Читать книгу The Silver Bullet - Fergus Hume - Страница 5

"And sunsets fire, the Saxham spire,

My guide post unto heaven."

So sang midway in the last century a local poet, who died long since and passed, poems and all, into oblivion. But the famous spire in its copper sheathing still catches the sunlight, and glows in the centre of Saxham, a veritable pillar of fire. Those natives who have emigrated, enlisted as soldiers, taken situations in London and elsewhere, shipped before the mast, as some have done, always remember church and spire. The children recall its ruddy blaze when they read Exodus.

Saxham was not a large place. It might have contained a couple of hundred inhabitants, probably less, and these principally agricultural labourers. They worked on the farms and estates which dotted the vast alluvial plain stretching to Beorminster. As the city, like that one mentioned in the Bible, is set upon a hill, the twin towers of the cathedral and Bishop Gandolf's spire can easily be seen from Saxham. But the villagers prefer their own spire and their own parson, rarely venturing the three miles to Beorminster. Those who do go, always return to their beloved hamlet, more convinced than ever as to the superiority of their birthplace. A sturdy stubborn set of rustics, these men and women of Saxham.

The topography of the country as set down in Herrick's map, showed that Saxham was almost the centre of the district, taking Beorminster as the real navel. The great plain was covered with many such hamlets, each clustering round its parent church; but Saxham was the nearest to the city. Far away on the other side was smoky Irongrip the manufacturing town; almost in sight of Marleigh and Heathcroft. Then sixteen miles across Southberry Heath (which Herrick and Joyce had so wearily trodden on the previous night) Southberry Junction roared with perpetual traffic for here, the great main line tapped the local railways which converged from all points. The pine-woods, sheltering Saxham from the chill winds of the moor, also barred it from the outside world, as Southberry was considered to be. Saxham, with its neighbouring hamlets, claimed to belong solely to Beorminster. The folk would have called themselves autochthonous, had they known of such a word and its meaning.

The plan of the village was simple. In its centre was a genuine village green, with a quincunx of immemorial elms. From this ran four streets through the mass of houses, until they passed beyond them altogether and out into the country. On one side stands St. Edith's church in a nest of trees; on the other 'The Carr Arms' an inn of undoubted antiquity. The remaining two sides are occupied by rows of mediæval-looking houses, inhabited by those whom Saxham calls "the best people," by which is meant the tradesmen. There was no doctor or lawyer and the rector representing the gentry in the village itself, dwelt on its outskirts. The country people lived outside the village on their estates and visited it only on business; and as there were no Radicals in Saxham, these were looked upon as more than mortal.

Under the red tiled roof of 'The Carr Arms,' Robin Joyce was still sleeping the next morning when the green was filled with excited people talking of the murder--so they called it. The events of the previous night had so shaken the nerve of the little man, that it was all Herrick could do to get him out of that ghastly mansion, and down to the inn. Dr. Jim, rousing the landlord, had told his story and after seeing Robin to bed, had turned in himself. What did it matter to him, that the great house was still ablaze in the pine-wood, still filled with precious things, and its doors and windows open to thieves? He was too tired almost to think, and the moment his head was on the pillow, he fell into a heavy dreamless slumber, which lasted until ten the next morning.

From this much-needed rest, he was awakened by Napper, the landlord, a burly man, with a ruddy face suggestive of beef and beer in large quantities. In no very pleasant humour, Jim sat up, to demand with a growl and an adjective what was wanted. On being informed that Mr. Inspector Bridge of Beorminster waited to see him, the events of the night came back on his still drowsy brain with a rush. Thoroughly awakened, he promised to be down in half an hour, and forthwith tumbled into the largest cold bath Napper could provide. After a douche, and ten minutes' gymnastics, the Doctor hurried into a clean shirt and his homespun suit. While he dressed he meditated on the fact that Napper had lost no time in telling the police what had happened. In a few minutes he looked into Robin's bedroom, and finding his companion still in an exhausted slumber, he went downstairs alone, to face the officer.

Inspector Bridge was a tall lean man with a serious face, and--what was surprising taken in conjunction with his funereal looks--a jocular manner. The man's humour lurked in his eyes--a grey pair of twinklers, which belied the turned-down corners of his mouth. His movements were slow, his tone was brisk and businesslike. Rather a contradictory personality Herrick thought, and concluded that Bridge resembled nothing so much as an undertaker out for a holiday. His profession would thus account for the solemnity and slowness, and the holiday explain his brisk jocularity.

This incongruous officer considered the young man with a pursed-up mouth and a humorsome eye. He saw that Herrick was a gentleman, and this opinion being confirmed--in the Inspector's mind--by the sight of a signet ring, he treated him with more deference than he had been prepared to show. Napper's report of the pedestrians had led Bridge to infer that they were of the genus "tramp."

