The Hog's Back Mystery (4 page)

Alice and Marjorie stared, but neither spoke, and Julia suffered herself to be led from the room. They went into Earle's study and Ursula, summoning all her courage, closed the door and turned to her friend.

“Dear Julia,” she said, “I asked you to come away from the others because there's something that you should know before you decide about calling in the police.” She hesitated. In spite of Julia's own little failings it wasn't going to be easy to suggest to her that her husband was unfaithful. Nor that he was callous enough to leave her in this cruel doubt as to his fate and her own. Suddenly Ursula saw that she had been wrong. Earle would never have done it. If he were infatuated with that other woman he might desert Julia for her, but he would at least have left a note telling his wife the truth.

But it was too late to change her mind now. Besides, Julia ought to know in any case.

“I'm afraid, my dear, you'll be very much hurt and upset by what I have to tell you, but I do think you ought to know. I don't think it has any connection with this affair, but it just possibly might have. When I went up to London last Wednesday”— And she went on and told in the simplest and most direct way just what she had seen. “What I thought, Julia, was this,” she went on. “If by any chance he was momentarily overcome by his infatuation, it's just conceivable he might have gone off to see this woman, and in that case, would you like the police to be brought in? I thought you should know about it, so that you might be able to decide.”

Ursula was surprised at the way her friend took the news.

“Dear Ursula,” she said, “how you must have hated telling me that! But you needn't have minded. I didn't suspect anything of the kind, I admit. But I can't blame him. I may tell you now that we're talking in confidence that our marriage was a mistake. I don't think it was our fault; just we didn't suit each other.” She paused, then went on in a burst of confidence: “If he hadn't looked elsewhere, I might have.” Again she paused, as if regretting her admission, then continued in a tone of greater conviction: “But, Ursula, you're wrong. It's not that. If he had wanted to go to another woman he could have done so at any time without making a mystery about it. I do appreciate your telling me, but I'm sure you're wrong. No, what I'm really afraid of is his heart. His heart is not strong. He has gone out and got an attack and he's not able to come back. I think we should tell the police and I think we should organise a more thorough search.”

Ursula, so far as she was concerned herself, was profoundly thankful. She had done a horrible duty because she believed it was her duty, and she had not lost her friend.

“Then by all means ask Dr. Campion to go at once,” she agreed. “If you feel that way, there's no time to be lost.”

They returned to the others.

“We've not found anything,” Julia told them, “and I think if you, Dr. Campion, would be so good, the police should be told. As I was saying to Ursula, James's heart is not very strong and he may have become faint and be unable to come back. But I don't like your going off to Farnham at this hour. Why not telephone?”

“I thought it would be quicker if I had the car there to drive the men out, but of course they can get their own car. Yes, I'll telephone.” Campion disappeared into the hall and they heard his muffled voice as he put through the call.

“I rang up Margaret also,” he said to his sister, returning presently.

“Our servant, Mrs. Earle,” Alice explained. “She needn't wait up for us.”

After what seemed an age, but what was really only a few minutes, the sounds of an approaching car became audible. It stopped at the door. Campion went out and the murmur of voices followed. Then he returned with two police offi-cers, a sergeant and a constable. The sergeant saluted as they entered.

“This is Mrs. Earle,” said Campion. “Sergeant Sheepshanks has very kindly come out to help us.”

“Dr. Campion has told me what has taken place, madam,” Sheepshanks began. “He says that while not diseased, Dr. Earle's heart was not strong, and that you think he may have had an attack which would have prevented him returning?”

“That's putting it a little strongly,” Julia answered. “I only suggested a heart attack because I can't explain his disappearance in any other way. I don't, of course, know anything about it.”

“Quite so, madam.” The sergeant nodded sagely. “Now before we go any further I should like a word or two with you. Perhaps you could give me an interview in another room? Just you, madam.”

