Читать книгу The Wagoner's Halt Mystery - Reginald Heber Poole - Страница 6

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“Yes, I think you’re right,” Raven said some two or three minutes after Sprott had given his opinion. “The sooner I go down to Wagoner’s Halt the better it will be.”

“You’ll want me to come with you?” Sprott suggested, having observed that his chief had spoken in the first person singular.

“No, I think you’d better remain here, Jimmy,” Raven said slowly. “I’ll go down there right away and find out as far as possible what the position is there. The police will be in charge, and sometimes these local men don’t like outsiders wandering round. I shall have some official standing, of course, as I am acting as the legal representative of Sir Rufus Grayle, Cantrell’s employer.”

“I shan’t be able to help very much just sitting in the office,” Sprott said, anxious to make the trip to Wagoner’s Halt if possible.

“There may be quite a lot for you to do. It might be very helpful to me if I can telephone you here and ask you to make inquiries for me. Oh, and you’d better see the inspector or sergeant at Dane Street later on. Don’t say anything about our client being Kelvin Creed just yet. Evidently Creed himself won’t give his real name. Hope, wasn’t it? Curious he should choose that name, in view of what has happened.”

Jimmy Sprott was disappointed that he was not making the trip to Wagoner’s Halt, but he never attempted to argue against his chief’s decisions. Their relationship was curious in some ways, though not altogether unusual. On one of their queer investigations together, or even when alone in the office, they were “Kit” and “Jimmy” to each other, just two good friends, one of whom was some eight or nine years senior to the other. If a stranger or a client or even one of the other clerks happened to be present, then they became Mr. Raven, solicitor and partner in the firm, and Sprott, his junior clerk.

But whether anyone was present or the two were alone, Kit Raven remained the chief and there was never any argument about his decisions. He gave Sprott certain instructions before he left, and one way and another the junior would have quite enough to do before the day finished.

It was after three o’clock when Kit Raven left Old Flag Court to collect his car from a city garage. Hartsmere was a good hour’s run, but Wagoner’s Halt, although four miles away from Sir Rufus Grayle’s residence, was just about the same distance and possibly took slightly longer because one had to wander over two or three different roads across the common and then through a patch of woodland to the old highway that was little more than a country lane these days.

Years ago it had possibly been a well-used road, but even before the new arterial road had been built the Nappwood Road had ceased to be of any great importance. The name of the house where the Creeds lived, Wagoner’s Halt, was reminiscent of days long ago when the place had been an inn.

The house had been through several phases since those days. Successive owners had made additions and improvements until now it was a very pleasant, rambling, rather patchwork country cottage of the type that would have housed a large family. The inn had stood well back from the road, but the wide space in front where in days gone by the countrymen’s wagons had been drawn in while their owners sought refreshment had been enclosed by a wall and formed part of the small estate. The present occupiers had made their own particular improvements, and what had once been a skittle alley at the back had been converted into a very modern laboratory.

Those were among the items which Kit Raven learned after his arrival at Wagoner’s Halt. A policeman was on duty by the gate at the end of the short semicircular drive to the front entrance. After a brief delay Raven was allowed to go inside. Within the next three minutes he was meeting two people whom he knew quite well: Detective-Inspector Forshaw and his assistant, Sergeant Hopley, of Scotland Yard.

It surprised Raven to find Scotland Yard on the job so soon, but he learned that the Chief Constable for the district, realizing that the people concerned in this tragedy were of some importance, and that there was something mysterious about the whole affair, had promptly decided to avail himself of the Yard’s help. In turn, the C.I.D. had acted with equal promptness.

“An unpleasant case,” Forshaw said, when he had heard that Raven was holding a watching brief, so to speak, on behalf of Sir Rufus Grayle. “There doesn’t seem to be any motive whatever so far. I’ve only been here a very short time, of course, but judging by the brief statement made by the Gills there seems very little doubt that one of the Creed brothers fired the shot. Unfortunately both of them have bolted instead of staying to face the music. Probably they were in a panic, which suggests that they never intended to kill Cantrell. It may have been an accident, but we shan’t know what really happened until they have been found and made their statements.”

A full description of the two brothers had already been circulated to the police. Those descriptions and other particulars were being distributed over a wide area. The net was being spread and it was highly improbable that the Creed brothers would be at liberty for more than a few hours.

“I’m having certain photographs taken now,” Forshaw said as he accompanied Raven through the house to the laboratory at the back. “I doubt if it will help very much and I don’t think fingerprints are going to play any important part. Still, one never knows!”

Inspector Forshaw was not the sort of man to jump to conclusions before he had made a very thorough investigation, unless, of course, the main facts were quite clear from the very beginning. Raven was tempted to tell the Yard man about the queer affair at the office this morning, but decided that it might be better to keep back the information until he had personally seen the man who claimed to be Kelvin Creed.

“Is it quite certain that both the Creed brothers were in this laboratory when Cantrell called this morning?” Raven asked.

