The Hog's Back Mystery (10 page)

He enjoyed the ride. It took him through Shackleford and almost into Farncombe, a suburb of Godalming—or indeed an adjoining town. Then turning back in the Compton direction, he reached the village of Binscombe. Here he slackened down, examining the names on the various gates.

Presently he found the Red Cottage. It stood on one of the few plots of quite level ground in that undulating country. This was a much less characteristic district than that in which Earle had lived. Here the land was agricultural and there were many more houses to the square mile. Campion's looked as if it had been built about the end of the last century. Its great feature was its gables, which jutted out in all directions from the main roof. The garden and grounds were tidy but commonplace.

French turned back into Godalming and had his own lunch, then when he thought Campion would have finished his, he rode out again. Campion was in his workshop.

“Come in,” the doctor called in answer to his knock. “Oh, it's the inspector. Good afternoon, inspector. You want to see me?”

“If you please, sir,” French answered, looking round with admiration at the beautifully appointed little shop. “You have a wonderful place here.”

“Yes, it's not so bad. Can't get time to work in it though. Would you like to come in to the consulting-room, or will this place do?”

“This will do, sir, perfectly, so far as I'm concerned. It's just a few questions arising out of this matter of Dr. Earle's disappearance. I won't keep you long.”

“It's all right. I'm not in any special hurry. What is it you want to know?”

“It's a rather delicate matter, sir,” French went on. “It's about a nurse named Nankivel. I understand she was nursing a patient of yours?”

Campion seemed to stiffen slightly. French noticed it with some misgivings. He hoped professional etiquette was not going to come in to make his task more difficult. The man, however, did not hesitate. He nodded, answering, “Yes, she nursed the late Mr. Frazer.”

“So I had heard. Would you tell me, doctor, what you thought of her?”

“As a nurse?”

“In every way, please.”

Campion shrugged slightly. “That's a largish order,” he answered. “As a nurse I thought highly of her. She was careful and attentive and got on well with her patient. I had certainly no fault to find with her. As to other information, I don't know that I can tell you much. She seemed a quite ordinary nice sort of woman, but I saw nothing of her otherwise than professionally. Why do you ask?”

French bent forward. “You didn't know, sir, that she has disappeared?”

Campion stared. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed; “you don't say so? Disappeared! When did that happen?”

“On Sunday.” French lowered his voice and spoke more impressively. “I'll tell you what I know, but please regard it as confidential.” Campion nodded impatiently. “On Saturday evening Nurse Nankivel got a telegram from Dr. Earle, asking her to meet him on Sunday on the Hog's Back. Whether she did so or not I don't know, but after lunch she left the house in Bryanston Square, where she was employed, and has never been heard of since.”

Campion swore. He stood looking at French with amazement in his eyes, which rapidly turned to a question.

“I can tell you, inspector, that's a surprise,” he said at last. “Earle! You're not suggesting, I suppose…?” He hesitated.

“I'm not suggesting anything, doctor. What I want to know, and what I'm going to ask if you can tell me, is whether Dr. Earle and this lady were acquainted down here?”

Campion whistled beneath his breath. “They were acquainted of course,” he answered, “if you mean by acquainted twice seeing each other while professionally engaged in the sick man's room. If you mean socially acquainted, I don't know. I never suspected or imagined such a thing, but of course I can't say definitely.”

“You never observed anything between them of which at the time you thought nothing, but which now, in the light of what I have said, appears to you significant?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“I understand, doctor. Tell me, during what hours was this lady free?”

“She was on day duty. She had a couple of hours in the afternoon. We had a second nurse for the night.”

“The name of the other nurse, please, doctor. She might have seen something.”

“Most unlikely, I should say: however, it was Henderson.”

“From the same home?”

“Yes.”

“Can you say how often Dr. Earle visited the case?”

“Yes, I said so: twice.”

“And perhaps you'd tell me the circumstances which led to his being called in?”

Campion seemed a little unwilling, but his hesitation was only momentary.

“I've no objection to telling you, inspector, though I don't fancy many medical men would do so. You probably know that Dr. Earle and I are partners?”

“I've heard so, sir.”

“The practice was Dr. Earle's. It's a fairly good practice in Godalming and the surrounding districts. Some six years ago Dr. Earle came into a little money. He never cared for general practice, but wanted to do research work. He had a theory connected with germ cultures about which he wanted to write. He therefore advertised for a partner, and I answered and we came to terms. He moved out into the country and I took over the work. But he did not entirely give up the practice. Certain of the older patients preferred him and he always attended those. Also, in serious or important cases I asked him to come in to check my opinion. This case of Mr. Frazer was a serious case—the man, as a matter of fact, was dying—and I asked him to come in: not that I had the slightest doubt as to the treatment, but simply as a satisfaction to the members of the family.”