Campion moved forward. “But what about a search, sergeant?” he said. “If Dr. Earle really is ill, every moment might be of value.”

“I've not overlooked that, sir,” Sheepshanks answered civilly; “but we'll get on better if we know just how we stand. Will you come along, madam?”

They disappeared, accompanied by the constable.

“He's got it into his mind that Earle has gone off voluntarily,” Campion explained. “He said, ‘You'll hear of him all right. He just wants a change of establishment. You'll find there'll be a letter from him in a day or two.'''

“Nonsense,” Alice declared sharply. “If it were that, why didn't he leave a note? Besides, I don't think Dr. Earle's that way inclined. And again, why didn't he take a hat and outdoor shoes?”

“That's what I said,” Campion returned, “but it didn't seem to convince Sheepshanks. Well, he's here at all events. I wonder what he'll do.”

Before anyone could reply the sergeant reappeared.

“We're going to have a search round the place,” he said, “and if we find nothing we'll come out and have a better one as soon as it's daylight. Perhaps, sir, you could stay and give us a hand? The ladies may go to bed; there's nothing that they can do. Have you a torch in your car?”

This programme was carried out. Both sergeant and constable were quick and thorough. Armed with powerful torches they went over the entire ground surrounding the house, as well as following for a considerable distance the various paths through the wood. The sergeant also carefully examined the path from the french-window and the road near the gate, but nowhere could they find any traces of either Earle or anyone else. If the man had dissolved into thin air he could not have more completely vanished.

It was getting on to two in the morning when Campion drove his party home. Nothing more could be done but wait for the morning, and though Julia declared she would not undress, all agreed there was no use in sitting up.

Before starting on his round next morning Campion drove back to St. Kilda, to find the sergeant and three policemen already at work. But no faintest clue had so far rewarded their efforts. Earle had simply vanished without trace.

The search was kept up till nearly midday, and then Sergeant Sheepshanks took formal statements from each member of the household, with Julia's permission looking through Earle's papers. One of the questions he asked Ursula was whether she had ever had any suspicion that Earle might have been attached to or had relations with any other woman, and in view of the direct question, she very unwillingly told him what she had seen in London. Somewhat to her relief he didn't seem to think much of it, though he took details of the story. He left with a civil word of thanks for her information, but without any expression of his own opinion.

Slowly the hours of that day dragged away without bringing to light the slightest information about the missing man. Earle had utterly and completely vanished—vanished instantaneously. At one moment seated in his chair, settled down for the evening, entirely normal, dressed for the house: three minutes later, gone. Neither sight nor sound of his going: no trace left: no hint either of cause or method: no suggestion of motive: no explanation anywhere of any part of it. Spirited away! The old phrase seemed to take on a new meaning. It was like seeing the impossible happen before one's eyes.

Nor did the sergeant's prognostication prove correct. There was no letter from Earle, neither that day nor the next. No intimation of any kind was received to prove that he was still alive. Julia indeed was convinced that he was dead. She said that whatever her husband might or might not do, he would never have left her in such a painful state of doubt. Marjorie held the same view, and even Ursula found herself forced to a similar conclusion. Ursula had cancelled her departure, deciding to stay on with Julia for a few days longer.

What the police were doing, if anything, the ladies did not know. The sergeant had returned after lunch to Farnham, saying that he would keep them advised how things went on. But he had told them nothing.

Two days later, however, they found that the police had not been idle after all. A pleasant-looking, keen-eyed man of slightly under medium height called. He presented a card bearing the legend, “Detective-Inspector French, C.I.D., New Scotland Yard,” and said he wished to ask some questions relative to the disappearance of Dr. Earle.

Instantly to the inmates of the house the mystery grew darker and more sinister.

Chapter IV

Inspector French Takes Hold

About ten o'clock on the morning of that same day Inspector Joseph French had alighted from the train at Farnham Station and turned his steps towards police headquarters. He knew the town well, as also the local officers, having worked with them only a few years earlier in connection with a number of burglaries which had taken place in the surrounding country, and which were supposed to be the work of a gang from the East End.

