piu^^-


THE GARSTON MURDER CASE


BOOKS BY
H. C. BAILEY
CALL MR. FORTUNE
MR. FORTUNE'S PRACTICE
MR. FORTUNE'S TRIALS
MR. FORTUNE, PLEASE
THE GARSTON MURDER CASE


- -
-------
H, c. Bailey
THE
GARSTON MURDER CASE
The creator of Mr. Fortune writes
a novel of murder bred by mur-
der . . . as thrilling a book
as you will ever read
GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 1930 PUBLISHED FOR
THE CRIME CLUB, INC.
By DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & COMPANY, INC.


PRINTED AT THE Country Life Press, GARDEN city, N. Y., U. S. A.
-
:
:
:
copyRIGHT, 1930
BY DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & company, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
FIRST EDITION


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CONTENTS
"I Mr. Clunk
II. Secretary and Nurse
III. Warning to Tony
IV. Bradstock Abbey
V. Miss Morrow's Jewel Case
VI. Inspector Gunn and Superintendent Bell
VII. Mr. Clunk Takes a Case
VIII. Mr. Clunk for the Defence
IX. Tony Lands
X. His Secretary and Lord Croyland
XI. Visitors at Bradstock
XII. Mr. Clunk Bears No Malice
XIII. In the Dark
XIV. On the Road
XV. The Dark Archway
V
pace
I4
23
28
46
56
87
93
Io/
117
I26
137


VI CONTENTS
CHAPTER PACE
XVI. Before Lunch 147
XVII. After Lunch 157
XVIII. After Tea 185
XIX. Lord Croyland Is Out 202
XX. Embarrassment of Superintendent Bell 208
XXI. Investigations at the Abbey 223
XXII. Further Investigations 239
XXIII. Disappointment of Mr. Clunk 246
XXIV. Mr. Clunk's Flight 256
XXV. Decisive Action by Tony 265
XXVI. The Seat in the Ruins 271
XXVII. Mr. Clunk at Home 280


THE GARSTON MURDER CASE





CHAPTER I
MR. CLUNK
A spring wind was blowing down the Strand. Mr.
Joshua Clunk came out of a tea shop, stopped to look
at the world with benign approval, and wound his
way across the jam of buses. He went on up Bow Street,
a small, plump man, with the tripping step of a happy
child in a hurry, not otherwise childlike. He was a
harmony of gray: gray clothes which were almost black,
gray moustache, and little whiskers which were almost
white. His face had the colouc and gloss of yellowing
ivory, but from wrinkled hollows his large eyes gave a
pale gray gleam. Mr. Clunk did not conceal that he
liked himself. He tripped on to the murmured twitter
of a hymn:
"But the seeds of good we sow,
Both in shade and shine will grow
And will keep our hearts aglow
While the days are going by!"
Near the police station two men passed him, and
to the elder, a square man of some age, he lifted a hand
of greeting and called gaily: "Beautiful weather!"
: But it was not well taken. The square man, who was
Superintendent Bell of the Criminal Investigation De-
partment, passed on with a nod and a grunt. "Who
is your dear old friend, sir?" the younger, larger man
asked.


2 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Smug little cat, ain't he?" Bell growled. "Don't
you know him, Underwood? You will. He's Clunk &
Clunk, Joshua Clunk."
"What, the crooks' solicitor?"
"That's the fellow. I'd say he's given us more trouble
than any man that's never gone to jail."
"I suppose so," Sergeant Underwood nodded. "Sails
pretty near the wind too, don't he?"
"And then some," said Bell. "Nasty little bag of
tricks."
"I've never seen him before. Looks like a church-
warden or a deacon or something."
"Most likely is," Bell grunted. "He would be."
If you will allow for professional prejudice, this
description of Mr. Clunk was accurate enough. His
father left the firm of Clunk & Clunk with a small
respectable practice in people who would not pay their
bills. Joshua had larger ambitions. Under his rule Clunk
& Clunk took up crime. It was discovered by the small
fry of the criminal profession that no lawyer could make
so much of their hopeless cases as Josh Clunk. Though
he failed to get them off, he would at least have a game
with the police and give them a run for their money—
even when money was lacking they had the run, if the
case would make a show in the papers. So he attracted
the more successful practitioners, the engineers of large-
scale crime and its financiers, and the amateurs of talent,
the respectable citizens adventuring into ample theft and
fraud, learned that Joshua Clunk was the man for them.
In these days of his maturity, he did not himself
take a case in the police court unless it was big enough
to fill the papers. The name of Clunk & Clunk com-
manded respect enough for the young men from his
office who had learned a portion of his bland persistence,
his cynical feeling for the popular, his lack of scruple.


MR. CLUNK 3
He worked unseen. Other solicitors might sniff at his
name and counsel predict that old Clunk would end in
the dock himself. All who knew anything knew there
were manifold dangers in fighting Clunk & Clunk.
Only the rash were confident his labours would not find
out an awkward gap in the strongest case, his cunning,
his intimacy with the world of crime, play tricks with
it for which the law had not provided. It was commonly
said that he knew more of what was going on under-
ground than any man in London and not uncommonly
believed that he was up to the neck in most of it.
But he was neither a deacon not a churchwarden.
No religious denomination could satisfy the ample
spirit of Mr. Clunk. His place of worship was established
by his own money and called a Gospel Hall. There three
times on Sundays and once in the week Mrs. Clunk
played the harmonium and Mr. Clunk preached the
Larger Hope, when business allowed.
The offices of Clunk and Clunk filled an old house in
Covent Garden. Mr. Clunk climbed the stairs humming:
"There are lonely hearts to cherish
While the days are going by;
There are weary souls who perish
While the days are going by."
His room was a dark and silent chamber at the back,
in red rep and mahogany and Brussels carpet. A gilt
clock in a glass house held the middle of the white
marble mantelpiece and on either side in a glass case
a stuffed canary perched on artificial vegetation.
Mr. Clunk moved each of them with affectionate
care a quarter of an inch, contemplated the result, sat
down at his table, and rang the bell and asked his clerk
for the Walker papers.


4 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Yes, sir. There's a young gentleman asking to see
you. That Mr. Wisberry."
Mr. Clunk took the card and read, "Mr. Antony
Wisberry, St. Jude's College, Cambridge," and smiled.
"Dear me, yes. I'll see him at once, Jenks." He tapped
his false teeth.
A large, fair youth was brought him. "My dear boy,
my dear Tony! It is nice of you to come," Mr. Clunk
gushed. "I am so glad to see you again."
"How are you, sir?" said Tony with less enthusiasm.
"Now sit down and tell me all your news. Have you
been able to decide on anything yet?"
"I've got that job in the Rimington laboratories.
Start in September."
"My dear boy, I am so glad!" Mr. Clunk rubbed
his hands. "That is nice! Just when you finish at college,
you step right into a good situation. With that firm
you're provided for for life."
"I don't know about life. The job's all right, and I'll
have a chance of doing research work. That's what I
want."
"Ah, yes. You always were a worker, Tony. No joy
like work, is there? But I do like to see a young man
established with a settled income. It gives him a founda-
tion, it helps him to be a good Christian, Tony. Your
dear mother was so anxious you should settle to some-
thing at once. She will be happy, very happy."
Tony squirmed and looked away from Mr. Clunk's
shiny face. "Well, I didn't come to talk about that," he
said gruffly. "This vac. I've been going through the
papers and things from the old house. Good lot o'
stuff."
Mr. Clunk nodded. "I suppose so. There would be.
Naturally."


MR. CLUNK 5
"There was a pile of my father's things—notebooks
and so on."
"Ah, yes. Your dear mother kept everything, no
doubt. Very interesting for you." But not, Mr. Clunk's
manner suggested, for him.
"It was interesting," said Tony with emphasis. "Do
you know what my father was working at before he
died?"
Mr. Clunk blinked in mild surprise. "Certainly—
of course—but you must have been told often. He was a
lecturer in the Technical Institute at Birmingham—
lecturer in chemistry."
"I know that. I mean what research he was doing
himself."
Mr. Clunk's large eyes opened wider. "Really, I
couldn't say. I never heard anything about it. I
shouldn't have understood if I had. I'm not scientific,
you see."
"Well, he'd worked out a process for making hard
steel with vanadium."
"Dear me!" said Mr. Clunk. "Is that important—
a new discovery?"
"It's important enough. It isn't new now. But he'd
worked it out more than twenty years ago."
"Of course. Yes, that would be so. It is twenty-one
years this spring since your dear mother was left a
widow." Mr. Clunk sighed sympathetically. "You were
such a small baby, Tony."
Tony was not attracted to that phase of himself.
"Don't you see," he said sharply, "it's the date that
matters. He'd worked out a vanadium process by 1908,
when nobody else had got one."
"I suppose it would have been valuable then?" said
Mr. Clunk sadly.


6 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Valuable! Pots of money in it."
"But not now?"
"Now—oh, there's other ways now. Everybody's
doing it."
"How unfortunate!" Mr. Clunk tapped his teeth.
"Dear me, yes, how unfortunate he died then," and he
shook his head and looked at Tony with bland sym-
pathy.
"Yes, it was. Look here, the process which he'd
worked out is the one that Garstons have been using for
their high-speed steel. They've improved it now. But
they used his way for years."
"Garstons?" Mr. Clunk repeated. "I'm afraid I
don't know much about the steel trade, Tony. Is it a
large firm?"
"Garston & Garston. They do about everything you
can do with iron and steel. Huge concern. Lord Croyland
is the head of it."
"Dear me, yes. Lord Croyland. He was Sir Henry
Garston. Oh, a very wealthy man, I'm told."
"He would be," said Tony with contempt. "Millions
out of the war, I suppose. And pretty thrivin' before.
Well, that's how it is—Garstons had their vanadium
steel on the market first about 1910, and the process
they used was just the same as my father had worked out
before he died in 1908, and they went on manufacturin'
by that process till a few years ago. What do you think
about that, Mr. Clunk?"
Mr. Clunk laughed vaguely. "My dear boy, really,
I don't think, so to speak. I'm not qualified to give an
opinion. Are you quite sure of your facts?"
"Yes, that's a fair question," Tony frowned. "It isn't
my line, of course. I'm electro-chemistry. But there's
no doubt. I've shown his notes to other fellows, and
they said at once it was the Garston process."


MR. CLUNK 7
"Dear me," said Mr. Clunk. "That is curious. But I
should suppose the explanation might be that the Gar-
ston firm worked out the invention with their own chem-
ists. They're always experimenting, aren't they, these
big firms? You're going to do it yourself, Tony, for
Rimingtons."
"Of course they might have got on to a process.
Everybody was trying for hard steel. And there's more
than one kind. But it's a jolly queer thing they should
happen to hit on just the one my father had found just
after his death."
"I see your point." Mr. Clunk looked at his hands.
"Naturally you would think so." He opened a drawer
and took out a bottle of sweets. "Will you have a fruit
drop?" Tony waved them away. "I like them myself."
Mr. Clunk giggled. "Just a boy still, you see." He
sucked. "I think I've heard that when inventions are
in the air, as you might say, a lot of people have the
same ideas. It was like that with steam engines, wasn't
it?—and electric light and motor cars."
"I know," Tony growled. "Of course you can say
that." He stopped. He stared with concentrated atten-
tion at Mr. Clunk. "Have you any idea how my father
died?"
"My dear boy," said Mr. Clunk quickly, "I never
knew your father."
Tony grunted. "That was pretty queer too, wasn't
it, the way he died—if he did die?"
"Really, I don't think there can be any doubt about
that now," said Mr. Clunk, in a tone of consolation.
Tony frowned. "Look here—do you mind tellin'
me just what you heard about it at the time?"
"Not in the least. It's very natural you should be
interested." Mr. Clunk settled into his chair more com-
fortably. "I'm afraid I have practically nothing to


8 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
tell you. You must have heard all there is to hear from
your dear mother."
"She told me about it, of course, as soon as I was
old enough to understand. All she said was that my
father had gone away when I was a baby and disap-
peared. She couldn't think what had happened to him
but he must have had an accident and been killed. I
never bothered about it—it was pretty remote, you
know—and she'd given up worrying. But now I've
gone over his papers, it looks to me a very queer busi-
ness."
"Did you find anything which bears on it?" said
Mr. Clunk with interest. "Anything personal, I mean?
Anything about his intentions?"
"No, I didn't," Tony snapped. "That's a bit odd
too. Nothing but the notes of his work."
"What a pity," said Mr. Clunk. "You see, I can really
give you no information about him. Now let me begin
at the beginning. My acquaintance was with your
mother and her family. We were neighbours in Highbury.
Her father was one of my father's clients. The first I
heard of Mr. Antony Wisberry was the news of your
mother's engagement to him. She met him on a holiday
at Llandudno, I think. He was already teaching in
Birmingham. My recollection is that I was not present
at their wedding. She went to live in Birmingham and
for some time I lost sight of her. We met again in the
settlement of affairs when her father and mother died.
She was an only child. I remember thinking that she
seemed happy in her marriage. She went back to Bir-
mingham and I heard of your birth. When I saw her
next, she came to this office in great distress to tell me
that her husband had disappeared and ask for my ad-
vice. Her statement was that he had been in the habit of
going away from time to time, giving her no explanation


MR. CLUNK 9
except that it was on business; on this occasion he had
gone as usual and failed to return and she did not know
where to look for him. The police of course were in-
formed and failed to trace him; I made a number of
inquiries myself and could get no information of any
use. It seemed to me that your father had confided very
little about himself to anyone. Well, as you know, he
was never seen again and after a number of years the
Court of Chancery allowed us to presume his death.
That is the whole story, Tony."
"And what do you suppose happened to him?" Tony
said sharply.
"My dear boy, I can only tell you, as your dear
mother told you, that he must have met with an acci-
dent."
"Or foul play."
Mr. Clunk shook his head, Mr. Clunk smiled the pity-
ing smile of mature wisdom. "Ah, Tony, Tony, don't
get that into your mind. Whenever there's an unex-
plained disappearance, some of the bereaved always
want to think there's been foul play. Believe me, it
isn't true, not once in a thousand times. But once people
get the idea, it runs away with them and makes their
lives miserable with suspicions and brooding and bad
blood. I've seen it so often, my dear boy. Don't you go
that way. Take it like a reasonable fellow. It was a sad
business for your poor mother, but she learned to forget
it and was happy. You can't hope to find out after
twenty years what actually happened to him. But you
have no ground whatever for supposing foul play, no
evidence of any enemies, no motive for crime."
"Isn't there?" Tony snapped. "He had this process
which was worth a hatful of money—and Garstons be-
gan to work it as soon as he was out of the way."
Mr. Clunk groaned faintly. "I was afraid you were


IO THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
thinking of it on those lines. Dear me, how many foolish
people have said things like that to me in this room! I
can only tell you, it doesn't happen. Think, my dear
boy. Great firms don't murder inventors. It isn't worth
their while. They prefer to swindle 'em. That is quite
easy and legal."
Tony was for a moment impressed. Then his jaw
hardened and he attacked again. "What do you want me
to believe, then? That he died by accident somehow?"
Mr. Clunk sat up. "Tony, my friend," he said, with
a sharp, contemptuous authority, "you can take it I
gave the case some thought. I had a regard for your
mother. I suppose you've heard that I know something
about crime. Well, I tell you the only reasonable ex-
planation of your father's disappearance that I could
ever see was accident."
"And that isn't reasonable, is it?" said Tony. "Sup-
pose he was run over—killed on the railway—drowned
somehow—his body would be found, his baggage would
be left about"
"Dear me, no. Not necessarily," Mr. Clunk inter-
rupted. "Suppose he fell overboard from a steamer at
night crossing the Channel or the North Sea. It would
be easily possible no one would notice the accident. And
as for his baggage—my dear boy, baggage without an
owner vanishes quickly and completely. When you know
the world a little better, you'll see there is nothing
strange in his disappearance."
The stubborn look of Tony's face—he had a consider-
able jaw—became less agreeable. "Lots of people you
know vanish, what?" he said. "You get used to ex-
plainin' how it happened. All right. Don't mind me.
Now, when you came to gather up what he left, how
much was it?"
"My dear Tony," said Mr. Clunk patiently, "I sent


MR. CLUNK II
you not only my accounts as your mother's executor,
but a full statement of her affairs. If you care to look at
it, you will find that the estate left to you consists of
what she inherited from her own family with the addi-
tion of what your father left. She never spent any of
her capital. She always lived within her income. If I
may say so, you should be grateful for her care of your
interests."
Tony flushed. "Thanks very much. Tarn thinking
about her. I don't know how she did it."
"My boy," said Mr. Clunk with emotion, "there was
nothing which that dear woman would not have done
for you."
"Yes, I knew my mother. Look here. My father left
something under a thousand. Forty pounds a year
as it was invested. She had only about two hundred a
year of her own. We haven't been living on an income
of two fifty. There was a good deal more came from
somewhere."
"Oh, certainly," Mr. Clunk smiled. "Your education
was a heavy expense, of course. From time to time, I
was able to find temporary use for her capital at a high
rate of interest which eased the burden. You owe me
nothing, Tony. There is no obligation whatever. It
was merely a matter of opportunities which offered in
business. I was very glad to serve her."
Tony frowned. "That's the explanation of that, is it?
Thanks. After my father's death there was money
coming which doubled her income or so out of oppor-
tunities in your business. But the capital stayed the
same. Well, I'm much obliged to you, aren't I?" He
stood up.
"Not at all," Mr. Clunk rose also, "not in the least.
It was the smallest service. And I had a great respect for
your mother. You needn't bear me a grudge. I've really


12 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
done nothing for you. Must you go now? Well, I've
been so glad to see you. If there should be anything that
I can help you to clear up, believe me, it will be the
greatest pleasure. I'm always here, Tony, always here."
Tony looked at him with frank dislike. "All right,"
he said. "I'll remember you. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," said Mr. Clunk heartily, "good-bye.
Ah, just a minute. Where will you be going now? I'd
better have your address."
Tony grinned. "I shall be going to talk to Garston
& Garston."
"Oh, really?" Mr. Clunk's tone was dry and con-
temptuous. "I shouldn't advise that."
"No, you wouldn't. That's one reason I'm going,"
said Tony, and went.
Mr. Clunk made little noises to himself and slowly
fumbled and conveyed another fruit drop to his mouth.
Jenks, the clerk, appeared with a folder. "The Walker
papers, sir."
"Not now," said Mr. Clunk. "Bring me the Wisberry
box." ...
His home was a house of Victorian Gothic in yellow
brick on the rural side of Highgate. Mrs. Clunk used to
sit by the Elizabethan window of the drawing room and
watch for his return. She noticed that he was a little
late that night. Their evening meal was a high tea. He
ate negligently, though she had steak pie and trifle for
him and he was fond of both. Butjshe asked no questions.
She made a long story of Cook's leaving the Salvation
Army and the four canaries sang to him from the four
windows. "Just another cup, my dearie," said Mr.
Clunk, having drunk five. "I don't mind how strong it
is."
"You've such a head, Joshua," said she.
Mr. Clunk beamed at her, collected some small lumps


MR. CLUNK 13
of sugar, and bestowed one on each canary and came
back to his strong tea.
Mrs. Clunk judged that the moment for confidences
had been reached. "Anything new at the office, dear-
est?"
"No, nothing new, dearie," said Mr. Clunk with
deliberation. "Young Wisberry came in. He was asking
where his mother got her money from. Rather tiresome
of him."
"He might be satisfied, I'm sure," Mrs. Clunk was
indignant. "He's a bit above himself, that young man.
I always thought it was a pity his mother would give him
such a education. Puts ideas in their heads. They want
the earth, these college young men."
o "That's about his measure, Maria," Mr. Clunk
agreed. "Ah, well, he'll have to learn he won't get it.
But we mustn't be hard on him, mustn't be hard." He
chirruped to the canaries and made them sing again, and
listened to them with his arm round his wife. "Come
along, my dearie." He took her into the drawing room
humming:
Going by! Going by I
Going by! Going by!
Oh, the good we all may do.
While the days are going by."
And Mrs. Clunk sat down to the piano and played
hymns to him while he sucked peppermint lozenges and
occasionally, with some thickness of articulation, sang
a favourite verse.


CHAPTER II
SECRETARY AND NURSE
It seems to have been the next day but one that May
Dean walked up Beachy Head. She was coming to the
end of her holiday and she wanted to prove that she had
recovered strength enough for something mildly strenu-
ous.
She was a slight girl and her fairness and her small
features gave her, to her disgust, a look of fragility.
But she was by nature as strong as other people. In
power of muscle stronger than most girls, her school
would have said, and her long, capable hands suggested
that she had the habit of using strength. To some force
of will her bearing, her proud eyes bore witness. She
climbed to the top of the headland and was a little
flushed and short of breath, but would not sit down,
stood facing the dark sea and the southerly wind that
blew the skirt up from her knees and pressed her coat
back on her slim straight body. She took her hat off
and let the wind toss her yellow hair.
"Well!" she said, compressing into it regret, anger,
determination. "Get on!" She turned and strode down
the hill.
She did not want to leave the sea, to look at it made
her feel weaker and invent excuses for staying, but she
had to go. She could not do nothing for ever on sixpence
a week. Back to the treadmill—if a treadmill could be
found.


