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We arrested Richard Radford that night. That he and his family evidently expected it was plain from the fact that he was ready for us when we called again, and that his mother had packed a small suitcase containing immediate necessities. He said nothing when arrested, and nothing when formally charged, and I saw quite well that the policy of defiant silence which he had adopted from the first was going to be maintained until the end.

He was brought up before the West Riding magistrates, sitting at Ullathwaite, next morning. Intense interest had already been aroused in the town and in the neighbourhood, and the courthouse was packed. There was an unusually full bench; Mr Wrenne presided. But the proceedings on that occasion were merely formal and therefore very brief. Evidence of arrest was given and a remand asked for and granted: the whole thing was over in a few minutes. But later in the day the coroner’s inquest on Maidment was opened, and the proceedings at that lasted until evening. All the evidence we had accumulated was brought forward before the coroner and his jury: everybody in the town, accordingly, became familiar with it. Possibly, had the coroner desired it, he could have got a verdict from his jury there and then, but he, remarking that he should not sit again until after the adjourned police proceedings, adjourned his own inquiry for three weeks.

Next morning the local newspaper came out with a verbatim report of the proceedings before the coroner, and every man and woman in Ullathwaite began to talk and to talk of nothing else. From what I heard, and from what was reported to me, it soon became evident that the vast majority of Ullathwaite people were on Dick Radford’s side. What the general attitude was I soon discovered from a conversation I had with a certain well-known man of the town, a somewhat eccentric, but eminently shrewd, keen-witted business man who was a great figure on the Town Council. Meeting me in the market-place two or three days after Dick Radford had been remanded in custody, he buttonholed me.

‘Now, Mr Superintendent,’ he said, ‘what are you making out about this murder case? Anything fresh?’

‘Nothing more than you have no doubt read in the local paper,’ I replied.

‘What do you think, yourself?’ he demanded.

‘That is not for me to say,’ I answered.

‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Well, I know what I think!’

‘Yes?’ I rejoined. ‘I should be glad to hear your opinion.’

‘Would you?’ he retorted. ‘Maybe—and maybe not! For my opinion is that you’re on the wrong tack!’

‘Can you suggest the right one?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I can!’ he said. ‘Get off the wrong ’un to begin with! Young Dick no more killed that Maidment chap than I did! No, nor robbed his dead body either! Anybody that knows him knows well enough where the truth lies!’

‘Where, then?’ I asked. ‘I would give something to know, myself.’

He seized the lapel of my coat again, and shook it vigorously.

‘Lord bless you!’ he said vehemently. ‘Can’t you see? Where are your eyes—and your brains? The lad’s shielding somebody! Who? God bless my life and soul!—that’s your job! Find out who it is! What’re you there for?’

The Solution of a Mystery

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