“No, it isn’t. You’ll be seeing Gill presently. I’d like you to have a talk with him. One brother was here—Stanton. But there seems to be some doubt about the other brother, Kelvin. But come along and see the Gills. There’s two of them, husband and wife, and they have one boy, age fifteen, still at school. Mr. and Mrs. Gill, with occasional help, look after the Creeds and have been here ever since the brothers came. This has been a nasty shock for them, and they want careful handling. I’ll let you do most of the talking this time.”

They went from the laboratory to a pleasantly furnished dining-room in the house. Sergeant Hopley was sent to ask Gill to come. For the moment they would not trouble Mrs. Gill, but Raven could see her, probably without Forshaw, later on. Kit Raven judged that the Yard man was satisfied with their evidence and evidently saw no reason for piling on the agony by too much questioning at this stage.

Kit Raven appreciated Forshaw’s attitude when Frank Gill came in. A man of about forty-three, cleanly built and looking physically fit except for the strained look about his face, he gave Raven the impression of being absolutely honest and straightforward; a conscientious man who could be trusted to do a job thoroughly whether he was being watched or not.

He and his wife had been with Mr. Stanton and Mr. Kelvin Creed before they came to Wagoner’s Halt some five years or more ago. Gill had, indeed, been in the service of the Creed family ever since he left school, and nowadays he was chauffeur, gardener, butler when necessary, and handyman at all times. He was also the watchdog who saw that his employers were not disturbed by visitors when they were busy in the laboratory. He helped his wife in the house, and he was at times called on to give any assistance the brothers might need in the laboratory.

“You always found them kind and considerate employers?” Raven asked in an almost casual tone, though he was anxious to see just how Gill replied to that question.

“Yes, sir!” The man was almost eager in his answer. “They were always—they’re two of the finest gentlemen that ever breathed, sir. I’ll swear they wouldn’t hurt a fly—not even when they were experimenting.”

Raven asked a fair number of questions, but had never the slightest doubt in his mind that Frank Gill could be crossed off the list as a possible suspect. Gill knew Mr. Cantrell very well and obviously thought highly of him. He had never heard a wrong word between the Creeds and Mr. Cantrell.

There was nothing particularly unusual about the way in which this household was run. Naturally when the brothers were engaged on special work the daily round was varied to some extent. At such times only two people were allowed to go through to the laboratory, and these two visitors were not shown in by Gill but entered alone. They knew the ropes and their visits did not interfere with the scientists’ work at all.

These two visitors were Sir Roger Marston and Mr. Cantrell. Sir Roger’s visits were few and far between, but he was a friend of long standing. Mr. Cantrell was a much more frequent visitor, but even he was very considerate when he knew they were at work on some important task. During these strenuous times the brothers became hermits to some extent, and Gill himself only saw them at the end of the day when they generally managed to take an hour or so off for their evening meal.

That had been the condition of affairs just lately. For the past week or more the brothers had taken their meals, except in the evening, at such times as happened to be convenient in the sitting-room next to the laboratory.

This sitting-room was fitted up with various electrical fittings so that hot dishes could be left for an hour or two; coffee could be made in the percolator and milk boiled by merely using a switch. Gill’s custom at such times was to put everything ready for them early in the morning, and then, later on, being satisfied that both of them had breakfasted, he would clear the crockery away and arrange everything for lunch.

“I dare say they wouldn’t have minded at all if I’d gone in while they were having a meal,” Gill said. “But they’ve often told me I was a marvel the way I’ve done things for them—me and the wife, sir. They were that sort, appreciated everything done for them even though it was only our duty.”

Kit Raven did all the questioning, but it was in an easy conversational way. He was anxious to learn every detail he could about last night and this morning. Apparently the brothers had just completed some highly important work upon which they had been engaged more or less continuously for several weeks past. Last night they had spent longer than they usually did over their evening meal, but had returned to the laboratory later. The Gills had not seen them after that.

This morning breakfast had been prepared in the usual way in the small sitting-room or den next to the laboratory. Up to this point in his story Gill had given his replies clearly enough and without the least suggestion of being on his guard. There was at times a distinct trace of nervousness in his manner, but that was perfectly understandable. The nervousness became more pronounced when he was answering the questions about the events of this morning. He had not seen the brothers, nor had he heard any sounds from the laboratory. It was very unlikely that he would hear anything since the place had been made as sound-proof as possible.

“I—I think they must have had breakfast, sir,” Gill said, and moistened his lips as though the strain was beginning to tell. “I didn’t—didn’t take particular notice when I cleared away.”

Mr. Cantrell had called just after twelve. He came in his car, which was still in the drive now. If anything, Gill thought he seemed rather more than usually cheerful, and he had told Gill that he would only be staying a few minutes as he was going up to London.

“No, I didn’t show him into the laboratory, sir. He said, ‘I’ll just go in and see what’s happening, Gill.’ Then he went off along the passage and let himself into the laboratory.”

“And a few minutes later——?” Raven asked.

“I—I don’t quite know why I went into the passage, sir. Maybe I heard a sound, but I can’t be sure. Just as I reached the passage the door opened—there’s double doors to the laboratory as you’ll have seen for yourself. The outer door was being pushed open and Mr. Cantrell came staggering out. I—saw straight away—something was wrong, and before I could get to him he just toppled forward in a heap. I—did what I could, sir—but—I knew—it was too late.”

