sleep sound.’

I think he must have pulled on some gloves, for I was aware of him wiping the steering wheel, and then he dragged me up and pressed my hands upon its smooth surface. He was talking all the time.

‘Carbon monoxide is an easy death,’ he said. ‘That’s why suicides choose it so often. It’s so simple, isn’t it? I just leave you in the car with the engine running, and close the garage doors as I go out and the neurotic Mr Campion has done the inexplicable once again. Suicide of distinguished London criminologist.’

He was some time completing his arrangements and then, when everything was set, he bent forward.

‘I was too clever for you,’ he said, and there was a rather shocking note in his voice. ‘Too damned clever.’

‘By half,’ I added suddenly and leapt at him.

I hadn’t spilt our poor old bearded friend’s beer at the ‘Dog and Fowl’ for nothing. Showing a man something interesting out of a window while you put a spot of chloral hydrate in his tankard is poor chaff to catch old birds.

I caught him by the back of the neck and for a moment we grappled. What I hadn’t realized, however, was the fellow’s strength. Outwardly he appeared a rather flaccid type, but when we came to grips there was muscle there and
weight
to back it up. Besides, he was demented, he fought like a fiend. I had no longer any doubts about the identity of the hand which had sent that skilful thrust into Hayhoe’s neck.

I struggled out of the car, but he was between me and the garage door. I saw his great shoulders hunched against the light. He leapt on me and we fell to the ground. I caught a glimpse of his eyes, and if ever I saw the ‘blood light’ in a man’s face it was then. I nearly escaped him once, and had almost reached the doors when something like a vice seized me by the throat. I was lifted bodily and my head crashed down upon the concrete floor.

It was like going down very suddenly in a lift. It went on and on and at the end there was darkness.

I came up again painfully, in little jerks. I was aware that my arms were moving up and down with a slow rhythmic motion I could not control, and then I was gasping, fighting for breath.

‘Look out – look out. You’re doing nicely. Don’t get excited. Steady yourself.’

The voice came to me like a dream, and I saw through the fog a ridiculous small boy with ink smeared all over his face looking down at my bed in the sicker. Then the boy disappeared, but I still saw the same face, although the ink had been removed. It was Whippet. He was kneeling behind me giving me artificial respiration.

The whole business came back with a rush.

‘Lugg!’ I said. ‘My God, we’ve got to get Lugg!’

‘I know.’ Whippet’s voice sounded almost intelligent. ‘Fellow’s positively dangerous, isn’t he? I let Kingston get away before I got you out. I mean, I didn’t want to have two of you on my hands.’

I sat up. My head was throbbing and there was only one clear thought in my mind.

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get him before it’s too late.’

He nodded, and I was suddenly grateful for the understanding in his face.

‘A fellow came by on a bicycle a moment or so ago,’ he said. ‘I put it to him and sent him off down to the village. He’s going to send the whole crowd up to the nursing home. I thought that was the best way. I’ve got my car in the meadow round the back. Let’s go to Tethering straight away, shall we?’

I don’t remember the journey to Tethering. My head felt as though it was going to burst, my mouth was like an old rat-trap, and I couldn’t get rid of a terrible nightmare in which Lugg was hoist on a scarecrow stake which was as high as the Nelson Column.

What I do remember is our arrival. We pulled up outside the front door of Kingston’s barrack of a house, and when it wouldn’t give we put our shoulders to it. I remember the tremendous sense of elation when it shattered open before our combined strength.

It was a movement on the first floor that sent us racing up the stairs, and, since five doors on the landing were open, we concentrated on the one that was not. It was unlocked, but someone held it on the other side. We could hear him snarling and panting as we fought with it.