“Thank you, doctor, that's all very clear. It doesn't affect my case exactly, but out of curiosity, would you tell me what the old gentleman died of?”

“Well, he had gastro-enteritis. But it was really old age and a weak heart that finished him off. He was sixty-nine.”

French made a move to go, then stopped. “By the way,” he said, “you told me that Dr. Earle had intended to write a book on his germ theory. You don't know if he ever did so?”

“He had begun it: in fact, he had written a considerable part of it. I've seen his manuscript and we've talked it over.”

“It's a funny thing that when I was looking over his things I never came across any papers connected with it. Where did he keep them, do you know?”

Campion shook his head. “I've no idea. When I saw the manuscript it was on the table in his study, but where he put it I don't know.”

“This book and this theory of his meant a good deal to him, I suppose?”

“They did,” Campion answered. “He was very keen.” Then his face changed and he favoured his visitor with a swift, questioning look.

French saw that the doctor had divined his own thought. If at the time of Earle's disappearance this beloved manuscript had vanished also, was it not the final proof that that disappearance had been voluntary?

The more French thought of this, the stronger the argument appeared. If the man had been so keen on his theory and his book, he would never have left the manuscript behind. On the other hand, if he had been murdered, the manuscript should be at St. Kilda. The fact that it had gone undoubtedly settled this extremely knotty point.

This, then, was all that was required from Campion. French slowly made a move to go. Then suddenly he started as an entirely new idea flashed into his mind. Did this matter of the manuscript not mean something very different?

Chapter X

Polperro

The idea which like a whirlwind had upset all French's previous assumptions was very simple. Was it possible that Earle's theory and Earle's book were really valuable, so valuable that they would make the name of their author? Was it possible that Campion should have known this and
stolen the manuscript
? And to enable him to get the benefit of his theft, could he have killed Earle?

Campion guilty of Earle's murder! Here was something to think about! Surely the idea was too far-fetched? Campion was a reasonably successful man, comfortably off now and with an assured, if not a very brilliant, future. He had surely too much to lose to run the terrible risks of committing murder simply to gain professional fame?

French was not so sure. The man might be vain, and vanity is one of the most potent springs of human action. To have his name handed down reverentially, like Harvey's or Pasteur's, he might risk a great deal.

French rapidly considered, while to cloak his concentration he took out and laboriously consulted his notebook, “to make sure he had asked everything and would not have to come back and trouble the doctor again”.

He saw at once that this theory raised again the old problem of the nurse. If Campion had murdered Earle, what had happened to Miss Nankivel? It was absurd to suppose that Campion could have murdered her too.

In three seconds French decided that he could leave this problem over for the present. There was probably nothing in his new idea, but he mustn't miss this opportunity of finding out more about it.

“Well, Dr. Campion,” he said, “I'm very much obliged for what you've told me. That's everything except just for one technical point which I require in order to complete my report. In a murder case, as I'm sure you know, it is the duty of the investigating officer to ask everyone concerned where he or she was at the time of the crime. We don't know that this is a murder, but it conceivably might be so, and if in your case you will give me that information, it'll probably save my troubling you again.”

Campion looked keenly at his visitor, then smiled wryly. “I've heard you did that,” he replied, “but I don't quite see how I am one of those concerned.”

“Only, sir, in the sense that you were a person—how shall I describe it?—in Dr. Earle's environment. You were his partner. The thing is a matter of form. If I went to London without such information I should be sent back to get it.”

“It's all right,” Campion said resignedly. “I don't mind telling you. Where do you want me to begin?”

When he was about it French might as well cover six o'clock, when the nurse was supposed to reach the Hog's Back.

“Oh, I don't know,” he answered, as if to make light of the question. “Say from lunch-time. What time did you have lunch?”

“The usual time, I believe—half-past one.”

“Very well,” French agreed; “that gives us a start. What happened after lunch?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you want this for, seeing Dr. Earle was alive and well for another six or eight hours. However, I suppose you know your own business.” He took a small engagement book from his pocket and turned over the pages. “After lunch: I'm really not sure. I think I sat and read for a time, but I may have come out here. I had to pay some calls and I went out—I'm not sure: after three, I think. I paid—one, two—four calls in all, and then came back here. Miss Stone was spending the afternoon here and I went into the drawing-room at once. Then—”

“About what time did you get back here? Can you remember?”