Gill’s lips were twitching, and the memory of those moments was upsetting him badly. Raven did not hurry him, but just gently prompted him to go on with his story each time he paused.

“You saw, or thought you saw, Mr. Stanton or Mr. Kelvin Creed through the partly open inner door? You did not see both of them?”

“No—no, sir! Only one,” Gill jerked out. “I thought—it might have been Mr. Stanton—I couldn’t be certain.”

“And he dashed off through the laboratory door which leads to the heath garden?”

“I saw—somebody—going out—and the door banged,” Gill said, and if Raven had been accusing him of the crime the man could not have been more upset.

“You didn’t see any weapon in his hand?”

“No! No, sir! I—I’m certain I didn’t. I only saw—just a moment. There was Mr. Cantrell—I was trying to help him. I didn’t see any weapon.”

“Nor has one been found,” Forshaw put in quietly. “No ammunition either. We may discover something later.”

Some instinct prompted Raven to put another question, rather more abrupt and challenging, to Gill.

“You have no doubt in your mind that Stanton Creed shot John Cantrell?”

“No—no, he didn’t!” Gill gasped the words out. “He couldn’t—he wouldn’t do it, sir. They—neither Mr. Stanton nor Mr. Kelvin would hurt a fly. Mr. Cantrell—he’s their best friend. They thought the world of him. I—I’m sorry, sir.”

Forshaw, who had been making one or two notes in his book, looked up quickly. Like Raven, he was startled by the intensity of Gill’s protests.

“Yes. I quite understand,” Raven said, but he did not really understand at all. There was something about Gill and his statements which puzzled him considerably. He had the contradictory feeling about the man that he was entirely honest and straightforward and yet he was keeping something back.

“We might see Mrs. Gill now, I think,” Forshaw said.

“She’s very upset, sir,” Gill said weakly. “She can’t tell you anything about it. If you could—if you wouldn’t mind—leaving it for a time——”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Gill,” Forshaw assured him. “Mr. Raven quite understands, but he would like to see your wife for a minute or two. I won’t come with him. Mr. Raven really hasn’t anything to do with the police, you know.”

For a moment it looked as though Gill was going to make a fresh protest. Raven was in two minds about it himself, but some instinct urged him on. He went with the reluctant Gill to the kitchen. Mrs. Gill was sitting in a chair and, judging by the way she was huddled up, she was in a worse state than her husband. Normally she was obviously a good-looking, cheerful, middle-aged woman, but she seemed to be completely crushed at present.

And then her eyes, when she did turn them towards Kit Raven, had in them a look of sheer terror as though some unknown fear had her in its grip. There was not a more sympathetic, understanding man to be found than Kit Raven, yet there was a queer feeling in his mind that it was not so much the shock of this tragedy but some threat which still hung over this house which was frightening both Frank Gill and his wife. Moreover, Gill’s story did not altogether tally with some of the items Kelvin Creed had told Jimmy Sprott this morning.

Raven was quite gentle, however, in his questioning of Mrs. Gill, though he wished she would raise her head and look him straight in the eyes. As he turned towards the dresser he noticed a tray with two or three pieces of crockery on it. Quite by accident, apparently, Raven put his hand rather heavily on the upturned rim of the tray.

A cup and saucer were jerked off and fell with a clatter to the floor. Gill was jumping forward at once and jerking out, “It’s all right, sir. My fault. I’ll see to it, sir.”

In that brief instant Mrs. Gill, suddenly startled, had jerked her head up and Raven had the answer to the question that had been puzzling him. Mrs. Gill did not wish anyone to notice her throat. There were three very recently made scratches or wounds as though some animal had tried to bite her, or—no! It was not likely that an animal had caused those wounds. More probably it was a human hand with sharp nails that had gripped her throat.

For an instant Raven was tempted to ask questions about those marks. Then, almost abruptly, he was thanking Mrs. Gill for the little she had been able to tell him and was leaving the kitchen. Gill followed him anxiously, eager, it seemed, to be of any help, but Raven no longer needed him.

He joined Inspector Forshaw again, and together they went through the laboratory and then out into the garden. Forshaw could answer all the questions Raven wanted to ask, though Kit was now beginning to wish that he had brought Jimmy Sprott with him. His young assistant had an extraordinary capacity for noticing trivial items which usually turned out to have quite an important bearing on the problem they were trying to solve.

“You’ll be staying on here for a time, Forshaw?” Raven asked suddenly, as he looked at his watch and realized that Sprott would be waiting for him at the office, and that the case of Kelvin Creed still had to be dealt with. “I shall have to be getting back now, but I’ll probably run down here again to-morrow. It’s a queer case.”

“There’s a lot more behind it than we have fathomed yet, of course,” Forshaw said slowly. “But I doubt if we shall make much progress until we have one or both of the Creed brothers in our hands.”

“And possibly you won’t learn very much from them,” Raven said dubiously, and then added hastily, as Forshaw looked at him sharply: “No, I haven’t any theories at all yet beyond a strong feeling that neither of the Creeds had a hand in Cantrell’s death. I’ll be seeing you to-morrow. Good-bye!”