He had had a rather humdrum existence since in the beginning of the year he had investigated that nasty case on the Whitness Widening. That case, in spite of its puzzles and anxieties, he had enjoyed. The railway atmosphere in which he had worked was to him a new and fascinating feature. He had become interested in the technical work of the Widening and had liked watching the slow progress of the job. Moreover, in spite of his calling, he had found the people down there in Dorset pleasant and friendly, and the hotel had been particularly comfortable. The weeks spent on the case had formed a welcome relief from the somewhat drab routine of Town.

So much, indeed, had he liked the district that when the blissful time of his summer holidays came round, he and Mrs. French had spent them at Redchurch. There he had renewed his acquaintanceship with Lowell and Brenda Vane, now Mrs. Lowell, with Bragg, Pole, Ashe, Mayers and the other people whose acquaintance he had made in the winter. Also, he had a walk over the Widening, admiring what had been done since his previous visit, and now seeing the
raison d'être
of a good many things he had not then understood.

Except for the break of the holiday, he had been engaged in London ever since the Widening case. Four seemingly endless months he had spent on a case of forged ten-shilling notes, thousands of which were passed out before he and his fellow-labourers succeeded in laying their hands upon the forgers. Then he had been on a murder in Whitechapel, a sordid affair without any features of interest, requiring for its clearing up dogged hard work, but neither skill nor intelligence. Lastly, he had just recovered two thousand pounds' worth of jewels, stolen from a Mayfair flat. Now he welcomed the instructions which seemed to promise a change of scene.

On reaching the police station he was smilingly saluted by the constable on duty, and shown at once to the room of Superintendent Sheaf.

“Hullo, inspector! Here you are,” Sheaf greeted him, holding out a hand massive as an Epstein carving. “It's what I always say; no one who had ever been to Farnham can keep long away.”

“Always glad, super, to come and give you a lift when you're in trouble,” French rejoined slyly. They had become good friends, these two, and liked and respected each other.

“Oh,” Sheaf returned, “so you think you're coming down to teach us our job, do you? Well, so that there'll be no mistake, I'd better tell you at once that you're not. You're coming to do a job for the Yard, in London. We'll tell you what to do and then you can go and do it.” The superintendent held out a cigarette-case. “Seriously, I think our trouble may lie in Town. It's not, I may tell you, a very satisfactory case. There may be nothing wrong. But there are certain suspicious circumstances, and after consultation with the Chief Constable we've decided it's worth while having the thing looked into.”

“A disappearance, isn't it?”

“Yes; man called Earle. Lives or rather lived about four miles out in the country. Sergeant Sheepshanks was sent for in the night to help to look for him. There's mighty little evidence of any kind, but there is a certain amount of suspicion. We'll have Sheepshanks in and he'll tell you about it.”

Superintendent Sheaf rang and presently the sergeant made his appearance. He also smiled at sight of French, and shook hands with some warmth.

“Now, sergeant,” said Sheaf, “the inspector knows nothing of this case. Get ahead and tell him about it. Have a cigarette?”

The sergeant deposited his huge bulk on a chair, took and lit a cigarette, and addressed himself to French.

“About 12.15 on Monday morning last, sir, I was called out of bed by a 'phone from here. There was a message from Dr. Campion, who lives at Binscombe, a couple of miles from Godalming. It stated”— And Sheepshanks repeated the story and described his visit to St. Kilda, his search there during the night, his return next day and the further enquiries made. “There, sir,”—he handed over some typewritten sheets—“are the statements of those concerned, so far as I was able to get them.”

The man had spoken well and French was able to visualise the happenings almost as if he had been present.

“That's very clear, sergeant,” he said. “Were you able to check up these statements?”

“In a general way, yes, sir. At least as far as I was able to go, I found no discrepancies.”

