The Hog's Back Mystery (11 page)

Though he had by this time reached the gate to the Frazers' place, he could not resist pushing on past it for a short distance to see some more of the workings. Soon the filling ran out and cutting took its place. This got deeper, running first through soil, then bringing to light a bed of heavy yellow clay, and finally reaching chalk. For a few moments French stood watching a steam shovel taking out great bites of the clay, each bite filling a wagon. This clay was going down to widen the bank he had first seen.

With a half-sigh—French had an Irishman's love of doing other people's jobs—he turned back, and passing through an ornate gateway, bearing on each pillar the name “Polperro,” he rode up the Frazers' drive. Sheaf had certainly not exaggerated the beauty of the place. Its great glory was its trees. There were elms fringing the drive at either side, and oaks standing at intervals in the green sward, which looked as if they might have been growing there in the days of Elizabeth. Probably they were. The place gave that impression of peace and security which so many of these old English estates bear, the suggestion that time and shocks were powerless to alter its placid and unhurried existence.

The house, when it came into view, was unexpectedly small and unexpectedly old. French was not an expert in such matters, but he had seen through some of the more famous of the old Kent and Surrey houses, and guessed it fifteenth century. It had a tower in the façade, nearly, but not quite, in the centre, with a gateway which would have taken, if not a carriage and pair, at least two horsemen riding abreast. Two wings stretched out on either side of the tower, of different heights, different window spacings and different lengths. The walls below were of old rubble masonry, with half-timbering above of black and twisted oak, leading up to a high-pitched roof of mellow brown tiles. It looked to French like the front portion of a square surrounding a courtyard, and he found afterwards that it had been so, but that the other three sides had been destroyed by fire in the reign of the second Charles. In front, replacing the old moat, was a sunk garden, and to the right of the building French could see a large range of glass houses.

Ringing at the door he sent in his official card, asking if Mrs. Frazer could see him. He was shown into a room panelled and ceiling-joisted in old black oak, with whitewashed rubble between the two. Only the windows and the electric light pendants seemed modern, the former having been evidently enlarged at some comparatively recent time. The fireplace was like a small ante-room, and an electric fire shone like a beacon beneath the huge stone chimney opening.

French had not more than time to observe these details when the lady of the house entered. Mrs. Frazer was tall and fair and good-looking. “Forty, if she's a day,” thought French, “and knows her own mind.” She invited him to sit down and shortly asked his business.

“I'm engaged on this case of the disappearance of Dr. Earle,” he answered, “and in the course of my investigations I have discovered that a nurse who was with you here, during the illness of the late Mr. Frazer, has also disappeared: Nankivel, her name was.”

Mrs. Frazer registered mild surprise, but not much interest and no feeling.

“Very remarkable and unfortunate,” she commented. “Yes?”

“I wished, madam, to make some enquiries about Nurse Nankivel. I am, of course, now trying to trace her as well as Dr. Earle.”

“Naturally, but I'm afraid I cannot give you much help. I met the nurse frequently while she was here, but that was invariably in her professional capacity. I know nothing of her in her private life.”

“Quite, madam. You also knew Dr. Earle?”

“I have met him, but only in the same way.”

“Then you cannot, I suppose, tell me whether these two met otherwise than professionally during the nurse's stay here?”

“No,” said Mrs. Frazer, coldly and finally.

“The nurse gave satisfaction while she was here?”

“Oh yes; I had no fault to find with her.”

French expressed his thanks, adding that he was afraid he would have to ask similar questions to her staff.

She agreed with the same cold lack of interest, and ringing, told the butler to answer anything French might ask him, and to see that the other servants did the same. Then with a slight bow she left the room.

The butler, Marks, lost the rigidity of an automaton which he had assumed in his mistress's presence, indicating that he did not consider French had any pretentions to social position. He answered all his questions with readiness, but without conveying much information. Most of what he did tell was about the family and practically nothing about Nurse Nankivel. It seemed that he for one was sorry about the old man's death. Frazer had evidently been a crotchety and fault-finding employer, but Marks clearly believed Mrs. Frazer would be worse. Obviously he actively disliked her.