"Good morning sir," began the Inspector genially. "I have come to see you about this murder of Colonel Carr. My card--Mr.--Mr.--"

"Dr. Herrick," said Jim, glancing at what he profanely called the official ticket. "Have you breakfasted Mr. Inspector? If not, or if you have--it really doesn't really matter--take the meal with me. I must eat before I can talk."

Bridge was only too willing, and Herrick went up several degrees in his good opinion. "Napper can cater excellently," said he rubbing his hands. "I have often tested his hospitality."

Dr. Jim privately thought that the Inspector was not averse to testing anyone's hospitality: but the man seemed decent enough, and Herrick was sufficiently worldly-wise to make himself agreeable to Jack-in-Office. In another half hour the two were seated in a pleasant parlour before a well-spread table. Bridge performed wonders in the way of eating. How he could remain lean with such an appetite, was a wonder to Jim. But the doctor himself was not far behind, and between the two of them, they swept the table clean. Then Herrick lighted his pipe, ensconced himself in a chintz-covered arm-chair near the window, and prepared to answer the Inspector's questions before asking several of his own.

At the out-set Bridge detailed, all that had been done up to that moment. Three policemen were looking after "The Pines" (so was the house called), and guarding the dead; a doctor was expected from Beorminster to inspect the body; the Coroner to attend to the inquest; and the relatives of the deceased had been notified. Then Mr. Inspector put Herrick through a stiff examination, and took down all he said. When the officer was quite satisfied and his note-book was full, Jim proceeded to make enquiries on his own account. The strangeness of the whole affair, roused his curiosity, and--as Bridge pleasantly observed,--he showed marked symptoms of "detective fever." This was the first time Jim had stumbled across the disease.

"The dead man was called Colonel Carr?" asked Dr. Herrick, crossing his legs.

The Inspector nodded. "A well-known county name," said he, "Wilfred Lloyd Carr. You can see it in Burke's Landed Gentry. But what you will not see," added Bridge with a dry cough, "is the name he was known by hereabouts,--wicked Colonel Carr sir. That is what every man woman and child called him, not without reason Doctor."

"H'm! It does sound as though he had a bad reputation."

"Bad sir," echoed the Inspector not without pride, "a regular out and out rip. But that he belonged to the gentry, he would have been through my hands I can tell you. And to think of him being murdered. I ain't astonished, no I ain't astonished. He was too wicked to die in his bed as the Christian he wasn't."

"Why do you say he was murdered?" asked Jim alertly. "The revolver was in his hand. Looks like suicide to me,--at the first glance of course."

Bridge laughed grimly and shook his head. "Colonel Carr was the last man in the world to take his own life sir,--too much afraid of the burning pit for that. I examined the body this morning, and I say--murder. Certainly my examination was cursory. But if he had shot himself through the heart, the linen over it would have been scorched. There is no mark of powder not even a singe. No sir, that shot was fired at a long range. If you did not alter the position of the body Dr. Herrick, I should say that the shot had been fired from the door."

"I did not alter the position of the body Mr. Inspector. I merely turned it over, and replaced it. H'm! murder you say. And the assassin placed the revolver in the dead hand to hint at suicide. Clever man or woman Mr. Inspector. Which?"

"Lord knows," replied Bridge rubbing his grey hair. "The Colonel had heaps and heaps of enemies I can tell you. Whether man or woman, I do not know. But I'll tell you one thing Dr. Herrick, whosoever fired the shot knew the Colonel excellently well."

"I see what you mean. The assassin knew that his victim was left-handed."

"Right sir. You've hit it. Now," added Bridge meditatively, "could it have been Frisco?"

"Frisco. Who is he or her?"

"Frisco was the servant of Colonel Carr," explained the Inspector, "and as great a mystery as his master; San Francisco, he called himself, and that I take it is the name of a town. The wicked Colonel shortened it to Frisco for short. Yes! Frisco might have killed him!"

"If you would only give me a concise biography of Carr, I should be less in the dark Mr. Inspector."

"Oh, you'll hear plenty of stories about him,--none of them creditable. But to put all you need know at present into a nut-shell, I can only say that the wicked Colonel returned here from foreign parts ten years ago. He built that tower, and shut himself up to live the life of a recluse. He brought Frisco with him, and the two inhabited that house all alone. No one thought of going near it."

"Ah! That is why the crime was not discovered earlier."

"Certainly Doctor. The milkman, the baker, and the butcher, were always instructed to leave their goods in a porch at the side of the house. In that porch," added Bridge, "we have found two days provisions. To-day is Friday, last night when you discovered the body was Thursday, and the provisions for that day and Wednesday were untouched."

"H'm! So Carr was alive on Tuesday!"