French nodded and Sheaf struck in, “Better read the statements, French, and then we'll talk about it.”

French did so while the local men conversed on other business. At last French signified that he had finished.

“Well,” said Sheaf with a keen glance, “what does it look like to you?”

This was the sort of question which on principle French never answered. He was certainly not going to give an opinion until he had had time to think over the facts and come to a reasoned conclusion.

“I don't know,” he said cautiously. “At first sight I should say this Earle had gone off to his lady friend in Town, but I see there are some objections to that theory: that is, assuming that all these statements are true.”

“You're not going to commit yourself too irrevocably, are you? Still, speaking quite broadly, does nothing strike you about it?”

“In what way, super?”

“Nothing does, you mean. Well now, look here: is it
likely
? The whole story, I mean. Just think of it. Assume first that Earle intended to disappear. Would he go off in his house-shoes and without a hat or coat? Would he go off without saying where he was going to; I mean, telling some plausible story? More important still, would he not have gone away openly, say for the night? Do you see what I'm getting at?”

“You mean that he was making things unnecessarily difficult for himself?”

“Quite; much more difficult than they need have been. According to this story he chose a method which would arouse suspicion and cause enquiry. At once, I mean. Why should he do that when he could equally easily have got twelve or twenty-four hours' start, or even a week? He would know enough to understand that the hotter the trail, the more likelihood of its being followed up.”

French crushed out the stub of his cigarette and produced his own case.

“It's a point, certainly,” he admitted as the others helped themselves.

“If you or I had been Earle and had wanted to make another start, what would we have done? I fancy both of us would have said to Mrs. Earle: ‘I'm going to play golf to-day,' or ‘I'm going up to Town and I won't be back till dinner.' That would have given him another twelve hours. See the difference? Acting in that way he could have been across the Channel without a question being raised, whereas if he did what these statements suggest he would have been spotted at the boats from the details we sent early on Monday.”

French amiably agreed that there was a good deal in the superintendent's argument. He was always pleased to engage in discussions of this kind, for he had found that in allowing other people to theorise on his cases he occasionally came on an idea of value. The more thought Sheaf had put into the affair and the more he could be induced to air his conclusions, the more of the preliminary spade-work French would be saved.

“There's a good deal of testimony backing up Mrs. Earle's statement,” French asserted to draw the superintendent further.

Sheaf shook his head. “That's just what there's not, French. Don't you see? There's only the sister's. The maid was out and the visitor, Miss Stone, was with the Campions.”

French hesitated. “You don't mean,” he said at last, “that you suspect those two ladies of making away with the man?”

“I suspect no one,” Sheaf returned. “But wait a moment. When Sheepshanks came in that Monday morning we had a talk about it. We considered these points. I told him to go out again and have another look round. As he's told you, he did so. I don't think he's told you all he got.”

Sheepshanks looked up with a protesting expression.

“No, you didn't,” the superintendent insisted, “but I will now. First of all he got what you've seen in the statements. From Mrs. Earle, unwillingly, that she and her husband did not always see eye to eye about things. Then from the maid that relations were often very strained indeed, and Sheepshanks imagines that was putting it mildly. From Miss Lawes, the sister, that she was very fond of her sister and that she was a novelist, and of course that business in London from the visitor, Miss Stone.”

“What has Miss Lawes being a novelist to do with it?” French asked, for the first time not seeing exactly where the other was leading.

“Probably nothing, but don't be in such a darned hurry. Now here's what Sheepshanks, for some reason best known to himself, didn't tell you. It'll throw light on what I've been saying. He got permission from Mrs. Earle to look through Earle's papers. He found a will. Earle had left everything to his wife.”

Sheepshanks, covered with confusion at his lapse, muttered an apology. French at once passed the affair off with a joke, thereby winning the sergeant's undying goodwill.