SECRETARY AND NURSE IS
When she left school, being compelled to earn a living,
she was sure she wanted to be a nurse. She had no great
ability for anything else. The other trades taken by the
girls she knew—teaching, the civil service, office work—
seemed to her dust and ashes. You could feel like a
woman if you were a nurse: nursing was really rather
splendid: you would be so wonderful to the poor people
and they would adore you. This faith carried her
through some part of her hospital training, and when it
failed under the ordinary realities pride told her she
must go on. She learned to like the work well enough, but
not enough to stay in the hospital. She wanted to be
herself, not one of a regiment: she wanted to nurse in
order to be somebody, not for the sake of nursing.
'So she took a place on the staff of a nursing home
and there was worked to the bone till she went down
with pneumonia. In the first feebleness of convalescence
a good Samaritan found her, an old schoolfellow who had
taken it into her head to look up May Dean after years.
Gladys Hurst was of those who always flourish, a large
jovial damsel, everybody's friend and very shrewdly her
own. At school she had been to May a little more than
she was to others, but the lady's affections were not
taken seriously. She came to the convalescent with eager
friendship, shocked at her weakness, abusing the people
who had worked her to death, ordering her to be off for a
good holiday, refusing to admit difficulties, and met the
confession of poverty by declaring she had money to
burn. May's pride was coaxed into borrowing as little
as could be stretched to cover a month by the sea.
The month was near its end and beyond it there was
nothing certain. Body and mind shrank from the pros-
pect of another post in nursing home or hospital. She did
not feel strong enough, overwork had made her hate the
routine and the servitude. But she could not think of


16 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
anything else at which she would be worth a living wage,
and wages had to be found.
She came down to the sea front of the town making
dreary resolutions. From one of the seats Gladys Hurst
sprang up to meet her. "Hullo, baby! Here we are again.
Your landlady told me you were strolling by the sad sea
waves. How's things?"
"I'm all right." May flushed. Gladys's shrewd eyes
were looking her over too carefully. "Thanks awfully.
I'm ever so much better, really."
"You have got a bit more vim. Not so much like
the ghost of an angel," Gladys laughed. "Well, what
about a spot of lunch?"
"Oh yes. Do come to my rooms," said May uncom-
fortably, knowing she had not enough lunch for two,
nor anything fit for Gladys.
"Oh no. You come along to my pub. It's not so bad."
Gladys linked arms with her. They made, as male
eyes remarked, a striking pair. Gladys was of ample de-
sign, and her smart clothes proclaimed it; she was dark
and florid, and the art that emphasized her eyes and her
lips did not conceal itself. The pale natural colours, the
straight, slim shape of May Dean set her off" and were
more vividly seen against her. She was quite aware of it.
She looked down at May with a complacent smile. "We
do go together, don't we, baby? Well, it's jolly nice to
see you fit again."
"Awfully kind of you to come down," said May.
"My old man gave me a week-end, so I thought I'd
put in the time looking you up. I rather like you, you
know. And you gave me a bit of a turn when I found you
in your little bed." She pressed May's arm and the
pressure was returned.
"I don't know how I should have got on without
you," said May.


SECRETARY AND NURSE 17
"That's all right. You'd had a pretty rotten time,
hadn't you? Forget it. Now then, here we are." She
swept May into a hotel which, to eyes without experi-
ence of the inside of any, seemed of golden luxury. The
lunch also was alarming. A cocktail could be refused, but
not the wine, a simple-looking yellow wine which
Gladys promised her was innocent as mother's milk
and really tasted like nice grapes and yet had a subtle,
disconcerting power of excitement. But the food made
one want it, the food was so rich and had strange
flavours that allured, even when one knew what the
things were.
"Like it, baby?" Gladys smiled over a sweetbread
to which the cook had added much.
"It's awfully good," said May. "I've never been to
a place like this before."
"Not a bad pub. Bit of the silent tomb." Gladys
looked round the other heavily respectable guests. "But
they do you all right, if you stir 'em up." She contem-
plated the menu, which was not the menu of the hotel's
ordinary lunch, with an author's approval. "I always
reckon to have a good time when I get off. That's one
thing about my old man, the money's all right. I give
you my word. So it ought to be. He's the big noise in
Garstons, you know."
May laughed. She was delightfully happy but a little
dazed. "No, I don't, Gladys. What is Garstons?"
"Oh, baby!" Gladys chuckled. "What isn't it? I
don't know and I know a bit and then some. Garston &
Garston. Iron and steel. Put the stuff in one end as
ore and take it out at the other as motor cars. Anything
from a needle to a battleship—at one factory or another.
And we've got about a dozen, one way and another.
Sometimes I think the old man don't know what he has
got. Garstons was pretty vast when he started in, but


18 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
he's grabbed a lot of other firms and worked 'em into
the concern. One of these men that always wants to get
hold of a business and play about with it himself."
"Oh, I see," said May, trying to be intelligent. "I
mean, I know the sort of thing. But it sounds very
complicated and difficult. To work at, I mean. What do
you do, Gladys?" A mind which thought in a golden
haze tried to imagine her friend Gladys, who really
had been a girl at school with her, managing steel fac-
tories.
"Me? Oh, I don't touch the business work. Personal
and confidential, that's me. The old man has a batch of
secretary birds of course, but the others are men. They
run the manufacturing and financial. But he likes to
have a woman round him for the personal touch. That's
how I got in. Started in the secretary office, shorthand
typist. And the old man took to Gladys." She made
eyes at May in an expert manner and laughed. "He's a
machine, but he's got to have a private life, poor old
thing, and I run it. Not such a bad job. He knows when
he's well off."
"I'm sure he is," said May. "Of course he'd like you.
You always got on so well with people. It must be
very interesting. I suppose he's a sort of millionaire.
You must have a lot of responsibility."
"Not so jolly interesting. He isn't a gay bird. Thefe's
money to burn, of course. Plenty of responsibility.
He leaves things to me. And there are some snags about.
Not a soft job, being the Lord Croyland. But I'm pretty
efficient, baby."
"I'm sure you are," said May, with round admiring
eyes. "But I thought you said his name was Garston."
"Henry Garston, first Lord Croyland. For public
services. In making a pile out of the war," Gladys
laughed. "Well, what about a spot of coffee? Come into


SECRETARY AND NURSE 19
the lounge. Looks like a railway station turned into a
conservatory, so they call it the palm court."
May was conducted, glad of the affectionate arm,
to a gloomily comfortable corner.
"There we are. I say, I've talked a mouthful, and
all about me. I came to hear about you, baby. How's
things?"
"I'm perfectly all right now."
"Fit for anything, eh? You haven't put on much
weight."
"Oh, I have. I never was fat, you know."
"You were not," said Gladys grimly. "Not much of
any kind of fat in your job, baby."
"I don't know, it's not so bad. You do feel you're
doing something some good." The coffee came. She was
urged to drink a liqueur and earnestly refused.
"All right, all right." Gladys was amused. "Keep that
schoolgirl complexion. So you like nursing, do you?
My Lord! I always wonder how women can stick it.
I wasn't born good, baby."
"It isn't being good," said May. The coffee made
things clearer. "Just a job like other jobs. But it's
my job."
"Yes, there's that," Gladys nodded. "I used to think
business would bore me stiff. Wanted to go on the
stage or something. Me for the gay life! I don't think.
Now I like managing Old Man Croyland's things. It's
my job, as you say. Well, what are you going to do now?
Found anything to go back to?"
"Not yet. I don't quite know what I'd better do."
"Not so easy, eh?" Gladys lay back and inhaled
her cigarette. "I suppose you've got to do something."
"Oh, yes, rather," said May quickly.
"Good jobs take a bit of finding in your line? They
do for everybody." Gladys meditated. "You're not up


20 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
to much roughing it, you know. That must have been a
hell of a place you were in before."
"I shall be all right. I'm quite strong really."
"You ought to go easy." Gladys frowned. "I say—
do you care for a private job?"
"Well, it depends"
"I know. You wouldn't want to tie yourself. Might
do for a bit, eh? Something to carry on with."
"Oh yes, I shouldn't mind, if it was with decent
people. But what did you mean? Looking after an
invalid?"
"Well, it just came into my head you might do for
old Mrs. Garston. Lord Croyland's mother, you know.
He's getting a bit nervous about her. She isn't an invalid
but she's oldish now, something over seventy, and he
wants her to have a nurse handy. How's that strike you,
baby? The old lady lives at Bradstock Abbey. Ever seen
it? One of England's historic mansions. Page in the
picture papers now and then. If there's a shortage of
bathing beauties. Ancestral home of the Garstons.
They bought it by auction when Mother was a girl: as
soon as they'd got money enough to be gentlemen and
start a family. But it's some place, believe me. Looks
like the home of ancient dukes. Kind of mixture of a
castle and a cathedral with ruins complete. And central
heating and running water and all the comforts. Well,
Croyland thinks the old lady's getting a bit dithery
and"
"Oh, I shouldn't like a mental case, Gladys," May
cried.
"Lord, she's not that kind. Nothing like it. Just old
and getting weak. Crowds of servants, of course. But
Croyland's idea is he'd like to have somebody who knew
a bit about illness to look after her. Lady nurse is about
the ticket. We haven't got on to anybody who suits.


SECRETARY AND NURSE 21
Seen a few—ladies that aren't nurses and nurses that
aren't ladies, the old man says. I hadn't thought of
you, as you were down and out. But you're just the
article, if you care about it. What do you think?"
"I don't know. I've never done anything like it."
"A good job, believe me. You'd be very cosy at
Bradstock. A bit quiet, of course. Peace, perfect peace.
But it's a lovely old place and run jolly well. Croyland
will pay, you know, I'd see to that."
"You're awfully kind. I wasn't thinking about the
money, Gladys. It's Mrs. Garston that matters, you
see. I don't know at all what she's like, and if she didn't
like me, it wouldn't do at all."
"You'd get on all right," Gladys smiled. "She's a
little old thing, shy and old-fashioned. Just like you,
baby. If you ask me, I should say she just wants com-
pany. Somebody to prattle to. She's lonely down there.
Croyland only runs down week-ends and so on and she
don't see anybody else much. There's no family, you
know. Croyland's never married and he's her only son—
the other one died ages ago. She feels being alone in the
world now she's getting on. Mopes a bit. You'd have
to see she looks after herself and keep her cheery. That's
what it comes to. Like to have a try? You can always
chuck it."
"I think I might like it," said Mary. "But of course
it would be for Mrs. Garston to say. It would be im-
possible if she didn't care about me."
"Don't you worry. I bet she'll fall for you. Look
here, you'd better come up to town and see Croyland.
I'll fix it."
"Oh, thanks awfully. You are kind to me, Gladys."
"Not much," Gladys laughed. "It's just business.
My job. I say, how's the money going, baby?"
"I've got plenty, really."


22 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"All right, all right. Be proud. Well, I'll let you know.
You can come any time, can't you?"
"Oh yes. I want to settle something."
Gladys nodded. Gladys stood up. "Righto then.
Bye-bye, baby. See you soon."
A little excited, a little dazed, but not now with the
wine of Chateau Climens, May went back to her lodg-
ings.
In the palm court, a thick-set man with an emphatic
waist and a flower in his jacket lounged across to
Gladys Hurst.
"Nice bit o' bread and butter," he said.
"Sweet kid, isn't she?"
"She ought to do, if she'll do it."
"She'll do it all right," Gladys smiled.
"Good! Sooner the better." He turned away.


CHAPTER III
WARNING TO TONY
On a Cambridge first floor Tony Wisberry sat and
smoked a large, foul pipe. The uncertain date must
have been about a week later.
A man of much the same age but far more sedate
appearance came in. Wyburn was already fellow and
lecturer of his college and rather well aware of it. The
room, too tidy for Tony's tweeds and sprawl, was his.
But he was hospitable. "Hallo, Wisberry. Good fellow.
Are you staying?"
"Only for what I can get."
Wyburn sat down. "Well, I'm sorry. I'm afraid that
isn't much. I've had an answer from Masters. He
says he doesn't know anyone who was in the Garston
laboratories when their vanadium process was first
brought into use, but it's generally understood that it
was worked out by one of the Garston family—a brother
of the present head of the firm."
"That's Lord Croyland. I didn't know he had a
brother."
"He hasn't now. The brother died a good while ago."
"How convenient!" Tony grunted. "But how inter-
esting."
"What's your point?"
"Quite obvious, old thing. The origin of the vanadium
process is officially ascribed to somebody who can't be
asked anything about it. The inference is that Garstons
have got something to hide.'
23


24 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"You suffer from the fixed idea. There really was a
brother"
"Fancy!"
"Don't be an infant. And he was the sort of fellow
who might have hit on it. He was a Cambridge man,
up at Trinity about 1900. He read science and didn't
stay. I gather he was unstable. But some people thought
a good deal of him. When he went down his father
put him into the firm. He preferred laboratories when
he did anything—an odd creature with flashes of tal-
ent—and he died young." Wyburn lit a cigarette.
"There you are. To my mind it explains the whole
thing."
Tony put out his lower lip. "Old Man Clunk?" he
inquired. "Do you happen to think it explains Old Man
Clunk, George? Why was Old Man Clunk anxious to
persuade me everything in the garden was lovely? What
would it matter to Old Man Clunk if I tried to find out
where Father went to? Why did Old Man Clunk want to
persuade me I mustn't ask Garston how they got their
process? And what made Old Man Clunk pay my
mother double her right income? He's no giddy philan-
thropist."
"I agree you seem to have got a queer solicitor," said
Wyburn. "One doesn't expect to hear a man complain-
ing that the family solicitor has paid them more than
the estate could produce. It's generally the other way.
But Clunk had his explanation, you said."
"I should smile. Old Man Clunk as the fairy god-
father! Look here. I've been asking about Clunk &
Clunk in town, and their reputation is a stinker. If
you've been doing the dirty on anyone, you go to Clunk
& Clunk and they wangle you off". If you want to, you
ring up Clunk & Clunk and they show you how. That's
what the other law birds say."


WARNING TO TONY 25
"Well, I suppose that's the ordinary work of a solici-
tor in criminal practice."
"Criminal practice is right, George," Tony grinned.
"And who would you say was the criminal that practised
on my father?"
Wyburn shook his head. "No, no, I can't take it like
that. Don't you see, you're not giving your mind a
chance. You have a string of strange circumstances.
You leap to the explanation there has been foul play,
and that becomes a fixed idea. But really it explains
nothing. Take the facts—your father's mysterious
disappearance, the coincidence that he had worked out
a process the same as that subsequently used by Gars-
tons, which they attribute to one of the firm who is dead,
and finally the generosity of Clunk to your mother. Now
assume foul play. What exactly does that mean? Some-
body murdered your father and sold his discovery to
Garstons. But how could it be worth anyone's while to
run the risk? You know very well the value of the pro-
cess must have been doubtful till it had been tried on a
commercial scale. That a great firm such as Garstons
should desire your father's murder is preposterous. The
process was no doubt profitable, but only a minor part
of their business. They would have acquired it on their
own terms or let it go."
"Yes, George. Old Man Clunk said that."
"But you know it's common sense, my friend. Do
you suppose Clunk contrived your father's murder in
order to sell the process for himself? But then it would
have been his first elementary precaution to destroy
any trace of it in your father's papers. He could have
done that with perfect ease. Your mother entrusted him
with the investigation of your father's disappearance.
Naturally he would look at all private papers. It is quite
incredible that if he was concerned in stealing the pro-


26 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
cess he should have left the notes of it for you to find."
"I've thought about that, you know," said Tony.
"The answer is, he didn't destroy the notebooks because
he didn't know about 'em. They were stowed away in a
box of odds and ends, my own kiddy stuff and such. I
found extraordinary few of my father's papers other-
wise. You might think he hadn't had any private life.
That's another of the queer things, George. I should
say Old Man Clunk took his precautions all right."
"My dear fellow, this is the fixed idea preferring a
difficult explanation. Why should Clunk choose to be
unnecessarily generous to your mother if he had any-
thing to hide ? Clearly it attracts attention to him. If you
work out the theory of foul play rationally you find that,
applied to one fact after another, it does not solve the
problem, it makes new difficulties. But accept the obvi-
ous explanations, that the process was discovered by
two people separately, as often happens, that your
father did disappear by accident, and that Clunk wished
to help your mother in her widowhood, both quite na-
tural possibilities, and there is no mystery."
"No. Accept the amazin' as normal and nothing's
mysterious. Quite so, George. But why did Old Man
Clunk sweat to keep me quiet?"
"I want to keep you quiet," said Wybum. "Because
this sort of obsession wastes a man's brain away."
"Thank you kindly. That also is what Clunk said.
No, you're a good chap, George. But Old Man Clunk
isn't."
"You've formed the worst opinion of him," said
Wybum patiently. "Well, you may be right. I can't
judge. The only thing certain about his conduct is that
he was honest with the family capital. But on the foul-
play theory you can make no plausible explanation of
the facts."


WARNINGTOTONY %~J
"I know I can't explain them, George," Tony smiled.
"The poor old brains aren't gone to pot yet. I don't say
whatever happened was all planned out beforehand.
Things don't go like that. Most likely one dirty trick
led to another. I don't expect to find it all rational.
Murder isn't a rational action. Look here. Say somebody
knew my father had got hold of a good thing and passed
it on to Garstons and my father cut up rough and was
put out of the way. That's possible enough. Say Old
Man Clunk had the job of hushing it up. That's in his
line. A bit of money to keep my mother going would
make Father's disappearance pass off with less noise.
Or somebody may have had a sort of half-time con-
science. It does happen. Anyway, anyhow, don't you
see, I want to know how my father died."
"After twenty years!" said Wyburn with a sigh.
"Well, what do you mean to do?"
"I mean to stir up Garstons. I hope I'm going to put
the fear of God into my Lord Croyland. But the scalp
I want is Old Man Clunk's." His chin came out, a smile
twisted one side of his face and his teeth grated on the
pipe. He stood up. "Wish me luck, George."
"I don't know what to wish you," Wyburn said,
looking into his eyes. "Don't lose yourself in it. If it's
taken one man's life—he wouldn't want it to take
yours."
"That's all right. I'll watch it," said Tony. "Cheerio."
He swung out.


CHAPTER IV
BRADSTOCK ABBEY
Bradstock Abbey stands near the sea. The small river
Brad, up which still come meritorious salmon, meets
the tide in a large expanse of water, almost landlocked,
over which there is shooting of wild duck. This is called
Bradstock Harbour, though no trade comes there, nor
ever a boat except the small craft of its own fishermen
and the few people who play at sailing on it. The lawns
of Bradstock Abbey slope down to its shore. The Cis-
tercians who founded the Abbey eight hundred years
ago, choosing the place, after their manner, for its
loneliness, built on a limestone knoll in the midst of a
marsh. The marsh has long been dry and fertile ground,
but Bradstock Abbey remains lonely still. Its lands
spread far, from century to century they have been kept
in large farms, and the few villages which serve these
are distant and hidden. The country is gracious; drink-
ing a soft air rich in sunshine, dark pastures and corn-
fields rise in long curves to the northern guard of hills.
All things thrive there opulently, corn and clover, sheep
and cattle; the ground breaks into flowers wherever it
is untitled, its trees grow great, it is full of life—except
the life of men. They have never been fruitful around
Bradstock Harbour.
You may walk the Abbey turf and hear on one side
the screams of the gliding gulls, on the other the chatter
of a rookery. May Dean came through this symphony
and yet felt that the place was deadly quiet. The din on
28


BRADSTOCK ABBEY 29
the air lost itself in the emptiness of great spaces of
sunlight; she looked over miles of still water and level
land on which no human creature worked or moved. She
stood shading her eyes to search the sand's farther shore
where a few boats lay, offering a hope of the remote com-
pany of a man doing something. But it was denied her.
"Oh, heavens," she murmured with a laugh that mocked
at herself for feeling forlorn, "it is empty." She turned
and walked quickly away.
Where the great church of the Abbey stood is now a
wild garden. The walls were long ago a quarry to rebuild
the monastery into a house for the display of the wealth
of the family of courtiers to which the Abbey lands were
given by a generous king. Of the tall nave is left only
a range of broken arches hidden deep in ivy, of the
glories of the choir nothing but an oblong of black stone
which some fancy was the first rude altar when the
Cistercians came to the marsh, sacred perhaps before it
served Christian faith. Some Eighteenth Century squire
of Bradstock with ambitions for the picturesque had
the fancy of marking out the plan of the church with
hawthorn and lilac and laburnum. Those who came
after him enriched and destroyed the design, filling up
the spaces in the midst with all manner of free growing
flowers.
When May came there the ruins were lost in the
colour and fragrance of full spring. She made her way
through the wilderness, for it has paths paved with
scraps of stone and broken tiles from the church floor.
She found the arches of the nave and in the thick wall of
one a recess where a level stone, broad and smooth, made
a seat.
There she lingered, trying to fancy what the place had
looked like when it was a church. That was difficult. The
surge of wild growth which overflowed it seemed what


30 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
was from the beginning and must be to the end, the
invincible reality. But she wanted her mind to be free
from the power of that, to make a vision of a great
church there and the order of its worship. It would not
come. She looked about her at the broken arches, she
told herself that where she sat must be the base of some
lost shrine or an altar which had heard the prayers of
centuries of faith. But it had no magic for her. No ghost
of a white-robed Cistercian rose before her eyes to bring
back the past.
She walked away to the house. That does not need
imagination to discover what it looked like when it was
the home of the monks. Lawns and a sunken rose garden
dividing it from the church are not now enclosed by their
cloister. But if you keep your eyes from what the Tudor
builders added on either side you may see the front of
the house as the last abbot saw it going out to die, a long
range of mellow stone with great windows, each a group
of lancets rising to a pattern of tracery, and in the mid-
dle a square tower. It has an austere dignity—while you
do not look at those blocks on left and right which were
built to be gracefully beautiful.
But you go in at the middle, and May went in to pass
between the abbot's great hall and the chapter house. In
empty, sombre magnificence they loomed like two deso-
late churches. She stood a moment listening. The house
was still and deeply silent. It always was. She had lived
her life in little homes and crowded places; she could not
be rid of the fear that in the silence of the Abbey there
was some menace. She hurried on up a staircase made for
splendid processions and came to a vaulted corridor
dimly lit by lancet windows pierced through the six-
feet thickness of an ancient wall. Here once was the dor-
mitory of the monks. To make the smaller folk of a
rich man's house comfortable, it was parted off" into a


BRADSTOCK ABBEY 31
row of rooms. Two of them had been given to Miss Dean.
The evolution of the Abbey had made them queer
places. Oak panelling and moulded ceilings which went
up when Queen Elizabeth was young were warmed by
radiators, lit by electric light, and set off by furniture
of the dowdiest days of Queen Victoria.
Lord Croyland had ordained that Miss Dean must not
wear nurse's uniform, and Gladys provided, vowing it
came from him, money for frocks beyond her dreams.
She changed from tweeds to silk and went to see if Mrs.
Garston had waked from her afternoon nap.
Mrs. Garston's room was in the new part of the
Abbey but not far away. The vaulted corridor of the
monks led into the dark of a low pointed archway and
beyond that was sunlight, a broad gallery of oriel
windows and painted ceiling. Mrs. Garston's room,
the first of the new part and the finest, was a spacious,
stately place of tapestried walls and great windows
emblazoned like the ceiling with many coats of arms.
The furnishing was Tudor, most conspicuous a house of a
four-poster with carved pillars and crimson curtains
and a big day bed in golden brocade. By that a table
on rubber-tired wheels from some modern shop of
invalid apparatus bore many bottles—medicine bottles,
mineral-water bottles, table bottles, bottles of scent.'
Mrs. Garston sat deep in an armchair which hid her
face and her body. Her maid knelt by her, putting on
her shoes.
"I hope you had a nice sleep," said May.
"I did not sleep at all," a querulous voice came from
the invisible face.
The maid stood up, a tall lean woman of a dark com-
plexion and much iron-gray hair pulled back from her
head to make a bulge behind. Her black dress was of an
antique fashion which made her flat body seem tight-


32 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
compressed. "Wide awake when I came in, Nurse,"
she said sharply, and stared at May.
"That will do, Jones," the high voice complained.
"Ah, you've got one of your headaches." The maid
rustled to the table of bottles. "Here's your aromatic.
I'll just give you some eau de Cologne to your fore-
head."
"That will do," the voice repeated. "Go away,
Jones."
"Thank you, ma'am." Jones gave May another stare
and obeyed.
"Is your head bad, Mrs. Garston?"
"Not worse than usual."
"I hope you haven't been taking anything."
"Nothing does me any good."
"I'm afraid none of those medicines will. Would you
like to go down to tea?"
"I was just going down."
Mrs. Garston stood up, revealing herself as a black
gown with a pallid face and thin white hair. She seemed
to be without shape or substance. But she might have
been no smaller than many women if she had stood erect.
Her face must have had some beauty before it was
shrunken and wrinkled.
"I can manage perfectly well," she said to May's
offered arm, but took it and went downstairs slowly,
stopping more than once.
The drawing room exhibited yet another phase of the
development of Bradstock Abbey. Its windows and its
proportions were Elizabethan, but in everything else it
realized the ideas of beauty with which the Twentieth
Century began, and so had a peculiarly faded aspect.
On a chair in its darkest corner a woman sat working
embroidery. "Ah, Fanny," said Mrs. Garston without
interest. "Have you been resting?"