Campion paused in thought. “I can't,” he said at length. “Somewhere about half-past six, I should think, but I'm not sure.”

“Where did you have tea, sir? That might bring the time to your mind.”

“With the Slaters near Puttenham: that was the last call I paid. They were going to tea as I was leaving and they asked me to join them. I did so and sat for half an hour chatting.”

“So that you drove home somewhere between 5.30 and 6.30?”

“Yes, so far as I remember.”

“Very good, sir. Then you came back here, and went to the drawing-room. What happened then?”

“I can tell you that,” Campion declared. “I remember it all very clearly. Miss Stone was spending the evening with us, as I said. Well just before supper she asked me if I would show her my workshop; my sister had been bumming about the cost and the splendour of my tools. I agreed, of course. Now while I like Miss Stone personally, I abominate hen parties and I looked round for some excuse to keep out of the drawing-room after supper. I noticed a packet of parts for a dolls' house which I had intended to make up for a small patient who had died, and I offered to make them up for Miss Stone. You know, I suppose, that she's connected with a children's hospital in Bath? She was pleased with the idea, so after supper I assembled the thing. When it was finished I went to the drawing-room, and almost at once we started off for St. Kilda: the whole party of us.”

“They're very good, those dolls' house packets. Which one did you choose?”

“The Handicraft people's Romeo Special.”

“A beautiful model,” French commented. “Now can you tell me, doctor, about what time you came to the workshop and returned to the drawing-room?”

“I came here immediately after supper; I suppose that would be about eight. I reached the drawing-room at—Let's see now, I don't know that I can tell you that. About half-past nine, I think. No; earlier, because they took a solid quarter of an hour to throw wraps round their shoulders, and we arrived at St. Kilda at quarter to ten. I noted the time as soon as I heard about Earle. I must have reached the drawing-room about quarter or twenty past nine.”

From 8 to 9.15 or 9.20. And Earle disappeared at 8.40. Could Campion possibly…?

“From eight o'clock to 9.15 is the critical period, doctor. I'm making no insinuations, but can you prove that you were in your workshop during that time?”

“No, of course I cannot,” Campion rejoined irritably. “And why should I? Are you accusing me of kidnapping Earle?”

“I told you, sir, I was accusing you of nothing. All the same, if you can prove where you were during that time it would be so much to the good. Did no one see you at any time between those hours?”

Campion moved jerkily. “What the hell difference does it make whether anyone saw me or whether they didn't?” he asked angrily. “If you don't suspect me, it doesn't matter. If you do, I'm not going to answer you. I don't see what you're getting at.”

French shrugged. “Well, sir, you can take that line if you like. At the same time, I don't see why you should mind answering. If you refuse, of course I automatically suppose you have something to hide. However, it's a matter for yourself.”

French's moderation cooled Campion down. “I've not the slightest objection to telling you anything I know,” he declared. “What I dislike is the insinuation behind your question. However, I can't help that. No one came into the workshop, and no one can tell whether I was here or not. On the other hand, I went into the house. I went in to consult Miss Stone on how she would like the dolls' house finished.”

“What hour was that, Dr. Campion?”

“I don't really know. Somewhere about half-way through the time, because the job was about half done. But I couldn't tell you exactly.”

“That would be somewhere about twenty minutes to nine?”

“I expect so.”

“Well, sir, if you can't go nearer to it, you can't. Then you drove over to St. Kilda?”

Campion made a sudden gesture. “Your saying that reminds me,” he declared. “When I went into the drawing-room the question arose of how Miss Stone was returning to St. Kilda. She had wanted to go by bus and I had said I would run her over. I remember now thinking that if she was going by the bus she would have to start at once. The bus passes the end of our road about five minutes past nine, and it takes about a quarter of an hour to walk to the end of the road. She would have had to leave about a quarter to nine. I must have gone in about twenty-five to nine, or a minute or two later.”

French saw that if this were true Campion could scarcely have had anything to do with Earle's disappearance. Not indeed that he had really seriously suspected Campion, but still…Better to be sure than sorry.

“Very good, sir. That seems to clear the thing up. Then you drove over to St. Kilda?” And he pursued his enquiries.

Presently he thanked Campion for his information and went back to the house. Could he speak to Miss Campion for a moment?