Nor did he seem to care much for the nephew, Gates. Gates had a small suite on the first floor, and since his return from Australia some four years earlier, had lived at Polperro. He acted as a sort of secretary-agent for his deceased uncle, who liked him and was believed to have paid him a considerable salary. The work he did, however, was a mere bagatelle. His real interest in life, so the butler indicated with knowing winks, was horseflesh. He and his friend Mr. Slade attended all the races in the country, and betted heavily on them all. Indeed—the butler lowered his voice and became extraordinarily confidential—Mr. Gates was believed to be in low water. He had been, so Marks said, touching his uncle for every penny he could get out of him. They had had some pretty serious disagreements, if not actual quarrels, on the subject. Marsden, the chauffeur, had heard one of these quarrels when passing outside the library window, and Frazer had then threatened to disinherit the nephew if he did not pull himself together. But they had apparently patched the affair up, for Gates was left a handsome slice of the old man's money, besides being residuary legatee. Mrs. Frazer was left the interest on £60,000 and the house for her lifetime, Gates getting the rest, some £30,000. About Nurse Nankivel, except that she was a “nice girl”, the man knew little, but he recommended French to apply to the gardener's wife, with whom she seemed to have struck up an acquaintance. She was on duty during the day, but usually went out from four to six, when sometimes Mrs. Frazer and sometimes Gates watched in the sick-room. He had mentioned a Mr. Slade? Yes, it was the gentleman who lived at Altadore, Colonel Dagger's brother-in-law. He had been a frequent visitor, both to Gates and the Frazers.

All this was told with a very convincing air, but when French asked Marks how he knew it, it lost a great deal of its force. Apparently most of it was gossip, founded on the not necessarily sound deductions of the staff. French, however, knew how well up servants usually are in the affairs of their employers, and he imagined that a considerable substratum of truth underlay the statements.

In his painstaking way he went on interviewing member after member of the staff, till he had questioned them all. He did not, however, learn much more. The chauffeur, Marsden, repeated the story of the conversation he had overheard between uncle and nephew. Mrs. Frazer was liked by no one, and Gates' sporting proclivities were common property. All had a good word for Nurse Nankivel, but except for the fact that her afternoon walks had been usually taken outside the grounds, no one knew much about her.

With one exception. When in the course of his investigations he interviewed the head gardener's wife, she told him a little more. Mrs. Carling had evidently been fond of the missing woman, and seemed glad to give any help she could towards her discovery. Nurse Nankivel, she said, was a pleasant jolly girl, and she, Mrs. Carling, had enjoyed her frequent afternoon visits and the walks they had together. The nurse had been in good spirits all the time she was at Polperro, until about a week before Mr. Frazer died, when she suddenly became depressed and anxious-looking. Mrs. Carling had asked if anything was wrong, but Miss Nankivel had replied evasively. When she was saying good-bye she had begged Mrs. Carling to write to her and keep her posted in the Polperro news. Mrs. Carling had done so, once, but she had had no reply. Mrs. Carling was greatly distressed about her friend's disappearance and did not for a moment believe that the girl's own actions had in any way contributed towards it.

The mention of a letter at once interested French. Tanner had told him that the nurse had certainly received one, and was believed to have received two, letters while at Bryanston Square. The first one, the doubtful one, she was thought to have had on or about Thursday, the 29th of September—that is, ten days before her disappearance. The second she had undoubtedly received on the Tuesday following, four days before the disappearance. Of these, the first was believed to have added a good deal to her perturbation of mind. The second she seemed to have been anxiously expecting.

“When did you write your letter, Mrs. Carling?” asked French.

The lady was afraid she could scarcely tell him; she thought five or six days after the nurse had left, but she wasn't sure. French thereupon got down to it.