BRADSTOCK ABBEY 33
"I never rest in the daytime. I don't sleep at night if
I do."
"I don't find it makes any difference," said Mrs.
Garston.
Fanny rose limply and made a fuss helping to settle
her with cushion and footstool. "Are you comfortable,
Mrs. Garston?" May asked.
"It will do quite well." The answer was in a tone of
resignation. "Oh, you needn't go, need you?"
"I thought you would like to talk to Miss Morrow."
"Tea will be coming," said Mrs. Garston pathetically,
and Miss Morrow fussed, removing her embroidery and
her bag and her handkerchief to another chair.
She was a tall woman expanding into loose bulk.
Twenty years before her face might have been pretty. It
was become heavy and dull, expressing nothing but pity
for herself. She had brown sentimental eyes. In them
was the only deep colour about her, for her hair was
ashen and she wore a melancholy gown of lavender and
gray which gave its hues to her flaccid face.
The tea came and May ministered to them and tried
to talk. She had been out—she had been looking at the
ruins—the flowers were glorious but it seemed so strange.
She struggled to find words for what she had felt of the
overwhelming of the church by that wild life. But it was
clear that she was saying nothing which meant anything
to them. Yes, she had walked along the harbour. How
lonely it was! No one anywhere, not even a boat out on
it.
■> Then she saw Miss Morrow look at Mrs. Garston, and
put her handkerchief to her mouth. But Mrs. Garston
did not notice that. "Did you say you saw a boat?
she asked eagerly.
"No, I said there wasn't one."
Miss Morrow used the handkerchief for her eyes.
)>


34 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Oh—oh, I see." Mrs. Garston's voice fell flat. "No,
there wouldn't be. There never is now."
May came back to the flowers. That seemed safe at
least and she laboured on, talking nonsense. Somebody
had to say something or it would be too dismal. But they
would not help her. They did not pretend to listen. Miss
Morrow took up her embroidery. Mrs. Garston fidgeted
and in a little while her plaintive voice cut into May's
toiling talk: "Fanny dear, couldn't you play some-
thing?"
"If you please," Miss Morrow sighed, and rose
heavily and went to fuss at the piano. It took her a long
time to begin, and May's yearning to scream or throw
the cups about grew almost irresistible, when the silence
was broken at last by Mendelssohn at his most senti-
mental and with some wrong notes.
She set her teeth and tried to shut the wailing out of
her mind, bidding it to think why on earth Mrs. Garston
wanted the woman to stay with her and why she could
want to stay with Mrs. Garston. Neither of them seemed
to have the slightest use for the other except as a means
to drearier depression.
These mental exercises were interrupted by the ar-
rival of Lord Croyland. He also stopped the piano.
Miss Morrow left a languishing movement unfinished
and retired with her embroidery to her original dark
corner.
Croyland was kissing his mother, in which she gave
him no assistance. He asked how she was, and in a tone
of plaintive reproof she told him she must not expect
to be any better and Fanny was there.
A dreadful perception of the humour of that troubled
May, but nobody else saw it. Croyland went solemnly
across the room and asked how Fanny was, and Fanny's
moaning voice echoed, "How are you?"


BRADSTOCK ABBEY 35
He stood between them, making noises in his throat,
a man of some height and heavy shoulders from which
the head was thrust forward. It had a big brow, an air of
sullen determination, and the eyes were wary and
seemed to be watching something distant.
"I suppose you want tea," said Mrs. Garston pathet-
ically, and he asked for whisky and soda. It seemed to
be another offence. But a gliding butler was already in
the room with it. Croyland drank and thought of the
existence of May.
"Well, Miss Dean, I hope they've made you comfort-
able?"
"Quite, thank you."
He sat down and began to talk to his mother about
nothing, careful to bring Miss Morrow in. It was diffi-
cult, for she stayed in her corner, bent over the embroi-
dery, and his mother gave him no help at all. If they
did not intend to make him feel a guilty intruder, they
were singularly stupid. May had some sympathy for
him—he was a man—but not much. Either he was a
saint to stand it or he had a very thick skin, and she did
not admire either. But he did not look a saint.
Anyhow, they were making her feel wretchedly un-
comfortable and there was no reason why she should
stand it. She fled.
As she went back to her room by the gallery in the
new building Gladys slid out of one of its doors and
seemed surprised. "Hullo, hullo, baby! Where have they
put you?"
"Through the archway in the old part. Rather sweet
rooms."
"Good for you. Let's have a look." Gladys swept her
along, Gladys surveyed bedroom and sitting room with a
smile. "Quaint little shop. Dainty and dimity. Just
suits you, baby." She kissed May and flopped into a


36 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
chair and spread her legs. "Well, how's it going? Liking
the jolly old place?"
"I don't know. The house is wonderful. But it's so
queer to live in. How long have these people had it?"
"The Garstons? Oh, Pa bought it when Ma was a
sweet young bride. Some time ago, eh? He did it up
modern—spent a pile on it. Croyland's spent lavish too.
I don't know why. I believe he hates it. He never wants
to be here, and yet he's always blowing back. It's got a
hold on him."
"Hates it and loves it," May said. "Yes, I can under-
stand that."
"Can you?" Gladys looked at her sharply. "How did
you mean it was queer? Being old? The pair of West-
minster Halls and this tunnel place up here and the
ruins and all?"
"Partly that, yes. It's queer living where you feel all
sorts of things happened."
"I should shay sho," Gladys laughed. "Seen any
ghosts, baby?"
"No. There aren't any, are there?"
"Never heard of 'em. You needn't worry."
"I don't. It isn't only the place being old. I've never
lived in a big house and with nobody but hosts of ser-
vants. It's queer never seeing anyone and feeling they're
always about."
"They are—except when you ring," Gladys nodded.
"I say, have the servants been nasty?"
"Oh no. They're quite all right. Well, except Mrs.
Garston's maid. Of course, she can't bear me. She's
jealous."
"Old Jones. Yes, she's an old cat. Don't you mind.
She hates everybody. Croyland special," Gladys
laughed. "He's frightened of her, poor old thing. How
do you get on with the old lady?"


BRADSTOCK ABBEY 37
"She is rather a terror. She's quite civil to me, but
she has a way of putting me always in the wrong."
"I believe you! Ask Croyland. He can't ever do any-
thing right. Does she talk much, baby?"
"Heavens, no!" May made a face. "She's forgotten
how."
"Oh, you ought to get her into it. Do her good. I
believe it's bottling herself up makes her so peevish."
"Very likely. I wish you'd tell me how to draw the
cork. If I start talking she snubs me and then sits and
sighs. It's rather ghastly sometimes. How old is she,
Gladys? Seventy something?" Gladys nodded. "She
oughtn't to be so feeble. I don't believe there's anything
really the matter with her—except the medicines she
takes."
"Dope?" Gladys said quickly. "I thought she might."
0 "No, I didn't mean that. She has some pain-killer
drugs but nothing to make a drug habit. It's all sorts of
things—a chemist's shop of stuff. She loves dosing her-
self and I can't stop her."
"I know," Gladys nodded. "She's always fancying
she's ill."
"She always seems to be feeling injured. Has she
ever had anything dreadful happen to her?"
"Not in my time," said Gladys. "I say, baby, have
you got the idea there's something on her mind?"
"Oh yes, rather. I'm sure there is. I've seen people like
this before. She believes she's been badly treated, or she's
persecuted or something. Most likely it's a delusion. I
can see she thinks I'm horrid to her. But there it is—
she's sure she's a victim. It is rather queer, you know."
"What do you mean? Have you got on to what's
worrying her?"
"Heavens, no. I was thinking of this Miss Morrow.
She's been here all this week. Do you know her?"


38 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Heard of her. What about her?"
"Well, she's just the same. Younger and stronger,
of course, but she has Mrs. Garston's complaint badly.
She's a sufferer too. She's been badly used and it's a
wicked world and nobody understands. Who is she,
Gladys?"
"Oh, haven't they said anything about that?"
"They hardly say anything at all. I told you."
Gladys nodded. "It is queer. She was engaged to
Mrs. Garston's other son, the young one. He died ump-
teen years ago. She's still keeping it up, what?" Gladys's
smile was unpleasant.
"She comes to mourn with his mother still," May
said in a low voice. "Poor things! How did he die,
Gladys?"
"Lord, it was long before my time, you know. Sud-
denly—drowned in the harbour or something."
"So that was what broke them down. Both of them.
Oh, it's horrible. Two women's lives all spoilt."
"You think it's that? Maybe." Gladys watched her
keenly. "But they never say a word about it?"
"It is that, of course. I remember there were little
things. Just now, I was talking about the harbour, and
Mrs. Garston asked if I'd seen a boat on it and said no
boats ever came now." Gladys made a murmur of in-
terest. "Yes, and the other day I heard Miss Morrow
say to her, 'I always have his letters'—something like
that. But I thought they were just glooming. Poor
things."
"Yes, poor old things," said Gladys briskly. "When's
Miss Morrow going? She isn't a little ray of sunshine."
"She's only staying till Monday."
Gladys made a grimace. "That's all we are. Croy-
land's just come in for her. Hard lines. Well, you want
to watch it, baby. Get the old girl to open out a bit.


BRADSTOCK ABBEY 29
Do her good." She stood up. "Time to change, isn't it?
Put on something fetching. Croyland wants bucking
up."
May put on the frock which she had intended to put
on. She was without any desire to do what Gladys
wanted. Gladys's tone seemed to her unpleasant in
several ways: hard, vulgar, domineering. But especially
domineering. Gladys had been very kind to her, but it
was absurd Gladys should be giving her orders. No
doubt Gladys thought she was being paid so well it
didn't matter how she was treated. But the place was
hardly endurable. Of course, now she knew about Mrs.
Garston's son, she could understand the poor woman,
she was very sorry for her. But that wasn't going to
make it pleasant living there unwanted, disliked, found
fault with all the time. If Gladys was going to come
down and tell her how to do her job, it would be impos-
sible. And then ordering her to dress up and be bright
to please that lump Croyland—ugh! She dressed in
angry speed and so, having gone to attend on Mrs.
Garston and been rejected, arrived in the drawing
room before anyone else.
Next came Croyland. But her disgusted determina-
tion to show no interest in him was unnecessary. He
admitted by a nod that he had seen her and ignored her
existence, standing by the fire and clearing his throat.
Miss Morrow brought Mrs. Garston and he became
articulate, but without help. He stood over them mak-
ing small talk while they looked anywhere but at him.
Last and late came Gladys, her high-coloured opulence
displayed in a yellow dress of some daring. She was not
repressed by any consciousness of discomfort. She swept
into Croyland's slow speech with ready chattering
answers that led him on to something like fluency.
But it was an awkward dinner. Gladys could keep


40 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
talk going, and May, being out of humour with her,
was persuaded to admire her tact and help her. Her
manner was respectful to the old lady, amiable to Miss
Morrow. She was always addressing them and trying
to interest them. She treated Croyland with a cheerful
familiarity which never forgot that she was only his
secretary. She gave May friendly chances to take her
share. Yet it did not do. Mrs. Garston and Miss Morrow
remained aloof in their gloom and with a disapproval
that could be felt. Croyland was inattentive.
When the women went to the drawing room, the at-
mosphere, May found with incredulous surprise, was
less uncomfortable. Gladys worked on nobly and had
some response. Mrs. Garston was persuaded to remem-
ber Queen Victoria, Miss Morrow had heard Patti—or
was it Albani?—sing "Home Sweet Home." Eyes were
moist. The tact of Gladys became more admirable than
ever.
But the expansive moments ended when Croyland
came in. He stood at the door, as though the sound of
his mother's voice frightened him, and at the sight of
him she was silent.
Gladys turned with a bright smile. "Mrs. Garston
was just telling us about Queen Victoria's funeral,"
she explained. "It must have been tremendously im-
pressive."
"Quite. Yes, quite," he grunted.
Gladys turned back to Mrs. Garston, all eager inter-
est. "Do tell us."
But Mrs. Garston was looking beyond her at Croy-
land. "You were there," she said, as if the funeral were
his fault. "You and your poor father—and Alfred."
"I remember it." Croyland cleared his throat and
Mrs. Garston wiped her eyes.
"All the family," said Gladys. "How interesting!


BRADSTOCK ABBEY 41
Where did you see it from?" But Mrs. Garston shook
her head.
"Yes. A long while ago. Yes." Croyland moved round
the room. "What about some whist? Would you like a
game of whist, Mother?"
"Oh no," said Mrs. Garston faintly.
"I couldn't really," said Miss Morrow.
Then Gladys announced with a smile for Croyland
that she must go and do some work.
Croyland sat down by his mother and began a painful
struggle to keep on talking. May did her best for him.
The man was wholly unattractive, but his efforts were
pathetic. He might be a brute, which he looked, but
he was at least trying to behave decently and the two
women treated him as if his presence was an outrage.
They might be half mad with brooding on their bereave-
ment, but why should they turn their bitterness against
him? She found herself beginning to like him, he was so
gentle with them, and then, in repugnance at his pa-
tience under the intolerable, despising him.
In her sternest nurse's manner she told Mrs. Garston
that she must not sit up any longer.
"Oh, really?" the high voice complained. "It makes
no matter when I go to bed. I never sleep till morning."
"How dreadful, dear," Miss Morrow sighed. "I
always wake up in the small hours."
"Then you had better go to bed too," May told her.
"Quite," Croyland grunted, "quite. Good-night,
Mother." He kissed a cheek which turned away from
him. "You must do what Miss Dean says, you know!
Good-night, Fanny."
"Really!" Mrs. Garston lamented, but Fanny led her
away.
It was a long affair putting her to bed. Miss Morrow
came into the room and could not bear to go away; she


42 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
kept Jones, who was officious, fetching and carrying the
needless. To the ministrations of May she opposed a
limp resistance—everything was unnecessary, everything
was done wrong, each suggestion was cruel, but she
could only endure. May was not of those who bear
patiently being put in the wrong when they are trying
to do right. She departed from Mrs. Garston hot and
furious.
Back in her own room, she began to undress with a
certain violence. The door opened and Gladys lounged
in. "Hallo, baby. Breaking up the happy home?"
"I should like to," said May vehemently.
Gladys dropped into an easy chair and swung her legs
over the arm. She was in a kimono of vivid orange.
"Old lady got on your nerves?" she inquired. "Has
she been saying anything?"
"Oh dear, no! Nothing. She's only a martyr and I'm
a brute. That's all."
"Poor old girl," said Gladys, leaving vague whom she
meant. "Sent 'em to bed bright and early, didn't you?"
"It doesn't matter to you. You ran away soon
enough."
"Sorry, baby. Not my job to look after her, you
know. What happened? Anything go wrong?"
"Oh no. Only everything."
"Not a row?"
"Dear me, no," May laughed bitterly. "We don't
have rows here. We only make everybody hate them-
selves." She wrapped herself in a dressing gown and
sat down and lit a cigarette. "I'm sorry, Gladys. It's a
shame to fly out at you. But I don't think I could stand
many evenings like this."
"Worse than usual, was it?"
"Oh heavens, yes, far worse. Mrs. Garston wasn't
so bad alone—only dismal. But Miss Morrow's made her


BRADSTOCK ABBEY 43
resentful and reproachful. And with Lord Croyland
they're both perfectly ghastly. After you went, I
couldn't bear it. Gladys, what is it about him? What
have they got against him? Why treat him as if he was
loathsome? What's he done?"
"I say—you're laying it on thick, baby"; but Gladys
was much interested.
"I'm not. But you must have seen it yourself. They
can't endure him, and it's a sort of alliance between
them to make him feel a worm."
"I wouldn't have said it was bad as that," Gladys
said thoughtfully. "Mother doesn't like him, of course.
I've not seen much of him with the Morrow. They were
both down on him to-night, eh? Anything said?"
"They don't say anything. They just loathe. What
has he done to them?"
"Lord, I don't know, baby." Gladys shrugged. "I
suppose it's just his being alive while the other one's
dead. The one they liked. That's his crime. Don't you
worry. Croyland's a tough old sport."
"Nice people to live with, aren't they?"
"Cheerio. We're all going on Monday, except the old
girl. When you've got her to yourself, you'll have her
eating out of your hand. You have a way with you, baby.
She'll love you, poor old thing. Nighty, nighty. Be
good." Gladys passed away into the shadows of the
corridor.
But May was left feeling that she did not want any-
one to love her.


CHAPTER V
miss morrow's jewel case
Miss Morrow had no home. She came to one of the
old families of Sandshire, the county of Bradstock
Abbey, but the house of her birth belonged to her
brother, or rather to his children, and she was seldom
asked to go there. But she had a sufficient income. She
lived, and it was probably the best way she could live,
at hotels: during the autumn and winter at a hotel in
Bayswater; during the spring and summer at a hotel in
Limbay, the seaside town of Sandshire which believes
itself to provide the climate of the Riviera with the
comfort and the morals of England.
The Victoria Hotel, which was Miss Morrow's resi-
dence, was in both those qualities eminent. It might be
dingy outside—some have called it the ugliest hotel (a
hard saying) on any sea—it might be dull within: but
the virtue of the guests and of the cooking and of the
beds was of old and just renown. Miss Morrow could
feel sure that she would never have to sit near anybody
who was not quite nice.
She went back there from Bradstock on Monday and
by comparison was almost happy. The regular visits to
Mrs. Garston were a dreadful duty which gave satisfac-
tion afterwards in the memory of how it hurt. At the
hotel there were old ladies and gentlemen who required
nothing of her but an interest in their ailments and the
royal family: a restful company. The other people—one
44


miss morrow's jewel case 45
did not speak to anybody who had not been there for
months—were quietly worthy of the Victoria.
On a day towards the end of the week an unknown
woman did speak to her. The fact—in itself disturbing—
was for ever stamped upon her mind by the terrible
thing which also happened that day. Miss Morrow had
been sitting for her regulation half hour after lunch in
the drawing room. She was about to go upstairs to pre-
pare for her regulation walk when a woman, making
apologies, asked her if she knew of a doctor in Limbay.
Miss Morrow did and began to talk about him. It is one
of the few subjects in the world upon which she would
talk to a perfect stranger. Moreover the woman was
quite a nice little creature, and humbly anxious to be
instructed. It took a long time. Miss Morrow was not
lucid. The little woman, though grateful, was a trifle
abrupt in departing.
Miss Morrow then went upstairs. A few minutes later,
the afternoon peace of the hotel was broken by peals of
her bell and Miss Morrow came to the door of her room
calling hysterically for her maid and the chambermaid.
The decorum of the Victoria Hotel had never before
been thus assaulted.
When the reason for it was given by a flustered cham-
bermaid to a proprietor roused from his slumbers he
declined to believe. For Miss Morrow declared that her
jewel case had been stolen. And such a thing was also
without precedent at the Victoria Hotel. In that im-
pregnable respectability it was patently impossible.
Nevertheless the jewel case was gone.
Steeling itself to bear the horror, the Victoria Hotel
sent for the police.