"I believe doctor, that he was murdered on Tuesday night. According to Napper, Frisco, was drinking here on that evening, and spoke ill of his master. Carr must have been alive then. If Frisco killed him, he would leave Saxham on Tuesday night, therefore the provisions for Wednesday and Thursday would not be taken in."

"Did not the baker and the rest suspect anything, when they found two day's provisions untouched?"

"Lord bless you, no sir," said Bridge jovially. "The wicked Colonel was that queer, that nothing he did seemed strange."

"Well!" said Jim after a pause. "From what you tell me, it seems likely that this man Frisco knows something of the murder, if he did not commit it himself. Can't you find him?"

"There is no sign of the man sir."

"What about his appearance?"

"A stout sailor, that's what he looked like," said Bridge reflecting, "red hair and blue eyes, an American way of speaking, and a cross on his forehead right above the nose."

"A cross! What do you mean?"

"A scar sir; a criss-cross slash with a knife. Frisco said he got it in South America. But I don't rightly know how. Frisco could be secret if he liked, even in his cups, and he could drink rum by the bucket."

"Have you set the detectives after him?"

"Not yet. I am waiting until the inquest is held. It takes place to-day at 'The Pines.' You will be there Dr. Herrick, and your friend?"

"Certainly. But my friend can tell you no more than I can. If I were you though Mr. Inspector, I should certainly seek out this Frisco man at once. What is his real name?"

"I don't know nor anyone else sir. He was a mystery I tell you. As to looking him up, I like to do things in an orderly manner. First the inquest and all the available evidence sir. Then we shall see."

Herrick shrugged his broad shoulders. It was not his business to instruct Bridge, but it seemed to him foolish to delay hunting for this mysterious Frisco. The man might be innocent, but on the face of it there appeared to be a strong suspicion against him. Men do not disappear without some reason; and as Frisco was gone, leaving a dead body behind him, it looked as though terror had winged his heels. His reasons could resolve themselves into only one of two things. Either he had murdered his master himself, and had fled to avoid the consequences, or he knew who had committed the crime and, intimidated by the assassin, had made himself scarce.

While Herrick was turning over the situation in his own mind, a knock came to the door, immediately afterwards a girl entered. She was a slip of a thing, who looked about nineteen, slim and well-set up. Her face was oval and thin, and burnt red by wind and sun. Herrick had never before seen hair of such a glorious red; it resembled ruddy gold, and was wreathed in burnished coils round her well-shaped head. This young lady had eyes of a sapphire blue, and a firm-set mouth. Dressed in a navy serge plainly made, with a linen collar, a brown leathern belt, and gauntlet gloves, she looked trig and neat. A girl likely to be passed over in a crowd until one looked into her wonderful eyes. The soul that looked out of them proved she was a woman of no common intelligence. Her manner was refined and well-bred. She was remarkably cool, and after a shrewd glance at Herrick, addressed herself to the Inspector.

"I beg your pardon for interrupting you," she said in a brisk but not unmusical voice, "this inquest Mr. Inspector?"

"It takes place at 'The Pines' this afternoon Miss Endicotte," replied Bridge who seemed to know her well. "But surely Miss you will not attend."

"Certainly Mr. Bridge. I do the copy for the Chronicle. Besides, poor Colonel Carr was my friend, and I want to hear the truth about his death."

Herrick looked sharply at the only person he had heard speak sympathetically of the dead man. "There lives some soul of good in all things evil," he quoted, and a flash of the girl's teeth showed that she perfectly understood.

"Oh, I know that everyone speaks ill of the Colonel," said she a trifle sadly, "he was bad enough, no doubt. Yet, your quotation applies to him more than the gossip about him would lead you to suppose." Here she glanced at Bridge. Not so much to emphasise the fact that he talked ill of the dead, as to invite an introduction. Bridge was quick to see her real meaning.

"This is Dr. Herrick, who found the body," said he, "and this lady, doctor is Miss Bess Endicotte, who reports for the Beorminster Weekly Chronicle."

Jim was a trifle surprised and disappointed to find that this charming young lady occupied such a position, though why he should have been either he could not explain even to himself. However he bowed with a smile, and received the same courtesies in return. Miss Endicotte's eyes rested approvingly on his splendid figure. "This is what I call a man," they seemed to say, but with her tongue she uttered quite different sentiments.

"I am glad to meet you Dr. Herrick," she said gracefully, "you must tell me all about your discovery,--that is, you do not mind my making copy out of you."

"Not at all," responded Herrick eagerly, "I am accustomed to be made copy of. My friend Mr. Joyce, who is at present upstairs asleep, is a literary man. I am quite hand and glove with the guild I assure you."

"In that case we must be friends," said Miss Endicotte frankly. "Mr. Joyce was with you last night?"

"Unfortunate yes Miss Endicotte. He is a nervous man, and not strong. I am sorry to say that the terrible sight upset him. All the good I hoped he would obtain from this walking tour has disappeared."