“I don't think anything follows from that, super,” he continued, once again to draw the other. “It's not uncommon for a husband to make a will of the kind.”

“Quite. And it's not uncommon for a man who is running another woman to change that sort of will.”

French shook his head. “I don't follow exactly. Does that not mean that you do suspect Mrs. Earle?”

“No, but I'll tell you what it means. It means that there is enough suspicion to make it necessary that we should be sure.”

“I agree. And yet does it not occur to you that the mere improbability of the story tells in favour of the ladies? They would never surely have invented these unlikely details. They would have said nothing about the affair for a considerable time, then perhaps would have explained that Earle had gone to London for a few days, but that his return was overdue. It's the argument you used yourself about a deliberate disappearance: they would have waited till the scent grew cold.”

“I realise that all right,” Sheaf returned, “and you may be quite correct. That, however, is where the sister's writing
may
come in. If she is good at inventing plots she might have foreseen that argument of yours, and raised a fuss and advised us simply as a safeguard. If they had found a good place to hide the body, it would have been a pretty good safeguard too. I don't push that; it may be nonsense. All I say is, there's a case for enquiry.”

“I agree,” French repeated.

“On the other hand,” Sheaf went on, “Earle may simply have deserted his wife for the other woman, and that is where your connection with the Yard comes in: we couldn't handle that part of it here.”

“Right, super, I'll carry on. I think all I still want to know is what steps you've actually taken. You said you were having the cross-Channel boats watched?”

“Yes, we sent a description to the pier men; also a general description to all stations. You better check that; you may be able to get more details. That's all we've done.”

“You haven't touched the man's finances?”

“No.”

“It would be interesting to know if he had withdrawn any considerable sum recently.”

“Quite; that's up to you. Any help you want you'll get to the best of my ability. Now if you want to have a talk with the sergeant, go ahead. Only take him away out of this.”

“Come along, sergeant,” said French, “we're not popular here any longer. I don't know that there's very much I want to ask you,” he went on as they settled themselves in another room. “What's your own idea about the affair?”

“He's gone to that woman in London, if you ask me, sir. I don't think Mrs. Earle and the sister have done him in, but of course it's possible. Tell you the truth, sir, I don't see where they could have hidden the body.”

“You don't? I thought that might be a difficulty. Tell me, how complete was your search? Did you go over much of the wood?”

“I went over it carefully close to the house, say a hundred yards in from the boundary fence all round. It's a slow job, you know, sir; the place is full of thick undergrowth and it's hard to push one's way through. But I went along the paths for half a mile or more: further than those women could have carried the body.”

“No sign of anything being dragged through the under-
growth?”

“No, sir, I looked particularly for that.”

“Had the car been taken out?”

“I don't think so, sir. I felt the radiator and it was cold.”

“Who is this man Campion?”

“One of the Godalming doctors, sir. He's a partner of this Dr. Earle who's disappeared, though Earle has practically given up the practice. Campion took another partner some years ago who lives in the town and does the night calls, and Campion moved out to the country at Binscombe. I'm told they have a good practice between them.”

French got up. “Well, sergeant, if there's anything else I want, I'll come to you. I'll go out to the place now and have a look round. Can you lend me a bicycle?”

“Certainly, sir.”

French enjoyed his ride out through The Sands to Hampton Common. He was fairly familiar with the district, not only because of his previous visit to Farnham, but because these Surrey uplands from Leith Hill to Haslemere had formed the venue of many of his Sunday excursions with Mrs. French. The more he had explored the country, the more it had appealed to him. He loved the tree-edged outlines of its successive ridges, showing up solid one behind the other like drop scenes in a theatre. He loved its quaint villages with their old red-roofed half-timbered buildings and their still older churches. He liked following the narrow twisting deep-cut lanes. But most of all he delighted in the heaths, wild and uncultivated, areas of sand and heather and birches and pines over which one could wander as entirely cut off from sight or sound of human habitation as if one was exploring a desert island.