CHAPTER VI
INSPECTOR GUNN AND
SUPERINTENDENT BELL
Two days afterwards Superintendent Bell of the
Criminal Investigation Department went down with his
assistant, Sergeant Underwood, to Limbay.
The police officer in charge of the detection of crime
in that part of Sandshire was Inspector Gunn, physi-
cally a contrast to Superintendent Bell, for he was long
and thin and bald and of hasty movements and Bell
was a square, slow man on whom hair grows thick, but
in mind they were made to work together, having each
a shrewd, downright way of thought and a vigorous
determination.
Bell came into Gunn's office with a smile. "Here we
are again! Like old times, isn't it?"
"It's fine you could come. I thought you'd be too
big a man for this sort of case nowadays. I take it very
kind of you."
"Not a bit. When I heard of it, I wanted to have a
go at it. Very pleased to work a case with you again.
How long is it since we were on that Garston affair
together? Matter of twenty years?"
"That's right. Alfred Garston was drowned in 1908."
Gunn grinned. "We didn't make much of that, did we?"
"We did not. Let's hope we've come on a bit since
then. That wasn't our fault though."
"No, we never had a chance. But it's an odd thing
46


GUNN AND BELL 47
meeting you again over this case. The lady's Miss
Morrow—the lady Alfred Garston was engaged to."
Bell looked puzzled, Bell looked annoyed. "Engaged?
I'm getting old, Gunn. I don't remember Miss Morrow.
Can't recollect her at all."
"Perhaps you never heard of her. The engagement
didn't have any bearing on the Garston business. I knew
about her, because she's one of the county people. Well,
it doesn't matter. It had nothing to do with this case
either, of course. Miss Morrow's got a bit of money and
she's on her own. About half the time she stays at the
Victoria here. Has the same rooms year after year. Two
days ago somebody went off with her jewel-case. She's
frantic. I couldn't stop her offering a reward. She's
putting an advertisement in the papers to-morrow. Five
hundred pounds."
Bell whistled. "She has got some money."
"Very comfortable, I should say. But not to throw
five hundred quid about."
"What sort of jewels were they?"
Gunn gave him a list. "There you are. And if that's
accurate, it's a wonder. Took me about half a day
cross-questioning her and her maid to draw it up. I
should say neither of 'em has any clear notion what she
really had, and as for the value—search me. She's not
insured, of course. She wouldn't be."
Bell read with grunts of contempt. "Looks like the
usual old maid's little lot. Sentimental value, I suppose.
Might be things Alfred Garston gave her." He looked up
at Gunn. "What's your idea about it?"
"Very likely some did come from him. She still thinks
a lot about him. I got that when she was rambling on.
She was thanking heaven she always wore her engage-
ment ring—on the little finger now, the other one having
got too fat. She told me so." Gunn gave a subdued


48 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
chuckle. "Poor old girl. She's absurd and pathetic, if
you know what I mean. Oh yes, this big reward is sen-
timental. She wants everything back undamaged."
"Wish she may get it!" Bell grunted.
"Oh, it's silly, of course. Makes us look fools too.
There are some letters she's keen about in with the
jewels."
"I thought so," Bell nodded.
"Love letters, I gather. Alfred's love letters. Always
carried 'em round with her." He grinned ruefully at
Bell. "So the five hundred quid is for the recovery of
case and contents. Think you're going to earn it?"
Bell shook his head. "About these letters though.
They'd be just straight love letters from Alfred Garston?
See what I mean? It's not a blackmail job?"
"Can't be. You don't know her, of course. You can
bet your life she never had any love affair but that one.
They're his letters all right. May have been pretty warm
—I shouldn't have thought so. But nobody could black-
mail her with them. There was no secret about the
engagement. Besides—she's been living quite open
down here and in London ever since. You can't imagine
any fellow suddenly thinking he could get blackmail
out of her for that old affair."
Bell nodded. "Well, I didn't really. Better to have a
look at every possibility though. You've got to own it's a
queer sort of case, Gunn."
"How do you mean?"
""Neat bit of work, isn't it? The thief got clean away
out of a good hotel in daylight with a jewel case and
you haven't found any clue. Looks like high-class
professional work."
"I know. That's why I wanted some of you London
experts on it."
"All right. But the high-class crooks don't want


GUNNANDBELL 49
to bother with Miss Morrow's kind of stuff." Bell looked
at the list with contempt. "I'd say there's nothing there
worth their while. And they generally know what they're
after."
"What are you getting at?"
"I suppose you've looked over the servants?"
"Yes. Nothing doing. All old stagers—it's that kind
of hotel. They know one another and the proprietor
knows 'em all inside out."
"What about the window of the room?"
"Not a chance. Second floor and on the front."
"What do you think of a casual stranger strolling
upstairs?"
"I don't believe in him. The Victoria has no use for
casual strangers. The porter'd bite 'em. The office
would call the police."
"Particular kind of pub." Bell smiled.
"It is. You've got to reckon with that. Anybody
who couldn't pass for quite correct wouldn't have had a
chance."
"All right. Have it your own way. You want to put
it on one of the people staying there. Then we'd better
look into 'em."
"That was my idea," Gunn smiled. "Now the case
was in Miss Morrow's room before lunch. She says so
and her maid says so. When she went up again an hour
after lunch it was gone. There were ten people left the
hotel that day round about lunch time. Here's the list.
These four are old customers. The other six they don't
know."
Bell laughed. "Oh, you can get into this exclusive
pub without an introduction?"
"Yes. Shouldn't care to myself." Gunn grinned.
"Very genteel they are at the Victoria. But of course it's
first class and they get rich people motoring and so on."


50 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Bell studied the names. "Colonel Grose and valet.
Left his club address. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert, London;
Mr. and Mrs. Meyer and chauffeur, Manchester; Mrs.
Hale, maid and chauffeur, Bath. Lot of servants."
"There would be. All these people had their own cars
except the colonel. He's old and so is Mrs. Hale. Quite
doddery. The others, the Herberts and the Meyers,
were youngish. I don't get anything particular about
'em. The proprietor says they were all quite gentry.
Gentry's his strong suit. But I don't know what young
people want to go to the Victoria for."
"I see. Well, it might have been somebody who didn't
run away as soon as he'd got the goods. But we'd better
begin with this little lot. Let's go down. I'd like to have
a look at this genteel pub."
They went. The proprietor, who looked like Ibsen,
was not pleased to see them, and became less pleased and
still more like Ibsen when they cross-examined him
about his guests. He would remember nothing that was
of any use. "Look here, my friend," said Bell, "if I
wanted to be nasty I should say you didn't want this
theft investigated."
'"I don't want you starting silly scandal about the
visitors to my hotel, and I'm not going to have it. Say
what you like, I'm not afraid of you. You can't bully
me."
Bell looked him over with a contemptuous smile.
"Wait till I begin. Your duty is to assist the police. And
you're not doing it."
"I understand my duty." The proprietor was still
defiant. "I'm here to give you any help I can. But I can't
tell you what I don't know."
"All right. As you don't know anything about your
visitors, we'll have to get it otherwise. I want to see
the bills of these people—Mr. and Mrs. Herbert of Lon-


GUNNANDBELL 51
don, Mr. and Mrs. Meyer and chauffeur of Manchester."
The proprietor had no objection to that. He would get
the books at once.
When he departed Bell winked at Gunn, but Giinn
shook his head. "The old boy's all right, you know."
"I should say so. He came to heel sharp when I talked
about duty, didn't he? Just a silly ass. He was hoping
to pass it off as some thief from outside, not one of his
precious visitors, that's all. And he don't feel too sure
about 'em."
The books came and revealed that the Herberts had
stayed four nights, the Meyers only two. The Meyers
had taken expensive rooms on the first floor, the Her-
berts had gone to the third. The Meyers were charged
for baths each day. One bath had sufficed for the Her-
berts. The Meyers had drunk wine, the Herberts whisky.
One Herbert had tea each day, no Meyer. "I can't
make much out of that," said Gunn.
Bell grunted and looked up at the proprietor. "Have
you got a bar here?"
"There is no bar in the hotel," said the proprietor
haughtily.
"Hard lines. What does a man do when he wants a
drink?"
"He would give his order to the smoking-room
waiter."
"I want to see him."
A small young man who already looked old was pro-
duced. "Now, my lad, do you get many of the visitors
taking a drink in the evening?"
"There's always the regular, sir."
"Leaving them out—were you serving many last
week?"
"Much as usual, sir."
"Do they pay as they have it or put it on the bill?"


52 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Mostly pay—except some of the regulars."
"Did you happen to notice any of the strangers?"
"There was a gentleman in most nights. I remember
'im, because 'e 'ad gin an' bitters—which it's not usual
with gentlemen after dinner. Some nights 'e'd 'avetwo."
Bell lit a cigarette. "Well, what was he like?"
"Nice gentleman, sir. Quite pleasant." The waiter
looked at his proprietor. "I think 'e 'ad rooms on the
third floor. I 'eard 'im tell the lift boy."
"Yes, but what was he like to look at?"
"I couldn't rightly say." The waiter hesitated. "Just
a ordinary gent. Clean-shaved. Lot of forehead. Not
the sort you notice much. Rather spry when he moved."
"That's no good," said Bell. "All right, my lad."
He sent the waiter away and turned to the proprietor.
"Is there anyone in your blessed hotel who knows any-
body?"
"I take it the gentleman he refers to must have been
Mr. Herbert," said the proprietor, with angry contempt
for a gentleman who brought to his hotel an incorrect
habit in drinks.
Bell made an impatient noise. "Chambermaid of the
Herberts' room. Waiter at the Herberts' table. Porter.
The man at your garage. I want all them. To begin with.
P'r'aps one of 'em 's got some sense."
The examination was long and tedious. The Herberts
had been people singularly insignificant or the servants
of the Victoria thought it improper to remember any-
thing about the visitors. Bell gained here a little and
there a little. Mrs. Herbert was young and the chamber-
maid did not think they had been long married. Mr.
Herbert was older. The waiter said Mrs. Herbert had a
quiet way with her and wore black and used to be al-
ways in the drawing room with the ladies. He had
thought they did not go out much.


GUNN AND BELL 53
But the last of the string, the garage man, had a
different sort of mind. He was an affable cockney, he
talked nineteen to the dozen, and if all he told was true
he noticed everything or more. From his chatter Mr.
and Mrs. Herbert emerged real and recognizable. She
was quite the lady or the lady's maid. Sharp little
face, rather mousy; not much of her; fair hair and dark
eyes; dressed demure and blackish; didn't mind showing
all a leg though. He was free and easy: quite all right
but not just the thing; bit of a bagman. Ordinary-
sized fellow; rather bony; skin-and-bone face: sort of
skull. Moved quick. Knew a bit about cars. His own
car was an Evans-Cambridge coupe 1929; been re-
painted gray. He had a go at the engine just before he
left.
Bell smiled. "You've seen some things in your life,
haven't you?" He gave the man a ten-shilling note. "I
shouldn't wonder you might be some use to me if you
can keep your mouth shut. Run away." He stood up and
surveyed the proprietor. "Thank God somebody in the
place has got a brain. The only good you can be just
yet is to go on saying nothing. Understand? If any of
this leaks out, we'll come down on you. But you'd better
think about knowing something. Good-day to you."
He marched out at high speed.
When they were out of the hotel Gunn caught up.
"Well, I suppose you think you've got on to them,"
he growled. "I don't see it myself."
"How could you?" Bell soothed him. "It's knowing
the people that does the trick. I know your Mr. Herbert.
They all have their little ways, thank God. Drinking
gin of an evening is one of his. That's what put me on to
him. When the garage man talked about his skull face
that settled it. We call him Billy Bones."
"Regular hotel thief, is he?"


54 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Bell nodded. "We've had him on the list ten—ah,
fifteen years. Quite in a good way of business. I don't
know the woman. But Billy likes 'em fresh and fresh."
"What's your next move?" Gunn grunted.
"Eh?" Bell stared at him. "Why, we'll have to find
Billy for you. I'll ring up now and tell 'em to get
busy. May take a bit of time, but we'll find him."
"That's all right. I'm thinking about the evidence,"
Gunn grumbled. "I don't see it myself. Say you get him
and this smarty from the garage identified him. What
about it? You prove he was down here under an alias
when the stuff was pinched and you can get it in that
he's a convicted hotel thief. That's not good enough
for a jury."
"Don't you worry. When we've got him, we'll make
a case of it. Some of these servants will have to remem-
ber things." Bell looked knowing. "Wonderful what
fools can remember when they're put through it."
"How do you mean?"
"You know the second waiter did remember seeing
the woman sitting by Miss Morrow. That was keeping
watch on her while Billy Bones did the trick. We want
one of 'em to remember seeing Billy about on the wrong
floor—by Miss Morrow's room—coming down with a
case in his hand. That sort of thing. We'll get it from
somebody when we work at 'em."
"I don't know. I don't much like it," said Gunn.
"What's wrong with it?" Bell looked at him with
searching eyes. "You can bet your life Billy did the
job."
"I daresay he did." Gunn frowned. "I don't think
you're going to get much of a case." Bell did not answer
at once. "You don't like it yourself," Gunn accused him.
"Do you want to know what is wrong with it?" said
Bell slowly. "I told you before. It oughtn't to have been


GUNN AND BELL 55
an expert's job at all. Billy's not the man to come after
Miss Morrow's class o' goods. He only goes for the big
stuff. And yet he did it. Well, I want to know why.
There's some queer game being played and Billy's got to
let us into it—or he'll go for a long stretch. That's
how it's going to look to him. So we have to get some
evidence ready."
"Work a bluff on him?" said Gunn. "It might do.
But what game could there be? Who's going to make
anything out of old jewellery and old love letters?"
"Ah! Now you're asking something," Bell grunted.


CHAPTER VII
MR. CLUNK TAKES A CASE
Mr. Clunk walked round his garden before breakfast,
and sparrows chirped at him and he at the sparrows
and he hummed:
"We speak of the land of the blest,
That country so bright and so fair,
And oft are its glories confest;
But what must it be to be there!"
He found two young plants of groundsel, took these in
to his canaries, with beaming benevolence watched
them eat, then, rubbing his hands, tripped to the paper
which lay to warm by the fire. The Clunks were fond
of fires.
"To be there! To be there!
Oh, what must it be to be there!"
he murmured, and on that second line was silent.
An advertisement in the column next to births,
marriages, and deaths required his attention:
£SCO REWARD. STOLEN, 4th inst., from VICTORIA HOTEL,
LIMBAY. BLACK LEATHER JEWEL CASE MARKED F.M. containing
diamond and amethyst brooch, pearl brooch, amethyst
necklace, diamond and ruby bracelet, etc., and private papers.
Above reward will be paid for information leading to com-
plete recovery of case and contents. Apply Smith & Hawkins,
Fore Street, Limbay.
56


MR. CLUNK TAKES A CASE 57
Mr. Clunk tapped his teeth. It was some minutes
before he turned to another page.
Mrs. Clunk rustled in brightly smiling. "Is there
anything in the paper, Joshua?"
"The King seems really better, my dear," said Mr.
Clunk.
"God bless him!" Mrs. Clunk murmured.
"Amen! Yes, indeed. Amen!" said Mr. Clunk, and
they sat down to their eggs.
One train earlier than usual Mr. Clunk went in to
town. When he ran up the stairs of his office his little
feet went to the tune of
"You are nearing the brink of Jordan
But still there is work for you:
Then, what are you going to do, brother?
Say, what are you going to do?"
His letters were brought him and he looked them over
hastily. "Very good. In a minute, if you please, Jenks,
in a minute. I want a word with Lewis."
Lewis was a bald young man to whom prominent teeth
gave the look of a simpleton. Mr. Clunk showed him the
advertisement. "Did you happen to notice that, my
boy?"
"Caught my eye, sir. Big reward, I thought."
"It is," said Mr. Clunk. "A very large reward."
"I mean to say, it's big money for the stuff in the
list. Looks like something behind."
"Just so. I'm afraid they're not being quite candid,"
said Mr. Clunk sadly. "Complete recovery of contents,
you notice, Lewis. Complete. A curious advertisement.
Do you happen to have heard anything about the case?"
"Not me. Been kept pretty quiet. Of course, Limbay
—it is off the map. Still, a hotel jewel robbery generally


58 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
makes a noise. And if it's a five-hundred quid reward
touch—well!"
"Quite so. An interesting case. I should like to know
more of it."
"Very good, sir." Lewis went out.
Mr. Clunk did not at once return to his letters. He
contemplated the stuffed canaries on the mantelpiece.
He rose and turned them to take more of the sunlight.
Then he rang the bell and asked Jenks for a directory of
the county of Sandshire.
That night he took Mrs. Clunk to a missionary meet-
ing. When they came home a taxi was at the door. Lewis
was in the cupboard upstairs which Mr. Clunk calls his
study. He writes his sermons there.
"Well, well, well," Mr. Clunk beamed. "I don't like
keeping you out so late, my boy. You should have
telephoned."
"It wouldn't do for the telephone, sir. I wanted
to tell you Bell's on that Limbay case."
"Dear me," said Mr. Clunk. "Superintendent Bell?
Is that so?"
"That's right. And the man they're looking for is
Billy Bones. You know, Billy Benson."
"Benson!" Mr. Clunk echoed. "But that is very
surprising, Lewis. Weren't you very surprised?"
"I was. Makes you wonder what it's all about."
Lewis looked at him vacantly.
"It does indeed. But we were wondering, weren't
we? Well, well, well. Quite an interesting case."
"Bell's driving it hard."
"Is he really? Dear me! Do you happen to know if
Benson has been working alone lately?"
"I 'aven't 'eard," said Lewis, for whom aspirates
were sometimes too much. "Sure to have a girl." The
foolishness of his face vanished in a knowing grin.


MR. CLUNK TAKES A CASE 59
"Ah, yes." Mr. Clunk shook his head. "A new one,
I fear."
"He does like 'em new," Lewis agreed.
"Dear, dear," said Mr. Clunk. "But if anything
occurs, Lewis—it might be useful to get into touch with
the lady."
"I'll watch it, sir."
"Thank you very much, my boy. Really it's a shame
to keep you up so late. You must come and have some
supper with us."
"I think not, sir, thanks," said Lewis hastily. The
Clunks drink cocoa at supper. "My missus will be
wondering what's happened to me."
Mr. Clunk chuckled. "Not a new one, I hope, my
boy?"
"Not much," Lewis grinned. "I know when I'm
well off."
"Ah, too bad of me," Mr. Clunk beamed. "Tell her
the old man's very much obliged to her."
He packed Lewis off and came rubbing his hands to
Mrs. Clunk and Irish stew and cocoa.
"Was that the office, Joshua?" she complained.
"You let yourself be worked shocking, really you do."
"Oh no, no, my dearie, no, I love the work. It's
welcome." He chirped the tune of that hymn:
"You are nearing the brink of Jordan
But still there is work for you
How good that is, dearie."
"You're a good man, Joshua," said Mrs. Clunk with
emotion.
Two days later Lewis came into Mr. Clunk's room at
the office. "They've got him, sir," he said. "Found him
on the Dieppe boat last night. Took him to the Yard."


60 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Ah, indeed." Mr. Clunk took a boiled sweet. "Yes,
we had to expect they would find him. Superintendent
Bell is very thorough when he knows what he should do.
A very careful, zealous officer. And they took Benson
to the Yard? That is interesting, Lewis. He must be
taken to Limbay if he is to be charged with theft."
"Bell wants to have some information out of him, I
reckon."
"I fear so," Mr. Clunk sighed. "I don't like these
police examinations of arrested men, Lewis. It's not
right. It's a very dangerous practice. The poor fellow
should have the protection of his solicitor."
"Yes, sir, I think I'll be able to get hold of the girl,"
said Lewis.
Mr.'Clunk sucked his sweet. "It would be wrong to
attract any attention to her," he gurgled. "But if we
could give her help, that is our duty." Lewis departed
briskly.
In the afternoon he telephoned to ask Mr. Clunk to
stay late at the office. After dusk, when the precincts
of Covent Garden were deserted, he brought Mr. Clunk
a lady.
She did not resemble the nice little woman who talked
to Miss Morrow or the demure, mouselike, fair-haired
.woman remembered by the garage man. She dressed and
painted herself like a chorus girl of the fourth class. Her
hair was henna red. Mr. Clunk smiled at her paternally.
"Miss Montague, sir," said Lewis.
"And what can we do for Miss Montague?" Mr.
Clunk beamed.
But under the examination of his large pale eyes
Miss Montague was uncomfortable. "You're Clunk &
Clunk, aren't you?"
"I am Joshua Clunk," said Mr. Clunk with mild
pride.


MR. CLUNK TAKES A CASE 61
"I always heard you were all right." Miss Montague
looked as if the sight of him made her doubt it. "Your
young man said you'd be willing to take it up."
"We're always willing to help," Mr. Clunk assured
her. "Tell me about it, my dear."
"You know they've pinched Billy. I suppose they're
after me too."
"Dear, dear. That's very unpleasant," said Mr.
Clunk. "Now what is the charge against Benson?"
He received from Miss Montague a glassy stare. "I
don't know. I don't know anything about it. See?"
"Of course not," Mr. Clunk smiled. "That's the way
to take it, my dear. But if we're going to help Billy,
we'll have to understand what the police are putting up
against him. And if we're to keep you out of it, you must
tell us how you stand."
"Go on. You know what they've taken Billy for.
That job at Limbay. It's a stinking plant, I say. Just
because they've had him before for the same sort of
thing they put this on to him. And that drags me into
it."
"Too bad," Mr. Clunk murmured. "But how would
they get at you?"
"Look here. I don't know anything about the ruddy
jewels. Take my oath I never saw a blink of 'em. And I
don't believe Billy did either. I'm not going back on
him. You've got to do the job for him, as well as me.
That's what I told your young man. I'm for Billy all
the time."
"I like that," said Mr. Clunk heartily. "I like that,
don't you, Lewis?"
"That's the touch," Lewis agreed.
Miss Montague expanded. "I'll tell you. It was like
this. Billy and me have been pals quite a while. I was out
of a shop, and he was flush. We went off for a jolly old


62 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
joy ride. Billy likes a quiet place when he's not working.
So we stayed at this one-horse hotel at Limbay. I take
my dying oath I never saw him up to anything." Miss
Montague displayed modesty. "It was like a honey-
moon." she sighed. "Then we came back and there was
this ad. in all the papers, five hundred reward for jewels
stolen from our beastly old pub. When Billy saw that,
he said to me, 'Look at that,' he said, 'in our own little
pub! A lot of good it is to a chap to keep off it. They'll
put that on to me now. Oh, hell,' he said, 'I'll have to
break away, Gracie. I don't want you in it. You lie low.'
And he gave me a tenner and bucked off. He was always
a sport, good old Billy." She attended to her eyes. "He
knew I'd never give him away." She looked up at Mr.
Clunk. "Now, mister. What about it?"
"That's very good and clear," said Mr. Clunk. "But
it wouldn't be at all wise to tell it to the police, my
dear."
"What do you take me for?" Miss Montague cried.
"I think you're a very sensible young woman," Mr.
Clunk beamed. "It's so much easier when people trust
me, you know. Nobody ever regretted doing that, I be-
lieve, eh, Lewis?"
"Rather not," Lewis grinned.
"Now this is how we stand." Mr. Clunk put his finger
tips together and contemplated them. "You came to ask
me to look after your friend Mr. Benson who has been
arrested. Very good. I understand that. I'll see him at
once, wherever they've taken him. But we must look
after you." He turned to Lewis. "Is she staying in a
nice quiet place?"
"Couldn't do much better, sir."
"Very good. Then you'll go back there, my dear, and
never say anything to anybody about your little jaunt
to Limbay. If the police should find you out, you


MR. CLUNK TAKES A CASE 63
mustn't answer any of their questions. Tell them you
want to see Mr. Clunk. Understand me, don't you?
They'll be trying to trap you and if you talk you'll give
yourself away. Make 'em send for Mr. Clunk. I'll see
you through it, my dear. Good-bye. Good-bye."
When Lewis had taken her out, Mr. Clunk began to
write, thus: "Montague: at L. with B. B. ?F.
M. ?" And at that statement of the case he gazed
with his head on one side and made little noises. . . . He
locked it up and lay back and murmured in very slow
time:
"Oh, what are you going to do, brother?
Say, what are you going to do?
You have thought of some useful labour
But what is the end in view?"
He sighed and shook his head. . . .
Lewis came back. "Sent her off in a taxi, with Jenks.
She's bucked." He grinned at Mr. Clunk. "Lying
good and hard, wasn't she?"
"Yes indeed. A dear, simple soul," Mr. Clunk
smiled. "How much there is to love in human nature,
Lewis. Good-night. Good-night."
He tripped off humming another verse of that same
interrogatory hymn:
"Oh, what are you going to do, brother?
The twilight approaches now.
Already your locks are silvered,
And winter is on your brow."
He pattered along very fast.