"Are you on a walking tour?" asked Bridge who was putting on his cap.

"Yes! For the last fortnight we have been tramping over the country. The last place we stopped at was Southberry. Then we crossed the Heath to stumble on this disagreeable adventure. Why do you smile Miss Endicotte?"

The girl flushed a trifle. "I have heard of you!"

"Of me," Jim stared, "but I am not known in this part of the country my dear lady. Have we met before? Somehow, your face seems familiar?"

"It would be more familiar were I two inches taller and had dark hair," said Miss Endicotte with an amused look, "if you will stare at"--

"Ah!" interrupted Jim eagerly, "I remember now. The lady I saw talking to the little curate in Southberry church!"--

"Was my sister," replied the girl. "When you mentioned Southberry, I remembered that she mentioned how you stared at her, and described your appearance. Then I recognised you."

"I hope your sister did not think me rude," said Jim rather confused, "but the fact is, she is so--"

"I know," interrupted Miss Bess composedly. "Ida is accustomed to admiration. But this is not business," she added turning to Bridge, "Well what's to be done now Mr. Inspector?"

"Nothing can be done until the inquest is held," he replied going towards the door. "But I recommend you Miss Bess, to interview this gentleman. He can tell you much that will be of interest to your readers."

The Inspector slipped out with a laugh, and Miss Endicotte turned her sparkling eyes on Dr. Herrick. "I hope you won't think me a nuisance," she said, hesitating, "but if you could."--

"Only too pleased," said Jim placing a chair. "What is it you wish to know Miss Endicotte?"

"All about yourself and your friend, and the walking tour, and the discovery." Thus far she rattled on blithely, but then flushed, and stammered. "Please do not think me rude," she murmured, "in my present capacity I am simply a machine for the Beormister Chronicle. If you do not wish to tell me anything--"

"I have not the slightest objection," replied Jim laughing. "Do you object to my smoking? I can answer your questions better if I smoke."

"Please do," cried Miss Endicotte eagerly. "I am used to it. My brother Frank is never without a pipe in his mouth."

"Your brother and I should get on well together then," said Herrick artfully, not that he wanted to meet the brother so much as the beauty-sister of Southberry Church, "however--this interview!"

Miss Bess--as the Inspector called her, pulled out a pocket-book, and became the reporter at once. She was versed in her profession and put the shrewdest of questions. All the same she appeared to be nervous at times, and Herrick guessed that it was the innately refined woman struggling with the necessary obstrusiveness of the bread-winner. However he did his best to put her at her ease, and told his story as concisely as possible.

"My name is James Calthorpe Herrick," he said. "I am a doctor, supposed to be practising in West Kensington, London. My friend Joyce was one of my patients--is I should say. He lost his mother and fell ill--by the way you need not put that down Miss Endicotte. All you need let your readers know is, that Mr. Joyce and myself have been on a walking tour, and stumbled--as I said before, on the Pines, and the body." After which statement Herrick detailed the arrival at the lighted house, the exploration and the discovery.

Miss Endicotte put all this down, and promised to amplify it in such a manner that it would not trench upon Herrick's private affairs. Then he asked the girl about Colonel Carr. She was rather reticent on the subject.

"I do not feel that I am justified in speaking of the matter," she said shaking her head, "all I can say is that Colonel Carr was better than his reputation. From what I can gather he was murdered. Well, he expected to be--that is--" she broke off and flushed.

"He expected to be murdered!" Herrick looked keenly at her.

"Hush," said Miss Endicotte with a glance at the door. "I have no right to say that. It is a long story, and not very clear. If you remain in Saxham, if we become better acquainted, I might--how long do you stay?"

"It all depends upon my friend," replied Herrick his curiosity at fever-heat with these hints, "he is ill I am afraid. I must go up and see him now. We shall meet again I hope."

"I think so. I shall be at the inquest. And you?"

"Of course. I must give evidence. Joyce also if he is well enough. By the way Bridge mentioned some relatives of Carr's. Who are they?"

"Mrs. Marsh and her son," said the girl with some reluctance, "they live in the Bishop's Close at Beorminster. It will be a great shock to them, although they were not on good terms with the Colonel."

"Will they be at the inquest?"

"Mr. Marsh will be there but his mother is very ill. She caught cold a day or two ago, and is now in bed with a sharp attack of pneumonia."

"Troubles never come singly," said Herrick sententiously, "by the way, the suspicions of Bridge about Frisco?--"

"I am sure he is innocent," cried Miss Endicotte flushing. "Frisco was bad, but he loved the Colonel. He would not have killed him. I--I--" she suddenly shook her head, checked herself, and walked out of the room. Herrick stared. Was it possible that this charming girl knew the truth?