By dint of painstaking suggestions he fixed the date. She had really written to tell the nurse about the funeral, and she had described this and the reading of the will and Mrs. Frazer's and Mr. Gates' reactions on becoming wealthy: all as described to her husband by the butler. This proved it was written on or after Tuesday the 27th, the date of the funeral. On the other hand, she had not mentioned a slight accident to her little son which had taken place on the 29th, and she certainly would have done so had it then happened. The letter must therefore have been written on the 27th or 28th.

This certainly looked as if it might have been the letter believed to have been received by the nurse on the 29th, and which had so much increased her anxiety. On the other hand, try as French would, he was unable to discover anything in Mrs. Carling's letter which could have so upset her.

Taking leave of Mrs. Carling, French went back to the main house and asked to see Gates. He was laid up with bronchitis, it appeared, and in bed. French, however, sent up his card, thinking that as the man was probably bored he might see him. Whatever the reason, French's action was justified, for he was asked to go up to the bedroom.

As he entered Dr. Campion was leaving.

“Hullo, inspector! Still at it?” he called as French stood aside to let him pass. “Got any further?”

“Getting on, doctor,” French returned. “Slow, you know, sir, but terribly sure.”

Campion laughed. “I always back the snails and tortoises myself,” he declared as he went downstairs.

Gates, who was sitting up in an arm-chair at the fire, was a big man, about the same height as Campion, but of a heavier build. His fiery red hair and long moustache were greying, and his eyes were blue and dancing with intelligence. His rough-hewn features and massive chin suggested strength, and his manner gave French the impression of a man who would not be easily turned from his purpose.

“Very good of you, sir, to see me when you're not feeling well,” said French. “I just want to ask a question or two on the chance that you may be able to help me.”

“Sit down,” said Gates in a deep booming voice. “I'm all right. I'll be out to-morrow. What did you want to ask me?”

French explained about Nurse Nankivel and said he was trying to find someone who had seen her on her daily walks or at other times when off duty. “I want to find out if she had made any local acquaintances,” he went on, “and it occurred to me that you might possibly have seen her talking to someone.”

Gates hadn't. He knew nothing about her. He had seen her of course, as he had frequently gone in to the sick-room to sit with his uncle. The nurse had been there, though she usually left them alone together. She seemed “all right”, but he had never taken much notice of her.

French did not take to the man. He spoke in a loud blustering way, and French was sure that if he was crossed, he would be nasty. After the subject of the nurse had been exhausted, French stayed for a moment chatting. “You must have seen life in Australia, sir?” he suggested, and Gates, rising to this, told a few of his experiences. He had, it appeared, worked at most things out there. He had farmed sheep, he had dug for gold, he had knocked about on the water-front of Sydney, apparently at one time being next thing to down and out. French would have liked to hear his story, but as his curiosity was only idle, he could not well ask for it. With a polite word of thanks he therefore took his leave.

His enquiries at Polperro had not been particularly productive; in fact, he could scarcely have learned less than he had. He wondered if the second nurse, Nurse Henderson, could tell him more.

From the nearest call office he rang up Sister Austin at the Chelsea nursing-home. Could she tell him the present where-abouts of Nurse Henderson? Oh, at Bramley, was she? Thanks very much.

French felt he could not but take advantage of so wonderful a stroke of luck. Bramley was close by, not more than five miles from where he was standing. Without further consideration he pedalled off.

He had no trouble in running Nurse Henderson to earth. She was on day duty and saw him at once. On hearing his business she at once grew keenly interested, and he saw that she had been much attached to her missing colleague. She was younger than Helen Nankivel, probably by four or five years. French sized her up as a pleasant unaffected girl, and by no means a fool.

He thought it better to take her into his full confidence, and therefore told her of the suspected understanding between the missing woman and Dr. Earle. Nurse Henderson was scornful, indeed utterly sceptical of the idea.

“Oh no,” she said, “nurse was not that kind of woman. You've made a mistake there, inspector, I'm certain.”

“You may be right,” French admitted. “I'm only trying to get information to build a theory on. Tell me, have you got any theory as to what might have happened?”