CHAPTER VIII
MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE
In the morning Superintendent Bell was busy at Scot-
land Yard, clearing up odds and ends of work that he
might be free to spend some days with Inspector Gunn
at Limbay. He was disturbed by Sergeant Underwood.
"Old Clunk's turned up, sir: he's called asking to see
Billy Bones."
"Has he, by George!" Bell flung back in his chair
and stared.
"Putting it quite correct, sir. He says he's informed
that Mr. William Benson has been arrested and Mr.
Benson's friends have instructed him to take up the
case so he wishes for an opportunity to consult Mr.
Benson."
"Oh, quite correct," Bell laughed sardonically. "He
would be. And I'd like to know how he heard we'd got
Billy here. Josh Clunk hears too much, my lad. Didn't
happen to ask him who Mr. Benson's friends might be,
did you?"
"I didn't." Underwood looked uncomfortable. "I
thought it wouldn't do."
"All right. I was only pulling your leg. The less
you ask Josh Clunk the less you'll give away. He's told
us the only thing we'll get out of him—that he's in the
game. God knows that's enough." Bell glowered at his
table.
"He's waiting for an answer, sir," Underwood said
meekly. "What will I tell him?"
64


MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE 65
"Oh, tell him we have no knowledge of Benson.
Benson's been detained at the request of the Sandshire
police and taken to Sandshire. Be as smooth as butter
and get rid of him. The sooner we're down at Limbay
the better."
In the Limbay police station that afternoon Bell met
Inspector Gunn. "You do deliver the goods, I must say,"
Gunn began. "Never thought you'd get him so quick.
He's the man all right. Had him out for identification
this morning and that smart Alec from the garage got
on to him at once."
"Good. What did Mr. Billy say to that?"
"Said nothing. Looked hell."
"That's his strong suit. He worked that on me three
hours yesterday."
Gunn grunted. "Your blufPs not going too well, is it?"
"Give us a chance," Bell protested. "Have you tried
any of the other servants at identifying him?"
"Chambermaid. Couple o' waiters. Not too good.
Chambermaid couldn't be certain. Waiters couldn't
really say. Thought he might be."
"Somebody's got to do better than that." Bell's jaw
shut hard. "Bring 'em down here. I'll put 'em through
it."
"All right. You can try. I don't like it too much
myself," Gunn frowned. "Forcing things a bit, aren't
you?"
"I'm not going to let Billy Bones get away with it.
I told you there was something behind this case. There
is. One of the things is Josh Clunk."
"And who's Mr. Clunk?"
Bell laughed. "You'll know before you've done with
this case, my lad. He"
The station sergeant appeared begging pardon: a
London solicitor, a Mr. Clunk, had come down: Mr.


66 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Clunk was going to appear for Benson: wanted to see
him in order to arrange the defence.
"There you are," said Bell with gloomy satisfaction.
"That's the kind of fellow Clunk is. Wonder he wasn't
waiting for Billy on the step."
"Well, what about it? We'll have to let him talk to
his client."
"We shall. I wish to God I could listen to 'em."
Gunn was startled. "I say! Go easy. We can't do that,
you know. Got to keep to the rules."
"I do know," Bell growled. "All the rules—when
Josh Clunk's against you. And you can bet your life he
won't keep to 'em. That's where the fun comes in.
Go on. Don't leave his highness waiting or you'll hear
of it in court."
Gunn went out to arrange the interview and came
back looking pleased and puzzled. "Seems a very decent
old boy. Knows the ropes. Cheery and civil. What's the
trouble about him?"
"He's the nastiest little bag o' tricks in the trade,
that's all," said Bell. "Look here. Clunk's the man
that crime with big money behind it comes to. Why do
you think he's running down here on this little job?"
"But you said this chap is an expert crook."
"I did. And how does Clunk know we've got Billy
before Billy's had a chance to ask for a solicitor? Clunk
was round at the Yard this morning wanting to see Billy.
All we told him was that Billy was in the hands of the
Sandshire police. And he comes straight here to Limbay.
He knows something. I told you there was a queer game
behind this jewel case. It's a very queer game that has
Josh Clunk in it from the start."
"But what could there be?" Gunn objected. "That
Miss Morrow hasn't got a past. She hasn't hardly had a
life, you might say. There's nothing to her, except hav-


MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE 6j
ing been engaged to Alfred Garston. And what could
there be about that business now? He's been dead
twenty years."
"I don't know what there is," Bell growled. "You
can bet your life there's something. Even if we never
get near it. Come on, what we've got to do now is to
make a case against Billy Bones that'll put him in a
funk. Let's work over these servants. My Lord, I wish
I could hear how old Clunk's working with Billy."
But if he had heard, Bell would have been much dis-
appointed. For Mr. Clunk found his client difficult.
Billy Bones did not wholly deserve his nickname.
Only people with sharp eyes would have found in his
bald and prominent forehead and salient cheek bones
the look of a skull. He was otherwise lean and angular
but not extravagantly. For professional purposes he had
cultivated an inconspicuous appearance.
But the resemblance to a skull was increased as he
looked at Mr. Clunk, and he said with some truculence,
"What's the game?"
"Just so. We have to make up our minds about that,
my friend," said Mr. Clunk. "How did you think of
taking it now?"
"Who brought you down?"
Mr. Clunk smiled. "Fancy asking that! Who would it
be? Well, here I am, my boy. And you couldn't get any-
body better, though I say it. Now let's see what can be
done for you."
"None of your tricks. I said, who asked you to come
into it?"
"That young woman's a better girl than you deserve,
my lad," said Mr. Clunk severely. "You shouldn't have
brought her into a thing like this."
Billy was affected. "What, have they pinched her?"
he cried.


68 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"No thanks to you they haven't. They're after her,
of course. So Miss Montague came to me. She has a little
sense, my friend. She asked me to defend you. That's all
she's thinking about, I'm afraid. Not very much sense
after all. Who else do you suppose cares tuppence what
happens to you?" Mr. Clunk lay back and jingled the
keys in his pockets.
"Look here," said Billy. "You look after Gracie,
will you?"
"Of course I shall," Mr. Clunk snapped. "I don't
let my clients down. You know that. And if I'm going to
keep her out of it, I have to get you out of it. Lucky
for you, you fool."
"All right. Go easy," said Billy uncomfortably.
"I haven't asked you myself. What's more, I haven't
got any brass for you, I tell you straight."
"Then you must be a fool," Mr. Clunk said.
"How do you mean?"
"What did you go into it for, if there was no money
in it?"
"Here. Let's get this right." Billy showed symptoms
of alarm. "What's Gracie been telling you?"
"My instructions from Miss Montague," said Mr.
Clunk with dignity, "are that she was staying with you
at the Victoria, but she knows nothing of the theft of
the jewel case and is sure that you know nothing."
"That's quite right," said Billy with relief. And Mr.
Clunk laughed heartily. "What's the joke?"
"I've been in business some time, my friend. Is that
what you told Superintendent Bell?"
"Not half, I didn't. Told him nothing at all, blast
him. I wouldn't answer the blighter." Billy turned on
Mr. Clunk the obstinate, evil stare which Bell had found
irritating.


MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE 69
"He's been in business some time too," Mr. Clunk
smiled.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, my friend, didn't you think it was rather odd
Superintendent Bell should take a lot of trouble over
this tuppenny ha'penny lot of jewels?"
Billy wriggled. "Spiteful old dog, Bell is. Once he's
had a sniff at you, he won't ever let you alone."
"Worries his bones, doesn't he?" Mr. Clunk agreed
cheerfully. "You have to think about that, my friend."
"My God!" Billy glared. "He won't get anything out
of me. I'm not that kind, Clunk."
"I see," Mr. Clunk nodded. "He was putting it to
you, you'd get off light if you let him know where he
could find the swag."
Billy grinned. "Ah. Always hand out that stuff, don't
they? Nothing doing. They don't catch me with it."
"Good. I suppose he didn't let out how he came to
be looking for you as soon as the stuff was taken?"
"How do you mean? The blinking swine at the garage
remembered my dial. They put me up for identification
this morning and the dirty dog picked me out good and
quick."
Mr. Clunk contemplated his distinctive face with
amusement. "Quite so. That would be easy. But it's
ra-ather a strange business, my friend. I should be
inclined to think someone gave you away."
"What are you getting at?" Billy stared. "You don't
mean Grade?"
"No, no, no. She would lose her soul for you, poor
girl," said Mr. Clunk with emotion. "She mustn't, you
know, she mustn't."
"All right, all right." Billy was uncomfortable.
"I'm saying nothing against her."


70 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"You silly fellow," said Mr. Clunk. "Don't you see,
the moment the jewel case was stolen our friend Bell
started to look for you. I wonder who gave him that
idea. I should say it was the people who have the things.
It would be very convenient for them to send you to
prison for the theft." Billy stared at him with sullen
interest but disappointed Mr. Clunk by saying nothing.
"My poor fellow, can't you see it keeps them safe and
shuts your mouth?"
"I get you," said Billy. "Very nice for 'em, isn't
it?" he grinned. "I wish I knew who they were, Clunk.
Do you? Got something up your old sleeve, eh?"
"Dear me, no," Mr. Clunk sighed. "I'm sorry, my
friend. Nothing at all. If you don't know who was after
the stuff, how should I? But I'm afraid, unless we can
bring someone else into the case, it's a bad business for
you."
"Here. What's the game? You're talking like old
Bell."
"Don't be foolish," said Mr. Clunk austerely. "I'm
talking in your own interests, Benson."
"Yes, that's what he said," Billy grinned. "Nothing
doing, old man. I know nothing, see? I was just down
here on a spree with my girl and they're putting it on me
because I've been jugged for the same kind of thing.
That's my blooming defence. If you want it, you can
take it. If not, go to hell."
"I shan't do that, my friend," said Mr. Clunk cheer-
fully. "That's your affair, I'm afraid. Yes, I'm afraid
so, Benson. Very well, I'll fight the case for you. But
you're running a grave risk. You're a silly fellow."
"I don't think," Billy grinned.
Mr. Clunk showed no resentment: no more interest
in the case. He made a little amiable, elderly chatter
about nothing and departed. With a stare of concen-


MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE 71
trated hostility Bell watched his sprightly back go down
the street. Bell also had not got what he wanted.
Mr. Clunk was staying at the Victoria with his young
friend Lewis. They had a sitting room, which gave
them rank above casual visitors, though not with the
regular inhabitants: they were approved as people of
the right sort. Mr. Clunk rang for tea, and when the
Victoria produced its respectable version of that meal
shook his head and sighed. Lewis came in. "Sit down,
my boy. Would you like an egg or something?" he asked
sorrowfully.
"Not for me, thanks," Lewis grinned.
"I'm very fond of my tea," Mr. Clunk complained,
and sipped and pecked with melancholy resignation.
"There's no place like home, Lewis."
"Oh, this isn't so bad, sir. They'll do you all right
when you get the hang of it."
"You like it?" Mr. Clunk looked forlorn. "I'm glad
you like it. It makes me feel an old man. No life in it,
Lewis. No joy. These people here seem to be simply
waiting to die."
Lewis laughed. "That's got 'em! So they do."
"But how sad that is, Lewis," Mr. Clunk mourned.
"Yes, sir. Did you make anything of Billy Bones?"
Mr. Clunk, having eaten everything else there was
to eat, took a lump of sugar. "In a way," he said, and
sucked, "in a way. He told the same story as the girl.
Rather silly of him, wasn't it, Lewis?" His large eyes
gleamed benevolence. "I'm afraid he doesn't trust me.
Such a pity! Still, that is quite interesting. The poor
fellow let out that Bell had been offering to make things
easy for him if he would tell the police who put him on
the job. That also is interesting. Our friend Bell, you
see, has a notion that there is more in this than meets
the eye. He is really quite intelligent. We mustn't


72 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
underrate Bell, Lewis. I'm afraid he is going to compli-
cate the affair for us. A most persistent creature."
"Oh, Bell's a bloodhound."
"A terrier, I should say," Mr. Clunk corrected mildly.
"An honest terrier. Very worrying. Well, I warned our
poor Billy it would be a hazardous defence to put for-
ward that it was pure accident brought him here, a
known hotel thief under an alias, just when the jewels
were stolen. I advised him to direct suspicion elsewhere.
But the silly fellow would only persist that he knew
nothing."
"He must have been well paid for the job."
"Dear me, yes," Mr. Clunk sighed. "He told me he
hadn't a farthing. Not a wise fellow at all. He must have
been very well paid. But why, my boy, why?"
"Ah well, that's it, isn't it?" said Lewis. "It beats
me so far."
"A most interesting case." Mr. Clunk took another
lump of sugar.
"Are you going on with the defence, sir?"
"My dear boy! Certainly, certainly. I gave my word
to that poor girl. Rather a sweet girl, Lewis."
"Sticks to her man," Lewis allowed one virtue.
"What do you think the police evidence is like?"
"There's a clear identification, I gather. That's a
pity. And with the alias and Billy's unfortunate record,
it looks nasty. But our friend Bell's anxiety to get
something out of Billy before they begin suggests they're
not feeling strong. Have you picked up anything in the
hotel yet?"
"They're worrying the servants like hell."
"Really?" Mr. Clunk smiled. "Ah, that's Bell's
little weakness. Well, well. What about the lady in the
case, my boy?"
"By what I hear she's in a rare stew. She hasn't


MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE 73
hardly shown up since the things were stolen. Eats in
her room mostly. But the servants like her all right.
She's a fat old maid, been living here off and on for
years. Comes of one of the county families. Keeps herself
to herself. You know the kind. She had a love affair
went wrong ages ago."
"Ah, poor thing." Mr. Clunk's large eyes flickered.
"Yes, she was engaged as a girl and the chap died,
drowned or something. She's been sort of mourning ever
since. Waiting to die, you know, like you said just now."
"Dear, dear. I don't like to hear that, Lewis," Mr.
Clunk sighed. "Who was the poor fellow, do you
know?"
"Name of Garston. Family has a place down here
somewhere."
"Is that so?" said Mr. Clunk, and did not say any
more for a moment. "Dear me, it's a sad story, Lewis."
"Yes, sir," Lewis answered mechanically, wondering
what the old man saw in it: for having himself seen
pieces of several explanations, he had dismissed them
all as impossible. But Mr. Clunk had beyond doubt
found something which he thought useful. He looked
specially religious: he was humming one of his infernal
hymns. The words of it, which Lewis did not know, went
like this:
"There's a land that is fairer than day
And by faith we can see it afar.
For the Father waits over the way
To prepare us a dwelling place there.
"In the sweet. . . by and by . . .
We shall meet on that beautiful shore ...
In the sweet. . . by and by . . .
We shall meet on that beautiful shore."


74 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
On the next morning the magistrates of Limbay had
before them William Benson, alias Herbert, charged
with the theft of a jewel case from the Victoria Hotel.
Miss Morrow, drooping, inaudible, and tearful, was
persuaded to describe its contents and its disappearance
and, much shaken, turned to leave the box. "Just a
moment, Miss Morrow," the smooth voice of Mr. Clunk
arose. "Only one or two questions. Have you ever seen
the prisoner before?"
"I don't think so," Miss Morrow said faintly.
"You don't think so. No. What was the value of your
jewels?"
"I don't know. They were very precious to me."
"Quite so. You offered a reward of five hundred
pounds for the complete recovery of the contents of the
case. Did it contain anything besides jewellery?"
"There were some letters."
"I see. Some letters which you valued very much?"
"I did indeed," Miss Morrow sobbed.
"Quite so. That was why you offered such a large
reward?" Miss Morrow nodded. "I'm not asking you
anything about them. I should deeply regret to cause
you distress. But you can tell me whether they could be
of any value to the prisoner?"
"No indeed. I can't think why he should take
them."
"Just so. Thank you, Miss Morrow."
She was followed into the box by a stolid detective.
He had seen the prisoner going on board the Dieppe
boat at Newhaven, recognized him as William Benson,
a hotel thief of long experience, stopped him and taken
him to Scotland Yard. Mr. Clunk shot up and snapped:
"What happened to him there?" The detective had no
knowledge. "Did you tell him he was to be charged in
this case?" The detective knew nothing about the case.


MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE 75
"That's why the police put you in the box," said Mr.
Clunk. "He was kept in London two nights and one
day before a charge was made?" The detective could
not say. "Would it surprise you to hear he was told
things would be easy for him if he could help the police
to recover the jewel case?" The detective knew nothing
about that.
"A useful witness," said Mr. Clunk, and turned
sharply to stare at Superintendent Bell and Inspector
Gunn. "Are we going to have anyone who dares to tell
the court how my client has been treated by the police?"
"The prisoner can go into the box himself," said the
solicitor for the prosecution.
"I quite understand the police are afraid to," Mr.
Clunk smiled.
"Please, please," the bench boomed. "Let us get 011
with the case, gentlemen."
"By all means, sir, if there is one," Mr. Clunk
bowed.
The garage man was put into the box and swore
blithely that he knew the prisoner as a man who had
stayed at the Victoria Hotel as Mr. Herbert and left in
his car just after the jewel case disappeared. Mr. Clunk
was carelessly genial to him. He had a good memory for
faces? Remembered everybody who came to the hotel?
"There were other people—without cars—who went
away after the case was stolen? Quite so," Mr. Clunk
turned on Superintendent Bell. "Are we going to hear
anything about them? Not convenient for the police?
Very good. Now the people who had cars, my man. Some
of them went away at this suspicious moment?"
"There was some," the man admitted sulkily.
"I thought so. And when the prisoner went, did you
see him taking the jewel case?"
"I didn't. I didn't see him get into his car at all."


76 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Mr. Clunk looked the man over with a bland, esti-
mating eye. "And you didn't see any of the others either
I suppose?"
"No, I didn't," the man growled.
"In fact anybody might have gone off with the jewel
case for all you know. Thank you."
And with the other evidence which Bell had forced
out of the hotel Mr. Clunk was still more destructive.
The clerk from the office and the porter were turned
inside out and exhibited empty. Bell's energies had in-
duced the unhappy waiters to add to their memories of
gin and bitters in the smoking room and Mrs. Herbert
sitting by Miss Morrow in the drawing room the in-
formation that Mr. Herbert used to be always going
upstairs and about the corridors. They were made to
confess that though they remembered him so well they
had not remembered him when he was put up for iden-
tification—not clearly, they explained—not exactly—
not to be certain. They felt sure, of course. Only it was
a bit confusing. "I see. And after the police found you
didn't know him when you saw him, they told you you
must remember something? Come sir, on your oath.
Did any policeman question you again after the identi-
fication failed? I thought so. And what were you asked?
If you couldn't think of something else about Mr.
Herbert? Now we have it. This story of his going about
upstairs was only found for you when you had been
unable to think of anything yourself?"
So Mr. Clunk bullied them and they lost their heads.
"Are we going to have any more of this?" he cried to
the bench in virtuous indignation, and swung round
upon the solicitor for the prosecution, who was con-
ferring with Bell. "Oh, get some new instructions by all
means."
The solicitor arose and said the bench would probably


MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE 77
think enough evidence had been given to justify a re-
mand. The prosecution would prefer, for reasons which
would readily be understood, not to take the case further
that day.
"My friend's reasons are plain enough." Mr. Clunk
stood up smiling. "Having no evidence, the police wish
for an adjournment to make some. I submit these pro-
ceedings are an abuse of the process of the court. There
is nothing against my client except that he has once
been convicted. The police maxim is 'Once guilty always
guilty.' So they chose to arrest him out of the seventy
people in the hotel and tried to get a confession out of
him by methods which are an abomination to all decent
men. Having failed, as a little intelligence might have
told them they were bound to fail, they proceed to re-
venge themselves by concocting evidence against him.
It has been sufficiently exposed. I ask the bench to dis-
miss the case."
The bench conferred. "We think there must be a
remand," the chairman announced. "We are strongly of
opinion the prosecution should be ready with the rest of
their evidence next week."
"Bail, of course, sir?" said Mr. Clunk.
"The prisoner was attempting to leave the country,"
Bell said sharply.
"I think no bail, Mr. Clunk." The chairman shook
his head. "It is only for a week."
"We are in your hands, sir," Mr. Clunk smiled. "It
will be only for a week."
After that he went to see his client. "You're a lucky
fellow, my man," he said gravely. "So far."
"Oh, you're going fine, Clunk," Billy chuckled.
"Did you see old Bell's face?"
"This will go well enough. Unless"
"I should worry!"


78 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Unless Mr. Bell gets on to what's behind it. I warned
you, you're taking risks."
Billy's face flattened out into obstinacy. "I know
my game," he said.
Mr. Clunk found Lewis outside. "Pretty good work,
sir," Lewis grinned. "You'll get him off" without going
to trial."
"Dear me, yes, of course," Mr. Clunk sighed. "A
tiresome fellow. I wish I knew what he was paid for the
job." Lewis laughed. "Well, well, well!" said Mr. Clunk,
and began to murmur:
"Go work in my vineyard
There's plenty to do.
The harvest is great
And the labourers few."
"Going back to town, sir?" said Lewis.
"I think not, my boy. No, we'll stay on here for the
week. You might pick up something."
That afternoon Mr. Clunk left him to look for it.
The office of the Sandshire Gazette and Limbay Herald
received Mr. Clunk. He wished to examine its old files.
The Sandshire Gazette until lately appeared but once a
week. That shortened his search. Reaching the spring of
1908, he found among the advertisements of death:
garston: on April 4th suddenly, Alfred Garston, younger
son of Sir Samuel Garston of Bradstock Abbey.
It interested him much.
In the paper of April 17th, he found a report of an
inquest on Alfred Garston. His body had been found on
April 8th on the sands of Bradstock Harbour. The doc-
tor said that the body had been in the water for some
time and the cause of death was no doubt drowning.