Alice Campion saw him at once. He explained himself and put his questions, then sat waiting while the spate of talk flowed over him. He had asked for details of what took place in the drawing-room between supper and the departure for St. Kilda, and he certainly got them. Full measure, pressed down, running over.

Her statement, which French implicitly believed, confirmed Campion's on every point. There was no doubt that Campion had been in his own drawing-room at the time at which Earle had left his house, over five miles away. And Flo Campion, whom French next questioned, told the same story with equal conviction.

This testimony satisfied French. However, to make assurance doubly sure, he stopped at the first call office he came to and rang up Handicrafts Ltd. to know how long it should take a skilful carpenter to assemble their Romeo Special dolls' house set. When he was told about an hour and a half, the last doubt vanished. Without a pang he abandoned his theory that Campion had killed Earle for the manuscript. Indeed, he now saw that he had never really believed in it.

Returning to Farnham, his way led past St. Kilda, and he called for a few minutes to try to find out where James Earle had been about six o'clock on the Sunday afternoon of his disappearance. He was the one most likely to have met the nurse, and proof that he had done so would be very acceptable.

French, however, was unable to obtain any information on the point. Mrs. Earle thought the doctor was in his study, Miss Lawes believed he was out, and neither Miss Stone nor the servant knew anything about him.

French was disappointed. However, as he rode back to Farnham he told himself he could not expect always to score a bull's eye. Better luck to-morrow!

Next morning was once again fine, and in a mood of reasonable optimism he turned into the police station to see Sheaf.

“Tell me,” he asked after the usual greetings, “something about these Frazers: the old man who died recently and his family.”

“What's the trouble about them?” the super grunted.

“Only that this Nurse Nankivel was there for the twelve weeks previous to Frazer's death, and I want to find out if she was meeting Earle during that time.”

Sheaf nodded, sat back in his chair and produced the inevitable box of cigarettes. “I don't know much about them,” he said, “except what's pure gossip. If you want anything definite, you'll have to get it for yourself. Compton's a good distance away, and quite out of my district.”

“I understand that of course, super.”

“Well, as you know, the old man lived near Compton; between Compton and the Hog's Back. He had a nice place there; fine garden and all that. Mrs. Frazer, I believe, was his second wife, and so far as I am aware there were no children by either marriage. The old boy is supposed to have led her a pretty dance; a crotchety, miserly old ruffian, according to the tales going about, and she seems to have had a hell of a time nursing him and looking after him and running messages for him. Pretty well-to-do old boy too: presumably that's why she married him. He's supposed to have left about a hundred thousand.”

“To her?”

“Partially, according to the stories. I heard she got the house and about two-thirds of the income during her life. There is a nephew; he lives there and potters about the place. Apparently he gets the other third of the capital now, and all the rest at the wife's death. But you mustn't take any of this for gospel. If any of it matters, you'll have to check it up.”

“I don't think it does matter,” French returned, “except to give me a general idea of the sort of people I'm likely to find. Right, super. Many thanks. Will you be busy this evening before quitting time?”

“Not specially.”

“Then if you don't mind, I'd like a chat about the case. I've an idea I've gone far enough.”

The super nodded and French went out. Once again commandeering the sergeant's bicycle, he set off along the winding road through Seale and Puttenham to Compton.

Before reaching the latter village he found himself reminded of his Dorset case. Here earthworks were in progress, first parallel to, and then crossing, the road and disappearing in the direction of the Hog's Back. The Whitness Widening on a Lilliputian scale! The new by-pass road, this must be. This work which he was looking at must continue to the new bridge under the Hog's Back, a bridge he had noticed many times: the bridge at which Earle and Nurse Nankivel were to meet on the Sunday of their disappearance.

French was a good deal more interested in the bypass than he would have been before his Dorset visit. He remembered what he had heard of it. It was to run from just north of Guildford to just south of Godalming, cutting out both towns. A very much-needed improvement, he thought, from what he had seen of the traffic in both of them. In a way he would have never dreamed of doing a year earlier, he now looked at the work: almost indeed from the point of view of an engineer!

He found that the workings ran parallel to the road from Compton Corner to the Hog's Back, and he cycled slowly along, dismounting at intervals to walk across the field to the left and have a look at what was going on. First he came to filling. A small locomotive was bringing down trucks of material which was being dumped to form a bank across some low-lying ground. French observed with interest that side tipping was in progress; that is, that a narrow bank of the proper height had first been made, and that this was now being widened to the full width of the new road.