MR. CLUNK FOR THE DEFENCE 79
The dead man's brother, Henry, gave evidence that
Alfred had been last seen on April 4th, when he went
out in a sailing boat alone. He was fond of sailing and
kept a boat of his own at the Abbey. It was quite usual
for him to go out alone. He did not come back that night
but there was no immediate alarm. On the morning of
April 5th the boat was found drifting capsized with sails
set. The jury brought in a verdict of death by misad-
venture and offered their sympathy to the family.
Mr. Clunk pursed his lips. "Dear me, yes," he mur-
mured. "The poor family."
As he tripped back to the hotel he met Superintendent
Bell and waved a hand at him and chirped, "Lovely
afternoon!"
"Fine!" Bell grunted. "Staying on?"
"And you?" Mr. Clunk smiled.


CHAPTER IX
TONY LANDS
Life at Bradstock Abbey, reduced to its simplest
terms, still fretted May's nerves. Deliverance from the
social delights of visitors was relief such as that when
acute pain passes away to leave weariness and depres-
sion. The medical comparison was much in her mind,
forced not only by professional and personal memories
of illness but by a feeling that the Garston family
was mentally ill and had infected her. Mrs. Garston
seemed only half alive, yet alive enough to keep up
a quarrel with the world. Mrs. Garston never wanted
her and was always wanting her, would never do as
she was told and continually complained of the con-
sequences of doing otherwise. There was comfort in
being alone, and for that May had time enough, and
the beauty of the place and its strangeness gained upon
her. There would have been comfort, but alone she was
too lonely and yet was haunted by a sense of unseen
hostility. Absurd, she told herself, silly nerves. The ex-
cellent quiet servants of Bradstock cared nothing about
her: were incapable of spying on her: of any mysteri-
ous malice. One, to be sure, was hostile, Mrs. Garston's
maid Jones. That sallow woman's jealousy was visible
enough. A horrid creature. After an hour with her Mrs.
Garston could be maddening.
She had been. May walked away to the harbour,
seeking solace in the sunlight on the wide water and
the murmur of the tide. The air was alive: as she
came down the lawns, the freshness of the western sea
80


TON Y LAND S 81
met the fragrance of hawthorn and lilac. She stood by
the shore and her blood quickened. The wind played
with her body. Far and far across the harbour the water
broke in a myriad tiny waves that laughed with light.
She pulled off her hat and gave her yellow head to
the sun and wind and they made her a shimmering gray
wisp of a woman crowned with a flutter of gold.
So Tony Wisberry saw her, and what he said was:
"Who the devil would that be?"
His boatman spat tobacco juice. "Lots o' maids to
the Abbey."
And May became aware of a boat under sail. That
was uncommon, not rare enough to be surprising. She
had no objection to it. It was a pretty thing. But
watching it run free revived the horrid feeling of lonely
helplessness. She turned away and the wretched boat
went with her. It was coming close in shore. It steered
for the Abbey landing place. An amazing boat. No one
ever landed there.
That small jetty had amused May; it seemed like
a toy, it was so bright and prim, with clean white
timbers and gravel freshly raked and two banks of
shrubs matching each other. A gardener being asked
what it was for had explained that there was once and
by rights a ferry from Bradstock to Bradstock Abbey,
and that the Abbey folks used to do a bit of sailing in
the old days too. But the reason for maintaining it did
not appear. May had never seen a ferry ply and the
Abbey kept no boats of its own.
This boat vanished in the lee of the jetty and on
to the jetty a man climbed. There seemed to be a good
deal of him, rather loosely made. He came to May
in large, swinging strides. "I beg your pardon. Is this
Bradstock Abbey?"
She did not like the look of him. He was too big


82 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
and powerful, he swaggered. And it was a hard face
with such a jaw, a bullying sort of face. "Oh yes. Didn't
you know?" she said coldly.
"Well, I did hope so," Tony smiled. "But I've never
been here before. What a ripping place!" May had
nothing to say to that. When he smiled he was not
so bad: rather like a friendly bull dog: but encourage-
ment would certainly not be good for him. "Do they
show it?" Tony persisted.
"I never heard of anyone wanting to see it." May's
blue eyes looked through him. "I should think you had
better write to Lord Croyland."
Tony ceased to smile. "Would you?" he said, and
considered her with a gaze which was not at all friendly.
"Strictly private, is it? I say, do you mind telling me,
have I come to the wrong door?"
"There's the door," May informed him. "You
haven't come to it at all yet. And I don't answer it."
"Sorry, I beg your pardon. I'm not trying to make you
talk. Well, perhaps I was. But not to be impertinent."
That did better. He was really quite a pleasant youth
when he was not so pleased with himself. "What did you
want to know?" said May with patient condescension.
But he was not to answer. The little form of Mrs.
Garston came hurrying across the turf and she called,
breathless: "Miss Dean! Oh, Miss Dean, did you see
the boat? Did the boat come into the hard?"
"Yes, the boat's there." May moved quickly to her
side and took her arm, for she was trembling. "What is
the matter?"
"Who was in it? Have you see him?"
"It's my boat, madam," said Tony.
Mrs. Garston looked at him with wide eyes and
parted lips. "You!" she said, and shook her head and
turned away and hurried on to the jetty. She gazed


TONYLANDS 83
down at the boat, and the boatman saw her and
shifted the quid in his cheek and touched his cap. She
gave a little moaning cry, flung back her head and
looked across the harbour, and her face was wan and
piteous. She turned and walked towards the house,
slowly, feebly. May came to her and took her arm
again. "Don't! Don't!" She started aside. "Leave me
alone! I don't want you." She went on faster.
The two stood watching her. "I say! What have I
done ?" Tony whispered.
"Heaven knows."
Mrs. Garston reached the garden, passed out of sight.
"They told me there was a ferry right to land by the
Abbey," Tony explained. "That's why I came over in
the boat. Awfully sorry if I've made any trouble."
"It's nothing. Don't think about it."
"My name's Wisberry, Antony Wisberry. I was com-
ing to see Lord Croyland. I'm staying at Bradstock. I
mean to say, if anybody asks, you'd better know."
"Thank you." May was attracted by his new man-
ner. He was like a nice big dog—or a nice big boy—
very young of course. But what he said was rather dis-
turbing: it compelled curiosity, if not suspicion. Nobody
ever came there to see Lord Croyland. And why should
he choose to come when Lord Croyland wasn't there?
"Do you expect anybody will ask about you?" she said.
"Well, about what upset the old lady."
"It wasn't seeing you, was it?"
'"I shouldn't have thought so. I don't look very
terrific, what?" The silly child seemed to fancy he
might. So, "Not in the least," she informed him.
"Good. And I don't know her from Adam."
"She isn't Adam. She is Mrs. Garston, Lord Croy-
land's mother. Don't you know him either?"
"Never saw him. I've been trying to for some time."


84 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Down here?"
"No. In London. Always drew a blank. Funny, wasn't
it?" A hardness asserted itself in his face again, but
May did not mind it, his eyes were so interested in her.
"I thought I'd have a try here."
"I'm afraid you've drawn a blank again. There's no
one here but Mrs. Garston."
"Thanks. I say, do you mind my asking you, are
you one of the family?"
"Heavens no. I'm only Mrs. Garston's nurse."
"I don't know about the 'only.'"
"I do," said May.
"Look here, do you feel it's rotten of me to keep you
talking?"
"You're not. I'm staying because it amuses me to
—to talk to somebody."
"Well, you're not amusing me"—that attractive
lopsided smile came—"but you're jolly interesting.
I say, do you mind telling me your name?"
"Why not call me Nurse?" May smiled.
Tony considered her deliberately and a little more
colour came into her cheeks. "It doesn't seem to ex-
press the relationship," he decided. "I don't know how
you'd feel, but I should feel a fool."
"It would seem quite natural," May assured him.
"That's the only relations we are."
"Nurse—and patient? You think so?"
"Well—patient nurse—and small boy asking ques-
tions."
"All right, Nurse," said Tony meekly.
May relented. His eyes were certainly gray, not blue,
a warm sort of gray, nice colour. "If you feel such an
infant—my name's Dean."
"Thank you." He held out a large hand. "How do
you do, Miss Dean?"


TONYLANDS 85
"How are you?" May smiled, and, which was an-
noying, blushed.
"Growing up fast. Look here, I don't want to do
anything like making use of you. You'd better know
how I stand. I've been trying to get in touch with
Croyland for weeks. I want to talk to him about some
affairs of my father's, who's dead. He answers my let-
ters by declining to answer 'em. I've called at the
Garston offices in London and they put me off—he can't
see me—nobody has any instructions—that sort of
thing. But I'm going to see him. That's what I came
down for."
"You won't see him now. He's not here, really. He
never is except at week-ends."
"All right, thanks. I don't want you to tell me
anything about him."
"I wasn't going to. I'm in his house and he pays
me a salary."
"Sorry. I know you wouldn't, of course—when I
told you I was up against him. That's why I had to
tell you."
"Yes, I see." They looked at each other with the
grave simplicity of candid youth. "It is—horrid," said
May in a low voice.
"Rather," Tony agreed.
"I mean for you," she explained hastily.
"So did I. I say—you're all right here?"
"Oh, perfectly, thank you." She flushed. "It's a
very good place. I'm fortunate."
Tony was not abashed. "I suppose I oughtn't to
have said that. But I mean it all the same. I want to
be sure you are all right. If that's cheek—well, don't
be angry."
"It would be silly," said May with her head held
high, and she did not look at him.


86 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"I shall be staying on here for a bit," Tony an
nounced. "Shall I ever see you again?"
"I should think it's very unlikely, Mr. Wisberry."
"Don't you ever go out anywhere?"
"No. I haven't been outside the grounds since I've
been here."
"But, I say, what a life!" Tony grinned.
"The grounds are quite large, thank you."
"Open to the public?"
"I believe Lord Croyland lets anybody see the
ruins who wants to."
"Good. I shall be seeing the ruins." He took hold of
her hand. "I'm going to see you again, you know."
May laughed and began to say something and
stopped with a red face. What was on her lips was the
title of a poem by the late Mr. Browning: "Love among
the Ruins." She turned it into: "Among the ruins! I
think not, thank you." She tried to take her hand
away. "Good-bye, Mr. Wisberry."
Tony held on. "I say, I'm at the Cock and Pie at
Bradstock. When I go, St. Jude's College, Cambridge,
will always find me. Don't forget: Jude's. And if you
go,'tell me where. Will you?"
"I've no intention of going. I'm quite happy here."
Tony looked down at her with a scrutiny which
made her turn away.
"Good-bye, Mr. Wisberry." She jerked her hand free
and fled.
Tony watched her till the slim hurrying shape van-
ished in the garden. He stared at the shadowed walls
of the Abbey. "Oh, damn all," he muttered, and swung
away to his boat.
From her window May watched the brown sail glide
away.


CHAPTER X
HIS SECRETARY AND LORD CROYLAND
To His perfect satisfaction Tony established that there
was an immemorial ferry right of landing on the Ab-
bey hard and a path which was public through the
grounds to the highroad. The fishermen of Bradstock,
a small ancient clan, calling no man master, determined
about their liberties and privileges, told him that these
rights of way dated from old times when the Abbey
was an abbey and folks went to church there by land
and water.
Tony crossed the harbour again more than once that
week. But he did not see May.
May was much occupied. Mrs. Garston had fallen
into a more querulous condition. She demanded con-
tinuous attention and many things done to relieve
her and complained of them all. She was certainly
in pain, or believed herself to be—a difficult distinc-
tion. May could find no clear symptoms of any definite
illness, except the obvious disorder of her nerves, and
began to fear that more drugs were consumed than
those in the foolish but harmless array by the bedside.
She suspected the maid, whose jealous ministrations
could not be suppressed. Mrs. Garston was always
more uneasy in her presence, more enfeebled after being
alone with her. But there was no proof of any drug,
and, to be sure, the woman herself was enough to try
the strongest nerves.
May promised herself that as soon as Lord Croy-
land came she would decline to go on without a doctor.
87


88 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Probably that would be the end of it. For when she
spoke of a doctor Mrs. Garston wept and reproached
and complained beyond bearing. And it was impos-
sible to believe that a doctor would do any good. The
woman had some memory which was making her life
horrible.
The death of her son long ago—perhaps it was only
that, poor thing. Yet why should it make her so cruel
to her other son, so bitter, such an enemy when one
only wanted to help her? Oh, people might be like that
who had lost someone they cared for. But to nurse a
sort of hatred for twenty years—surely it couldn't be
just grieving. Perhaps there was something dreadful
about the death.
It was ever since she had seen Mr. Wisberry, ever
since that strange rush to him and his boat, she had
been so much worse. What could there be about him?
She didn't know him, he didn't mean anything to her
—and he had never seen her before; he said so. Perhaps
she was always hoping the dead son would come back
sailing across the sea. People had fancies like that
sometimes. Poor thing. Then she'd be horribly disap-
pointed, breaking her heart all over again. Yes. That
would explain her. That must be it.
But he was rather queer. There was some mystery
about him. Something about the past of the Garston
family too. It must be. Because he said it was the af-
fairs of his father he was coming about and his father
was dead. And Lord Croyland was trying not to see him.
"Oh! I do hate it all," May murmured.
He seemed nice, quite nice. He was alive at least—a
change from these Garston people, all muddled up
glooming and hating. He was jolly. But there was
something hard about him too. Rather frightening.
He wouldn't care what he did to get what he wanted.


HIS SECRETARY AND CROYLAND 89
And, oh, horrors, he had his mystery. No. One mustn't
have anything to do with Mr. Wisberry. One mustn't
see him again.
She remembered uncomfortably the size of him.
Great big creature. He would be horribly strong.
By the end of the week May was herself in a state
of nervous irritation. It was in the afternoon of Friday.
Having made Mrs. Garston lie down, she was in her
own room trying to rest when the sound of a car brought
her off her bed with a jump. She ran to the window
and saw Gladys and Croyland arriving. A chill of
disappointment came over her, though she did not
know what she had hoped. Then she told herself that
she was glad to see them. She could have it out with
the man at last—at once. She hurried into her dress.
Somebody tried the door. "Is Miss Dean in?" the
voice of Gladys laughed. May turned the key. "Hullo,
hullo, baby." Gladys embraced her. "Well, how's
things?"
"Ghastly."
"What? Has she got worse?"
"Oh, she's in a dreadful state. She must have a
doctor."
"Do you mean she's going to die?"
"I don't know. I shouldn't think so. But I can't
do anything with her. I can't be responsible."
"Go easy, old girl." Gladys looked grave. "Don't
get the wind up. I should say you were managing her
lovely. What's gone wrong with her?"
"How should I know?" May cried. "I don't know a
thing about her. She won't let me."
"Has she heard of this case?"
"What case?"
"She hasn't said anything then?"
"Not anything with any sense. What do you mean?"


90 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Old Morrow's had her jewels stolen, or thinks she
has. Didn't you know? It's been in the papers."
"I don't know whether she knows or not. I didn't."
"Rummy. I should have thought the Morrow told
her everything."
"I haven't any idea. Perhaps it is that. Where's
Lord Croyland, Gladys? I must see him."
"What do you want him for?" Gladys frowned.
"To tell him she must have a doctor. I can't go on
without. I won't be responsible for her. Where is he?"
"Steady, old girl. He won't like that, you know.
He doesn't want a doctor."
"Doesn't he indeed!" May cried. "Why not?"
"Well, I ask you! The old girl's all dithery. That's
what you're here for. If you want doctors in, it's going
to be the end of your job, baby."
"Then it's quite time they came," said May fiercely.
"Don't be silly. Of course he doesn't want a family
scandal. The old girl's so queer, there's no telling what
she'll say. Probably tell the doctor somebody's mur-
dering her. You for choice."
"And do you think that's to stop me having a doc-
tor? It's the very reason. I'm going to Lord Croyland
at once."
She pushed past Gladys and made haste down the
old corridor through the archway into the new part of
the house.
"All right! All right!" Gladys laughed behind her.
"Don't burst into his bedroom, baby. Gives the valet
ideas. Try the study."
To the study they came together. Croyland was
there standing by the window, shoulders hunched,
staring out across the harbour. He turned, and it seemed
to May's excited mind that his heavy sullen face had
a look of anger and spite.


HIS SECRETARY AND CROYLAND 91
"Miss Dean wants to speak to you," said Gladys, and
sat down at her secretary's table and began to open
letters.
Croyland cleared his throat. "Ah. Sit down. Yes?"
"I hope you've seen your mother, Lord Croyland."
May was breathless. "She's not so well."
"I thought she was worse," Croyland said. There
was no feeling in his gruff voice, unless a certain satis-
faction. "Do you know why that is?"
"I don't know what's the matter with her."
"Anyone been to see her?"
"No one ever comes to her."
Croyland made inarticulate noises. "Has she had
any—er—any communication with anyone?"
May was furious with him. "She has letters. You
don't expect me to know what's in them, I suppose?"
"No, I don't," he frowned. "Nothing new happened
here, eh?"
May's temper rose higher yet. "Oh, there was a
very queer thing one day. She actually saw someone
who didn't belong to the house. I suppose that's never
happened before."
"Who was it?" Croyland growled.
"He said his name was Wisberry."
Croyland swung on his heel and looked at Gladys.
"Know anything about that, eh?"
"Not a thing," said Gladys cheerfully. "He's given
up writing. Thought he'd take you by surprise, I expect."
Croyland came back to May with a frown. "Did he
ask for my mother?"
"He asked for you."
"But she saw him, eh? How was that?"
"He came in a boat and she saw it and ran down
from the house to meet him. She seemed to expect
someone else, Lord Croyland. She was horribly disap-


92 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
pointed when she saw him. She's been upset ever since."
Croyland made noises in his throat. It was some
time before he spoke, but his dull eyes were intent on
May. "She ran down to the hard, eh? Met the boat,
hmph? Didn't know the fellow?"
"She didn't seem to. You had better ask her."
"Did he say anything?"
"He asked me who she was."
"Did you know him?"
"I never saw him before."
"What did he say to you?"
"He asked if you were here. I said you weren't and
he went away."
"Thank you. That's all right. Thank you." He turned
away. "Sorry you've been bothered, Miss Dean."
"You've nothing to thank me for," May cried.
"Don't you understand, I didn't come to be cross-
questioned about your business people. I came to tell
you your mother must have a doctor. She must. I
can't be responsible for her any longer."
"Eh, what's that? Don't mean you want to go?"
"I will stay if Mrs. Garston wishes it"
"I wish it," Croyland growled. "You're doing very
well, Miss Dean. Just what I want."
"You had better think of what she wants. And I
can't stay unless she's in a doctor's hands."
"That's all right. Miss Hurst—ring up Eves. Tell
him to come and see my mother in the morning. Much
obliged to you, Miss Dean." He opened the door for her.
May went out feeling dazed. The victory was com-
plete. She had exactly what she wanted. The brute
made haste to give way—so much for Gladys and her
threats. He did his best to be pleasant about it. A vic-
tory too complete. He must be desperately frightened.
There must be something horribly wrong.


CHAPTER XI
VISITORS AT BRADSTOCK
In THE morning May was called to Croyland's study
to meet Dr. Eves. She would not have taken him for a
doctor; he was more like an old farmer. He and Croy-
land seemed to know each other very well. "Er—Miss
Dean—just tell the doctor what you think—anything
you want," Croyland said. And May told at length and
Dr. Eves pursed his red cheeks, puffing and blowing.
When she had finished he trumpeted on his nose.
"Yaas. Ah see, Nurse, ah see," he drawled. "That's
what set her baack, seeing this young fella come in
the boat." He turned to Croyland, nodding his bald
head, and Croyland rumbled. It was obvious they
shared some knowledge which made them satisfied or
content. "Eh, well, ye'll be wishing me to see her,"
said Dr. Eves, as if it were a useless formality. "Ah'll
step up, Nurse."
Mrs. Garston surprised May by receiving him with
submission. She was dreary, she said as little as might
be, but she did answer him, she let him do what he liked
with her. Though his ways were queer and clumsy to
May's professional eye, he did not leave anything un-
done in his examination, but it was carelessly short. He
straightened his back, grunting and puffing. "Thaat's
well," he drawled, looking down at her with the con-
temptuous pity of thick-skinned health for the weak.
"Do you be peaceful, ma'am, and you'll see us all out
yet. Good-day to you."
93


94 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
When May had him outside, "It's easy to tell her
to be peaceful," she said fiercely. "She doesn't know
how. That's what's wrong with her."
Dr. Eves was not impressed. "Eh, she's an old wo-
man, my dear," he grunted. "Ah'Il send you along a
sedative." He lumbered downstairs to the study. "It's
like ah thought, Croyland," he announced. "She'd
do well enough if she'd bide quiet. Tha-at's a fact."
He dropped a fat hand on May's shoulder. "Ye've a
good girl here. She'll do all ye need." He chuckled as
May slid away from his touch. "A good girl, eh! Well,
ah must be off."
Croyland took him out.
But when May returned to Mrs. Garston there were
storms. Beginning with plaintive questions why had
the doctor been brought? what did May suppose was
the matter with her? why couldn't she be let alone?
Mrs. Garston worked up to a high pressure of mar-
tyred rage: scolding and accusing while she rejected as
new brutality each attempt to soothe her and showed,
perhaps sincerely, more and more distress. The maid
came in alarmed, as she was careful to explain, by the
noise and contributed an inflaming sympathy. May was
harried to the limits of her self-control.
When at last Mrs. Garston sank into the sleep of
exhausted emotion, May went out wearily to try for
some respite to aching head and worried mind in the
open air. She was wandering towards the ruins when she
saw a little plump man with gray whiskers and gray
clothes. A vague memory that she had seen him be-
fore came to her, but she dismissed it, for she certainly
did not know his face. Yet it was true. That day was
not the first on which Mr. Clunk had made a recon-
naissance of Bradstock Harbour. He had not before
come so near the Abbey. She had seen only his back and


VISITORS AT BRADSTOCK 95
his tripping gait. But this was Saturday, on which
day, Mr. Clunk calculated, visitors to the ruins would
most naturally come.
A red guide book was in his hand; he tripped about
looking into it and looking at the ruined arches and
poring over the ground and chirping to himself, the
model of the earnest tripper. But what he chirped was:
"Shall we meet? Shall we meet?
Shall we meet beyond the river?
Shall we meet beyond the river
Where the surges cease to roll?"
He saw May. "Dear me, I beg your pardon. I do
hope I'm not trespassing. The guide book says visitors
are kindly allowed to inspect the ruins."
"Yes, they are." May had to smile at him. He was
so nervous and funny.
"Thank you so much. That's so kind. I didn't want
to intrude, you know."
"You're quite all right here."
"I'm most obliged to you. What a dear old church.
I'm most interested in these sweet old places." He
tripped away, he vanished.
A large car had drawn up at the house. Out of it
came a thick-set man with a waist and a red flower
in his coat. From behind the arches of the nave Mr.
Clunk watched him with opening eyes.
But May saw neither of them. She was wandering on
through the garden, feeling rather better. It must be
recorded that she thought Mr. Clunk a sweet old thing.
The man went into the house and Mr. Clunk, com-
ing through the bushes like a nymph, found Lewis
sitting on that smooth stone in the niche of the nave
wall, smoking a cigarette in tranquil boredom.


96 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Car at the door, my boy," said Mr. Clunk into his
ear. "Do what you can. It's Harwood."
"Oh!" Lewis stared at him a moment, sprang up and
stole away.
To Gladys, sitting at her table in the study with
Croyland, the butler brought the card of Mr. Gordon
Harwood. She looked at it curiously and waved the
butler out and took it to Croyland. "This is the man
who wrote that odd letter, you know."
Croyland cleared his throat. "I'll see him myself."
"Oh, very good." She shrugged disapproval and went
out. The butler led her to the old abbots' hall, where
Mr. Gordon Harwood sat, making in his tailor's ele-
gance a grotesque blot on its dignity. The butler
thought her very short with him, but as she took him
upstairs she looked over her shoulder and, "The old
man's funking, G.," she whispered. She opened the
study door. "Mr. Harwood, sir," she said with con-
tempt, and shut the door sharply.
Mr. Harwood smiled, "Good-morning, my lord.
Lovely place you have here."
Croyland grunted, "Sit down, will you? What do
you want to say to me?"
Harwood drew up a chair to a confidential position.
"That'll want a little time to explain," he said. "It's
rather complicated, my lord. It's a delicate matter too.
Now, to begin with, can I take it you know who I
am?" Many large teeth glittered in a smile.
"You can take it I've made some inquiries." Croyland
sat with his head down between his shoulders. "Money
lender, aren't you?"
"Financial agent," Harwood corrected. "Perhaps
you've heard my firm handles pretty big business."
"What kind?" Croyland grunted.
"You might call it family and personal. And we don't


VISITORS AT BRADSTOCK 97
care to take up anything unless we're satisfied it's im-
portant. When you're dealing with me, you can be sure
there's no pettifogging tricks."
"I'm not dealing with you," Croyland said thickly.
"Not yet. This is to let you know how I stand. I
believe in managing big things in a big way. That's
me. Now then, my lord, here's the position. My firm
has been approached by a person presenting himself
as the heir of your late brother, Alfred Garston." He
stopped and waited for a reply.
Croyland was in no hurry. "Want an answer, do
you?" he said with contempt. "The answer is, some-
body's attempting a fraud."
Harwood smiled. "Too easy, isn't it? Call it a fraud
and send for the police." He leaned back and crossed
his legs. "Ring 'em up, my lord. I shan't run away."
Croyland cleared his throat. "I'm waiting for you
to give me the evidence."
"Yes, I thought you would," Harwood laughed.
"You're no fool. I know that. And you can take it I
don't play the fool either. Then we'll get on." He veiled
his impudence again. "My firm has a lot of experience,
my lord. I don't mind telling you, when this chap came
to us our first idea was he was putting up a fraud, like
you say. But when we came to look into it, we found he
could make a nasty, ugly case."
"Who's your man?" Croyland growled.
"Well, naturally, he says his name is Garston. Alfred
Garston."
"Naturally!" Croyland made noises. "Very natur-
ally. My brother died unmarried."
"Think so?" Harwood shrugged. "Difficult thing to
prove, isn't it?"
"I shouldn't have to prove it. You'd have to prove
the marriage."


98 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Oh, good God!" Harwood exclaimed. "Take it I
know that, can't you?"
"Twenty years after my brother's death a man claims
to be his legitimate son." Croyland sneered. "Hmph!
That's a poor story."
"A damned poor story," Harwood agreed. "So I told
him. And if there was no more to it I shouldn't be here.
But have you considered how the case would work out
if you let it come into court? We were bound to look
into the circumstances and we satisfied ourselves that
we ought to put the claim to you privately before
any action was taken. It's not our practice to force an
unpleasant situation. Absolutely not. When there are
awkward facts which it's not necessary to bring out we
believe in settlement."
Croyland made noises. "You would."
"I do. A lawsuit isn't in our interest. We don't
want to be in a big scandal. That won't do our business
any good. We depend on confidence in our discretion.
But it would be the devil and all for you, my lord."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. What you want to find out
is how much we've got in our hands. I'm agreeable.
I'll put all my cards on the table for you. To begin
with, there may be a difficulty in proving our man the
legitimate son of Alfred Garston—"
"There never was any son."
Harwood smiled. "That's your case. Just listen to
ours. There won't be any difficulty in proving that
Alfred Garston had affairs with women: with one
woman in particular. We could call police evidence
about that, couldn't we?"
Croyland's heavy head thrust forward. "That won't
help you," he growled.
"Think not? Well, we could ask Mr. Bell—Superin-


VISITORS AT BRADSTOCK 99
tendent Bell he is now, did you know?—if the police
ever had any suspicion about her death. You remember
her death, my lord ? She was found shot in the New For-
est. The verdict was murder by a person unknown. And
a week afterwards Alfred Garston was found drowned
on your beach. You know very well what a lawyer on
a claim by Alfred's son could make of that. He'd say
it was someone's interest to kill off the woman and the
man. Somebody wanted to wipe out Alfred absolutely.
And he'd ask the court who gained by it."
Croyland watched him with sullen eyes. "Come to
the wrong man," he growled. "You want the police.
Tell them I murdered my brother—and the woman
—and anybody else that occurs to you. It's their af-
fair."
"That's only silly, isn't it?" Harwood was not
angry but pained. "I haven't said you murdered them.
If you want to know, I don't believe you did. This is
what I say, my lord: these convenient deaths wiped
out Alfred and his woman and left you the only heir
to the firm and everything. But if the claim for Al-
fred's son goes into court his lawyer will want to
know what you've been paying to keep it all quiet."
Croyland's big mouth curled. "The answer is, I'm
not paying you."
"Who's talking about paying me? You!" Harwood
cried. "Wait till you're asked. No, you haven't been
paying me. But you've been paying someone else.
That'll come out, you know."
Croyland stood up. "I don't know what you mean.
And I don't care," he said.
"That hits you, don't it?" Harwood rose too and
came close to him. "I know you're bluffing, Croyland.
Come down. Our man can prove Alfred told people
you wanted him underground."


IOO THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Croyland thought that out, and a look of gloating
satisfaction came on Harwood's red face. But when
Croyland spoke, what he said was: "I see. Thanks.
Given yourself away, haven't you? And for nothing."
Harwood flinched. "I don't know what you mean,"
he said sullenly. Then his voice rose. "Do you want
to have your mother in court asked what she knows
about Alfred's death?"
"Get out," Croyland growled, and his fists clenched.
Harwood laughed relief. "I've got you and you
know it. Better settle quick. Else it'll go beyond me
—and hell for you."
"Beyond you?" Croyland rumbled. "There's noth-
ing beyond you. And nothing in you. Go to the devil."
"You'll be sorry for this." Harwood drew back. Croy-
land's bulk was threatening. "You'll be damned sorry,
my lord."
Croyland gave a growling laugh. "You fool, I know
there's no son. I've taken your measure. That's all
I wanted." He rang the bell, and when Gladys came
pointed to the door.
With a toss of her head Gladys deigned to show Mr.
Harwood the way out. But on the stairs she lingered
for him to draw level with her. "How did it go?" she
whispered.
"Like hell. Nix," Harwood muttered.
From the ruins, from that smooth stone in the re-
cess of the nave, Mr. Clunk watched him climb into
his big car and vanish. Mr. Clunk smiled sadly and was
moved to gentle song:
"Not far, not far from the Kingdom
Yet in the shadow of sin;
How many are coming and going!
How few there are entering in!"


VISITORS AT BRADSTOCK IOI
He sighed and took up his guide book and studied the
plan of the Abbey and wandered about with it, an
earnest antiquarian.
Thus engaged, he saw another car come to the door,
a car not like Harwood's but an ancient hireling of
the country; out of it came Tony Wisberry.
Mr. Clunk's face as it receded behind a rhododendron
confessed surprise: an unusual thing in him, except as
affectation. It was also aggrieved. "Tut, tut," he mur-
mured, and tapped his false teeth. The annoyance van-
ished, the surprise remained.
Inside the Abbey there was also surprise. Once more
the butler came to Gladys with a card. "His lordship
is not here," she was saying when Croyland cleared
his throat and turned and held out his hand. "It's that
Mr. Wisberry again," she explained contemptuously.
"Hmph!" Croyland stared at the card. "Bring him
up."
"Oh, very well," Gladys flounced out.
Thus Tony found himself being inspected by a full-
blown young woman with bold and inquisitive eyes.
He did not approve of it; or of her paint; or of her.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Wisberry?" she smiled.
"Nothing, except take me to Lord Croyland."
"His lordship can spare you a minute," Gladys said
with condescension, and took him upstairs talking gra-
ciously and making eyes sideways. That also was in-
effective.
"Mr. Wisberry," she announced, and was going
back to her table when Croyland signed her out.
"Sit down." Croyland frowned and looked him over.
Tony was at his angular ugliest. "What do you want
to tell me?"
"I wrote to you. Have you read my letters?"
"Answered, weren't they?"


102 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Some fellow wrote back that Garston & Garston
could give no information about their processes of man-
ufacture."
"I approve," Croyland said quickly. "Well?"
"That isn't an answer. I told you my father dis-
covered the vanadium process you employed. I asked
you how you acquired it. And why you began to use it
just after he disappeared. I've tried to see you half a
dozen times to ask you that. Now you've made up
your mind to face it." He stared back defiance at Crop-
land's sullen, resolute eyes and his chin came out, and
imitating Croyland he said, "Well?"
Croyland surprised him. "Who was your father?"
The question came sharp.
"Same name as mine. Antony Wisberry. Lecturer
at Birmingham Technical College. There's no mys-
tery about me. And no secrets."
Croyland was in turn surprised. "Hmph. Mother
living?" he grunted.
"She died last winter. You can verify all this."
"I will if I want to. You said your father disap-
peared. How?"
"He just vanished. I was one year old. My mother
never knew what happened to him. That's one of the
things I'm asking you."
Croyland stirred. "How the devil should I know?"
"He disappeared in 1908. Before he disappeared he'd
worked out the first vanadium process which Garstons
employed. When did you bring that into use? 1908 or
just after. Where did you get it from?"
"Our own laboratories." The answer was quick.
Tony laughed. "Going to prove that? Who was the
inventor?"
"What's done in our laboratories is joint work. If
you know anything about science in industry"


VISITORS AT BRADSTOCK IO3
"I do. It's my job. I'm going into Rimingtons."
Croyland grunted and looked at him with keener
interest. "Good firm. Young, aren't you? Just finished
at Cambridge, eh?"
"I'm twenty-two. I told you. One-year baby when
my father disappeared."
Croyland frowned and made rumbling noises. "About
your father. You say he'd got a vanadium process.
Only just found that out ? Twenty-one years after—after
he was lost. What started you looking for it now?"
"My mother's death. I had to look over the papers
she left. I found my father's notebooks—and his proc-
ess. I can prove what I say, you know."
"Can you?" Croyland's face hardened again into
sullen contempt. "Prove it all, and it don't matter a
row o' pins to my firm. Say your father had a process.
We worked out ours. Say it's much the same. That's
always happening. Bound to happen. Make a claim
and we smash you. No case." He leaned forward in
his chair and played with a pencil, looking at it. "That's
the answer, Mr. Wisberry." He made noises in his
throat, and after a moment, as if the words were forced
out of him, "I'm sorry," he said.
"Are you?" Tony's jaw hardened. "I bet you'll be
sorrier when I do make a claim."
Croyland sat back and the chair creaked under him.
"Hmph. Threatening, are you?"
"No. I asked you for an explanation. You haven't
one. So I tell you you'll have to fight it out."
Croyland gave a short, scornful laugh. "Not threat-
ening. But if we don't pay, you'll take us into court.
I see. Who told you to try that game, Mr. Wisberry?"
Tony flushed. "No one. What the devil do you
mean? This is my own show."
"All alone, eh? Not consulted anyone?"


104 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"If you want to know, I have"
"Thought as much."
"I consulted my mother's solicitor"
"Who is he?"
"Clunk, Joshua Clunk."
"What, Clunk & Clunk!" Croyland chuckled.
"You're in with good people, Mr. Wisberry."
"You know him, do you? That's interesting too. I
thought you might. He told me I should make nothing
out of it. That's another reason I'm going on."
"What?"
"Yes, you don't understand that," Tony laughed.
"I don't want to make anything out of it. But I'm
going to find out how my father died."
"Then you've come to the wrong man." Croyland
rose heavily. "I can't do anything for you. Good-
day, Mr. Wisberry."
Tony sat still for a moment then sprang up. "All
right. Fight it," he cried, and swung out.
Croyland sat still looking at the shut door, then
lumbered across the room and filled himself a glass of
whisky and soda.
Gladys came back and saw him draining it. Her black
eyebrows went up. She sat down at her table and be-
gan to rustle papers. Croyland glanced at her, lit a
cigar, dropped into an easy chair, and smoked and
grunted.
"Is there anything else for me?" Gladys suggested.
A growl of negation answered. "Thank you. Will you
want the two-seater this afternoon? I'd like to get some
things. Back to tea." Another growl agreed. "It's lunch
time, you know." A third growl dismissed her.
For some time Croyland sat smoking. Then he went
back to his desk and wrote slowly with much consid-
eration, and what he wrote he put into his pocket.


VISITORS AT BRADSTOCK I05
Tony also was smoking as he drove back in his hire-
ling car to Bradstock. Mr. Clunk, still engaged on the
study of ecclesiastical antiquities, watched his depar-
ture with wistful interest, for it seemed to Mr. Clunk
deplorahly unreasonable that Croyland should have
consented to see him.
That was, as he thought about it, surprising Tony too.
If the old rascal only meant to turn him down why
see him at all? Why not stand by the original refusal to
discuss the matter? That looked comparatively re-
spectable, the usual formal answer to claims. There
could be no question of finding out what sort of a case
he had. That was all in his letters. Perfectly futile to
talk it over in order to tell him to go to the devil.
Showed the blighter knew there was something beastly
fishy about the business. But why let it out? He must
be in the deuce of a funk. And why suddenly?
Tony could see no reason, and puzzling over Croy-
land's queer questions became more puzzled: being
without the knowledge that another visitor had been
before him with Croyland that morning, threatening
claims by a nameless man and revelations of what had
happened in the spring of the year 1908. But Tony was
very sure that he had Croyland frightened out of his
life and he bit on his pipe and chuckled.
The world was being good. Quite good. A bit difficult
to know what to do next. Ought to get hold of a sound
lawyer and make him get busy: drive the old rascal
hard now he was on the run. No screaming hurry
though. He had to see that girl again somehow. Foul
that she should be in the house mixed up with the ras-
cal and his mad old mother. Nasty business. Beastly
queer house. That lump Croyland, deep as sin, and devil
could tell what on his conscience—mad old woman—and
that scented, painted minx, his secretary. Nice young


106 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
woman for a quiet teaparty she'd be. Oh, foul, that girl
should be in the hands of such a crew. He must see her.
Get her out of it somehow.
Very hard to know what to do. Couldn't very well
call on her. Only make a hell of a mess. Couldn't hang
about the place. Try writing to her, something simple
and civil, ask her to meet him.
He went back to the Cock and Pie and wrote.
While he was writing, the meditations of Mr. Clunk
among the ruins were disturbed by a small cough.
Mr. Clunk turned and saw Lewis. "Staying at Spray-
mouth, sir," Lewis said. "Grand Hotel."
"Dear me," Mr. Clunk smiled. "I wonder if Mr. Bell
would like to know that, Lewis."
"Not yet, eh?" Lewis grinned.
"No, not yet, I think. It wouldn't be at all good for
him. He's in such a hurry, Lewis. He does worry his
cases." Mr. Clunk tripped away. "Not yet, no. He
that believeth shall not make haste. How true that is,
Lewis. How good for the soul." And Mr. Clunk sud-
denly ceased to make haste. He saw Gladys get into a
two-seater. "Dear, dear, what a lot of cars there are
to-day," he sighed. "Where is ours, Lewis?"
They found it, they followed Gladys down the
drive. As they came to the lodge Lewis turned to Mr.
Clunk. "She went right. That's the Spraymouth
road," he said.
"Is it indeed?" said Mr. Clunk. "Well, well, well.
We'd better go our own way, Lewis." He sighed.
"There was another car, an old shabby car, hired
here in the country, I think. Eh?"
"Saw an old bus going down to Bradstock—that's
the village beyond the harbour."
"Dear me, what a lot of people," Mr. Clunk sighed.


CHAPTER XII
MR. CLUNK BEARS NO MALICE ■
Mr. Clunk's conscience objected to his working on
Sunday. This limitation however was liable to excep-
tions when he found himself in a place which contained
no place of worship approved by his conscience. Most
places have that defect. In such unhappy conditions
it was not merely allowed but obligatory to work; and
you might have heard Mr. Clunk chanting:
"Give every flying minute
Something to keep in store.
Work for the night is coming
When man works no more."
With that melody on his lips he came to Sunday's
breakfast and asked Lewis if he was going to Chapel.
Lewis hastily thought not. "I fear you're right, my
boy," Mr. Clunk sighed. "Yes indeed. Well, well,
well. We'll have the car then. Work is worship, my boy."
Work had formed no part of Lewis's plan for the day.
He agreed sulkily. In gloomy and reproachful silence
he drove Mr. Clunk out to Bradstock and Mr. Clunk
prattled to him of the service of modern inventions to
true religion. For of old, as Mr. Clunk pointed out, a
journey to Bradstock would have required one horse or
two, and to make the animals labour on the Sabbath
was sadly wrong; whereas, going out behind the engine
of a motor, they were blameless. "Doesn't that show
107


108 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
we're making our world better and better, my boy?"
said Mr. Clunk. "Yes indeed. How comforting that is."
And Lewis, nodding, wondered in his saturnine mind
what dirty work the old man was up to. When he
drivelled special he always had something on his mind.
But Mr. Clunk's actions were blameless. He directed
the car, not to Bradstock Abbey, but round the har-
bour to the little fishermen's village of Bradstock. He
had it brought down to the beach like a man intending
nothing but the simple joys of a picnic. He wandered
about the sands, pointing out Nature's beauty. He got
into talk with a fisherman here and there. Lewis, lazily
admiring the skill of the old boy in making men who
had little but manhood in common with him talk about
their trade and their sleepy village, wondered what on
earth he was after. For the drowning of Alfred Garston
in the harbour had not been confided to Lewis. Why
Mr. Clunk should be so pleased to hear the harbour
waters were safe as nothing and no one ever had no
trouble there was beyond Lewis.
They ate their lunch on the beach. Mr. Clunk then
thought that he would look at the church. The pros-
pect did not attract Lewis. He lay on the sand and
drowsed, and Mr. Clunk tripped away. The village
church was small but of a grave dignity, built by the
monks in a good age. About it were the graves of many
of the rich folk who had held their Abbey after them.
Mr. Clunk was much interested. He found the stone
which bore the name of Alfred Garston, younger son
of Sir Samuel Garston, Baronet, R.I.P. Close by an-
other stone was inscribed to Samuel Garston, First
Baronet of Bradstock Abbey. The father had not lived
many weeks after his son's death.
Mr. Clunk tapped his teeth. "Dear, dear. That was
very sad for Lord Croyland," he murmured. "And he,
-..


MR. CLUNK BEARS NO MALICE IO9
even he only, is left." Mr. Clunk gave a queer little
chuckle and turned away.
The village of Bradstock does not offer many pos-
sibilities of lodging strangers. Mr. Clunk made his way
with easy confidence to the Cock and Pie. It is a
homely inn, of cream cob walls and thatched roof set
back behind a square of green. At that hour of Sunday
afternoon, when public beer is forbidden, it was pro-
foundly still and silent. But on the long seat under its
windows was stretched Tony smoking a pipe and con-
templating the unconscious approach of Mr. Clunk
with bitter amusement. It is difficult even for the ex-
pert to overlook anyone of Tony's size in a plausible
way. But Mr. Clunk did well.
He tripped to the door, he tapped and stood waiting,
and Tony spoke. "Why not see me?"
Mr. Clunk jumped. "Bless my soul!" he cried.
"Tony! My dear boy, what ever are you doing here?"
"Admiring you. And what have you come for?"
"A cup of tea," said Mr. Clunk, and tapped again.
"Don't do that. Old Collins won't like it. He's having
his afternoon shut eye. And he hates getting teas."
"But how wrong that is!" said Mr. Clunk. "A li-
cence holder is bound to serve reasonable refreshment
at reasonable hours. And he ought to encourage tea
drinking. It is far better for everyone, body and soul.
And a very good profit too."
"Oh gosh," Tony groaned. "You are, you really are!
And why are you? It don't cut any ice."
"I don't follow you, my boy," said Mr. Clunk toler-
antly, and tapped more loudly at the door. It was flung
open, a lump of a man scowled at him. "Mr. Wisberry
says you can let me have some tea," Mr. Clunk smiled.
"For both of us if you please." The man vanished with
a growl.


IIO THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Tony had to laugh. "That's a dirty trick. Now he'll
take it out of me. Persistent beggar, aren't you?"
"Oh, really, do you think so?" Mr. Clunk came to the
bench and Tony's legs reluctantly moved to let him sit
down. "Thank you, my boy, I rather depend on my
tea."
"I'm not thinking of your tea," Tony grunted, watch-
ing him. "You didn't come down to Bradstock for a
cup of tea."
The tea came, banged down on the bare table in
front of them by an angry man. "Thank you so much."
Mr. Clunk eagerly poured out the black fluid. "How
nice and strong. There you are, my boy." He sipped his
own and beamed. And the landlord was mollified to
ask if the gentleman would like a bit o' lobster.
Tony waved him away. "Now then, Mr. Clunk.
What is it you do want? Let's have it out."
"But my dear boy, I want nothing. When I came
down here, I had no idea I should meet you."
"Oh, rats."
"Really, Tony, if you won't choose to believe me,
why ask? But there's no mystery about my being here.
I'm staying at Limbay defending a poor fellow who is
accused of theft. You will find the case in the papers.
He's in court again to-morrow. I drove out to-day to
look at the country."
"And to see Croyland, I suppose."
"I have never seen Lord Croyland in my life," said
Mr. Clunk. "I've no intention of trying. But of course
that is what has brought you. Dear me, I might have
known."
"You might," Tony grinned. "In fact you did. And
you came over to say I'd better not."
"No indeed. My dear boy, if you remember our last
important interview, you must see that I could not


MR. CLUNK BEARS NO MALICE III
advise you further. You made it plain you did not trust
me, Tony. I don't care to deny that I was much hurt.
But that is nothing. The point is, I make it a rule to
give no advice if I am not trusted."
"Thanks so much. That's just as well. I have seen
Croyland."
"Dear me! I confess I am surprised. Well, well, well!
In a long experience I have seldom been more sur-
prised."
Tony frowned. An old unpleasant suspicion that Mr.
Clunk was too clever for him asserted itself. "Bound
to say that, aren't you?" he growled. "You told me
I had no sort of case against him."
"Certainly that was my opinion," Mr. Clunk mur-
mured, and tapped his teeth.
"What are you suggesting now?"
"No, no, my boy. I suggest nothing. It's not my busi-
ness," Mr. Clunk said sadly.
"Well, he did see me. And heard all I'd got to say
in order to tell me I had no case and could go to the
devil; just like you, Mr. Clunk. Curious, isn't it?"
"My dear boy!" Mr. Clunk was quick to protest.
"I could never tell you to go to the devil."
"No. He was more honest. Sorry. And I told him I
should fight."
"Really! Well, well, well!" Mr. Clunk sighed.
"Don't like that, do you?" Tony glared at him.
Mr. Clunk took a lump of sugar and sucked. "Dear
me, I couldn't say. It's not for me to object. What
you think best, my dear boy, what you think right. Do
right and fear nothing. There's no other rule in life."
He crunched the sugar and took another lump while
Tony glowered at him. "Good-bye, my dear boy. Al-
ways your friend. I bear no malice, Tony, none. Good-
bye. I'll pay for the tea."


,112 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Oh, be damned," said Tony. But Mr. Clunk did not
hear that, and in fact was not meant to. It was an
expression of bewilderment.
That day Mr. Clunk did no more. Lewis came to the
conclusion that he was not feeling well. His prevailing
habit is to be conversational. He said during the rest
of Sunday nothing which was not necessary; he ab-
stained even from humming. He was wrapped in
solemn thought and he went very early to bed. Such
retirement, Mrs. Clunk might have explained to Lewis,
indicates a felt want of ideas.
But he was in court next morning, brisk and beam-
ing as ever. Neither the solicitor on the other side nor
Bell and Gunn made so prompt an appearance. They
were indeed something after the hour, and when they
came at last Mr. Clunk looked at his watch with osten-
tation and his hem of comment was audible.
The magistrates took their seats, the solicitor whis-
pered to the clerk, the clerk to the magistrates, and
again Mr. Clunk's watch came out and he sighed
loud and clear.
Billy Bones was put in the dock. The solicitor came
back to his place and addressed the bench. Since the
last sitting of the court, he had had an opportunity of
examining the evidence which could be offered.
"Dear me," said Mr. Clunk.
The solicitor appreciated his friend's anxiety. He was
bound to tell the bench that upon full consideration he
had come to the conclusion it would not be right to
ask the bench to commit the prisoner for trial.
Then Mr. Clunk rose and enjoyed himself- Superin-
tendent Bell did not.
The bench remained calm: pronounced that the
charge must be dismissed and did not desire to express
any opinion on the conduct of the case.


MR. CLUNK BEARS NO MALICE II3
Mr. Clunk, with a smile and a nod at Bell's stolid face,
tripped out of court to find his client. Billy Bones was a
happy man. "Good for you, Clunk. Shake. You did
that fine. I nearly burst myself watching Bell squirm."
"You're a very lucky man, my friend," Mr. Clunk
admonished him. "You must know that. Don't forget
it."
"Not half. You've done me proud. I never forget a
pal."
"Don't forget yourself," said Mr. Clunk austerely.
"I hope I shall never see you again."
"All right, all right," Billy Bones was surprised
and grieved. "No offence, Mr. Clunk."
"You silly fellow. I'm not angry with you. It's my
business to help silly fellows. But I don't want any
more of this case."
"I say, you mean Bell's worrying at it still?"
"I mean that you had better be very quiet, my
friend."
"Not half," Billy Bones winked. "It's me for the
Continong. I'll take Gracie for a bit of a honeymoon,
what?"
Mr. Clunk sighed. "That will do," he admitted with
regret. "Go abroad and stay there. Try to be a good
fellow, Benson."
"You bet. I've had enough for a bit. I say, do you
think there's going to be more trouble?"
"My poor fellow, you know Bell. Does he look satis-
fied?"
Billy Bones pondered. "I say, Clunk, on the square
—are you inside this?"
"I know nothing about it but what you've told me."
"Smell something though, eh?"
"My dear fellow, I can see it wasn't the jewels you
were after," said Mr. Clunk.


114 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Who are you acting for, anyway?"
"Myself," said Mr. Clunk. "I find it a curiously in-
teresting case, my friend."
Again Billy Bones pondered. "I don't know. Look
here, Clunk, you've done me well. Can I do you a bit
o' good? I reckon you'd like to know what was in the
old girl's letters?" Billy looked wary. "Well, if you
took it her man Alfred was telling her his brother
hated him enough to do him in, you wouldn't be so far
out."
"Oh dear, what sad stuff." Mr. Clunk was shocked.
"The letters were wanted for blackmail, I suppose."
"What do you think?" Billy Bones grinned..
"You're a sad fellow," Mr. Clunk sighed. "Try to
get away from it all, Benson."
"Bet your life. Right away at jolly old Monte. Chee-
rio, Clunk. Wish you luck. You ought to have a share
of the dibs, I swear you ought." Billy Bones gripped
his hand. "Toodle-oo."
On his way through the police officers Mr. Clunk met
Inspector Gunn and Superintendent Bell. "Well now!"
He stopped. "This is very pleasant. How are you? How
are you?"
"None the better for seeing you, Mr. Clunk," Gunn
said grinning. "You've had a nice bit of fun with us,
haven't you?"
"Really now. You mustn't take it like that," Mr.
Clunk protested. "I have my duty to do, just as you
have, Inspector. And you know you've given me a great
deal of trouble. You shouldn't have handled the case
in this way, really you shouldn't. Quite wrong. But we
can be good friends now, I hope and trust. I bear no
malice, I promise you."
"Thank you kindly," said Gunn, and took Bell away.
When they were behind a shut door, "There's gall for


MR. CLUNK BEARS NO MALICE, 115
you," he exploded. "Bears no malice! That's the limit.
Nasty little monkey."
Bell was calmer. "I wouldn't say. I don't know so
much. Bag o' tricks, he is. But it's not like Josh Clunk
to rile you."
"Isn't it? You surprise me! He told us off in court
spiteful enough."
"Oh, in court," Bell said with contempt. "That's all
guff. That's nothing. He's always very civil in private.
Too civil by half. I don't think he meant to put your
back up, Gunn. It looked to me he was throwing a fly."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, say giving us the office we'd got this case by
the wrong end. I don't know but what we have." Bell
frowned and pondered and gave a short and angry
laugh. "I was thinking so myself, old man. What both-
ers me now is that Josh Clunk wants me to think so.
That's a nasty blow."
"Here, go easy," Gunn complained. "Where are we
getting to? What do you mean, the wrong end?"
"We went for the man that pinched the jewels. What
about going for the man who wanted the love letters?"
"How do you know who he is? Lord, this is a bit too
clever. We don't even know anybody did want the let-
ters."
•' "We don't. But that's the only idea that makes sense
of the case. Old Clunk hinted at it when he cross-
examined Miss Morrow. He went very gently then.
Now he's given us a straight tip. The only reason there
can be for anybody wanting the love letters is something
to do with Garstons."
"That old case! Twenty years dead!"
Bell nodded. "I know. But Josh Clunk don't bother
himself with cases that are dead. Look here—if those
letters tell something the Garston family wants kept


I16 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
dark they might be worth anything you like—to Croy-
land. He could pay it." Bell lit a pipe. "Remember him
—in the old days, Gunn? Mr. Henry Garston. Hard as
they make 'em, wasn't he? I don't suppose he's got
any softer. I've been thinking about him. He wouldn't
have stuck at a trifle when we knew him."
"The other end of the case is the Garstons?"
Bell nodded. "Looks like it. It did look like it—
till Josh Clunk chipped in with his tip and his all-
friends talk. Now I don't know."
"I wouldn't trust the little monkey if he told me I
had my pants on."
"No, but you might have, all the same. Oh, he's up
to something, I know that. And he thinks it's going to
be worth his while to stand in with us."
"Then you bet your life he's up to something uncom-
mon dirty."
"I'm not betting," said Bell. "But if Clunk's stay-
ing on here, I'm staying too. I reckon you'll want me."
And inquiries discovered that Mr. Clunk remained at
the Victoria Hotel.


CHAPTER XIII
IN THE DARK
A letter which is posted in Bradstock on Saturday
is delivered at Bradstock Abbey on Monday morning.
Such is the reckless speed of modern civilization.
It was therefore when her morning tea was brought to
her bedroom on Monday that May received her letter
from Tony. She thought it an odd letter: an absurd
letter; and in conclusion she did not like it.
Dear Miss Dean:
I know it looks cheek of me to write to you at all. Don't
take it that way. It would be, if I hadn't reasons that matter.
The reasons are about as serious as they can be.
I've seen Lord Croyland. That's one. I shan't be seeing
him again. I can't come to the Abbey again. But I must see
you. I should have to anyway. But after what happened
with Croyland I want to see you at once. I have things to
say I can't write.
I suppose you'll get this on Monday. Walk over towards
Bradstock any time you can. I shall be on the road looking
for you. You must come. There's things you've got to know.
Yours sincerely,
Tony Wisberry.
An absurd person.
She read it again and liked it less. The tone of au-
thority became clearer. A horrid youth.
It is probable that if Tony had not written she must
come, she would have come to him. And if she had, he
"7


I18 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
might have turned the stream of things, taken her at
least from their course, perhaps others too. Afterwards,
as he struggled, he wondered sometimes dismally over
what might have been.
She crushed the letter in her hand, then tore it into
small pieces and threw it away. She was not going to
answer a letter like that.
The day went worse than dismally. Mrs. Garston
was at her most exacting and unreasonable, her maid
in a malignant temper. They spent the morning nagging
at each other and uniting to put May in the wrong.
Mrs. Garston being told, what she had just said, that
she was not well enough to go down to lunch, wept and
insisted on going, and at table sighed and moaned.
Croyland's usual careful kindness to her failed.
Gladys, for the first time in May's knowledge of the
house, gave no help, or less than none. She was sulky
and sharp of speech when she did speak, making the
dismal awkwardness of the party more oppressive.
That meal was hurried to its end. Mrs. Garston was
taken complaining upstairs and a long struggle induced
her to swallow some of Dr. Eves' sedative. Then for
her there was at last quiescence and May stole wear-
ily a way to her room and tried in vain to rest. Every-
thing was too horrible.
But the evening brought worse. Mrs. Garston woke
late, fretting that she had not been waked, that the
medicine made her so heavy, so weak, so depressed.
Of course she knew that nobody wanted her, she was
only in the way, but they needn't make her feel so
always—and the maid came in to dress her and inflame
this state of mind.
She would go down to dinner, and greeted Croyland
by pathetic surprise that he was still there. Why was
he still there? He never stayed over Monday. He never


IN THE DARK II9
did stay so long. Of course she knew it wasn't to be with
her. He needn't say that! She gave a queer high laugh.
And then was tearful.
Dinner was served. Croyland made talk of the affairs
of Bradstock and May struggled desperately to help
him. Gladys was still out of humour. Sneering at them
all. But anything was better than silence. Croyland
laboured on about the park, the gardens, something to
be done to the house. "Oh!" Mrs. Garston gave a cry
of pain. "You love Bradstock!" And she laughed and
wept.
Croyland's politeness snapped. "That's enough," he
growled. He looked over his shoulder at the servants.
He leaned across the table. "Control yourself, Mother,
can't you?" But Mrs. Garston lay back in her chair
and sobbed. "Oh, be quiet, for God's sake."
Imperturbable servants served on and departed.
Croyland started up. "I can't stand any more of
this," he glowered over his mother. "You're not fit to
be here. Take her away, Miss Dean. Get her to bed.
You shouldn't have let her come down."
"Oh, I'll go, I'll go. I know nobody wants me."
Mrs. Garston hurried to the door.
"It's no use scolding," May cried. "You've made her
like this, Lord Croyland."
When she was gone too, Croyland stood plucking at
his mouth.
"Doing anything to-night?" said the scornful voice
of Gladys.
He grumbled an oath and strode out.
Gladys poured herself another glass of port. "The
dirty dog," she said, and her smile was malignant.
Mrs. Garston gave May the worst hour of all her
wearing work at Bradstock. She would have nothing
done for her; nothing could be done with her, but endure


120 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
her complaints and reproaches. She would not go to
bed. She knew that was all they wanted, to keep her
shut up in her room, but she wouldn't be, she wouldn't,
she wouldn't. She wasn't dead yet. Of course they all
wanted her dead. She wept. It would be the best thing
for her, far best. But she mustn't die. She wouldn't.
"Who's talking about dying?" The maid came in.
"You aren't going to die, ma'am. I'll see to that, I'm
sure." She flashed a glance at May. "Don't want any
nurse, do we?" The maid began to put her to bed
against her will.
And so to bed at last she went.
Utterly tired, body and spirit, May dragged back to
her room. She could hardly find energy to undress. She
lay down feeling as if she had never slept and would
never sleep again.
She woke with the room dark and a cry in her ears.
Another cry came, a stifled cry and a thud, the sound
of a shutting, dragging door. She sprang up and,
pulling a wrapper about her, ran out.
The vaulted corridor had no more than a glimmer
of moonlight through its lancet windows, a ghostly
place. She stood listening. There was movement some-
where. By the archway, or beyond, in the new part of
the house. She ran on along the corridor, and in the
black darkness of the archway stumbled over some-
thing soft and fell on her knees. She found herself be-
side a woman's body.
Then she screamed, "Help! Help! Help!" and bend-
ing over the body in the dark felt at it. "Mrs. Garston?"
she gasped, and then more loudly, "Mrs. Garston!"
The body did not answer.
May scrambled to her feet, fumbled about the walls
for the switch of the corridor lights, could not find it,
ran to her room for a torch.


IN THE DARK 121
She came out with it, turned it on, and the beam
piercing into the gloom of the archway showed Croy-
land standing there, still in his evening clothes, and at
his feet the face of Mrs. Garston livid under the white
glare.
"Who's that?" he roared. "Miss Dean? What the
devil's happened?"
"How should I know?" May cried. "Hold the torch
for me." She knelt down by Mrs. Garston.
Servants were coming along the corridor. "Turn on
the light, someone," Croyland called, and the lights
went up; but the archway remained dark save for the
beam of the torch upon May and the unmoving body.
"It's my mistress," came a cry. "What have you
done to her, Nurse?" The maid ran up to them. "What
are you doing? How did she come here?"
"Hold your damned tongue," Croyland growled.
"Don't you meddle." And the maid gulped and mut-
tered.
May stood up slowly. "I can't do anything," she
said. "I'm afraid she's gone."
Croyland bent to look at the livid face and suddenly
turned the torch from it.
"You must telephone for the doctor to come," May
said.
Croyland made noises.
Behind him spoke the voice of Gladys. For the first
time May was aware of her presence. "Phone the
doctor," she repeated. "That's my job. What's the
message?"
"Say Mrs. Garston's had some sort of shock and
he must come at once."
"Right, I'll get him." Gladys swept away.
Croyland cleared his throat. "Mustn't lie here. Get
her back to her room, eh?"


122 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Leave me do it." The maid thrust forward. "I've
carried her often. As light as a baby, she is, poor angel."
"Let her alone," Croyland growled. He bent and
lifted his mother. "Put the lights on for me, some of
you." The gallery beyond the arch was lit but in the
archway darkness remained. He strode away with his
burden. "Want you, Miss Dean."
"Did you think I shouldn't come?" May said fiercely.
The maid pressed on at her side.
So Mrs. Garston was brought back to her room and
laid on the bed. The maid ran round Croyland and
hung over her. "Ah, the poor dear! She was a good
lady, she was." She began to fuss about the body with
nervous hands. "She"
"Don't want you," Croyland growled. "Miss Dean
will look after her till the doctor comes."
"Look after her!" the maid snarled. "She has, hasn't
she?"
"Get out." Croyland turned on her and she went
muttering.
May composed and covered the body, and while she
did so was aware of Croyland wandering around the
room, looking at things, opening drawers.
A tap came at the door. Gladys appeared. "Dr. Eves
is on the way. Anything I can do?"
"Wait downstairs for him, will you?" said Croyland.
"Bring him straight up."
"Right," Gladys nodded. "I'll be about." She was in
a dressing gown, but as carefully arranged as usual and
her cool and competent self. She seemed to have no
emotions, but before she went out her bold eyes lingered
on May with a queer, searching glance.
May sat down by the bed and Croyland came and
stood over her.
"Well, Miss Dean. How did this happen?"


IN THE DARK I23
"I don't know in the least. After that scene at din-
ner she was terribly upset. I was a long time with her.
When she was settled in bed I left her and went to sleep.
I woke up hearing a cry and some noise and a fall. I
ran out and fell over her in the archway. Then I called
for help."
"Hmph. What was she doing there?"
"I don't know. How should I know? What did you
hear?"
"Heard someone screaming for help."
"That was me, I suppose. You didn't hear anything
before?"
"Nothing at all. I was at work." He looked heavily
at May. "I suppose she felt ill and was coming to you
and had a stroke, what?"
"I don't know," said May. She had reasons for an-
other supposition.
"Hmph. Hear what the doctor says. Eves knows all
about her," Croyland grunted, and again he wandered
about the room prying into his mother's things. . . .
Dr. Eves came, purple of face and blowing. "Aha,"
he nodded at Croyland, "you're here with her. Let's
see now, Nurse." He was disturbed, he made jerky
repeated movements and conversed with himself in
sounds of surprise and disappointment, but in his mud-
dling way he was thorough. May noticed that.
He turned to Croyland and shook his head. "Ah'm
sorry." His voice was subdued. "It's all over with her,
Croyland."
"That's what Miss Dean said. I thought you'd bet-
ter see her though. Don't mind my troubling you, eh?"
"I told him to telephone for you," May cried.
Dr. Eves looked from one to the other. "Ah'm here,"
he said." How did it come on her? How did ye find
her?"


124 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Miss Dean found her. She'll tell you," Croyland
said, and again May told.
"Thaat's all ye know of it. Croyland, will you be
stepping downstairs? Ah'll have to make an examina-
tion." Left alone with May and the dead woman, he
stood still meditating. "Aha. Ye left her in bed, the
maid and yourself going away together. The next ye
know she was lying out there in the corridor. Did she
ever get up o' nights before?"
"I never heard her."
"Was she alive when ye came to her?"
"She didn't stir. She didn't seem to be breathing. I
felt for her pulse and couldn't find it."
Eves went to the body again and his examination
was long. . . . He stood up. "Come ye here," he said,
and pointed to small bruises on either side of the throat.
"Did ye see that?"
"Yes, I did." May looked at him. "They were red
at first. They've darkened since."
"Maybe so. Ye said there was some trouble putting
her to bed. Was she handled then?"
"No, not like that. Not there, of course. Her maid
almost made her take off her things."
"Ye caan't account for it at all. Then ye'd better
maake no talk about it."
"What do you mean?"
"Ah mean just whaat ah say, my girl."
"Are you going to say she died naturally?"
Dr. Eves rubbed his chin. "Ah'm advising ye for
your own good. Now, ye're overwrought. Ye'd better
be off" to bed, my dear. Run along with you and get you
rest. Ah'll lock up here."
May stared at him in horror. "You can't hide it!
You shan't," she cried.
"Now that's foolish," said Dr. Eves. "Away with


IN THE DARK 125
you." He thrust her out gently enough and locked the
door on the dead woman and stumped downstairs.
Croyland stood in his study smoking. "Hmph. Here
you are at last! What is it, eh, what was it?"
"Baad business, Croyland." Dr. Eves shook his head.
"Ah caan't certify. Ah daren't. Ah tell you fraankly,
ah don't like the looks of it. She's been mishaandled,
the poor woman. There's been violence used to her."
"What the devil do you mean?"
"She's had haands to her throat."
Croyland swallowed. "Good God, man, it can't be,"
he said thickly. "What are you saying? She was
strangled? That's mad."
"Ah'm not saying it. There's a bit of a look of stran-
gulation. But it wouldn't need so much to kill her. She
was weak all through, weak. The shock of it would
be her death, poor soul."
"Hmph. That's what I thought," Croyland turned
to the glass at his elbow and drank. "Shock—some sort
of shock. You know what she was. Full of fancies and
wild ideas—dreams—imagining things all the time.
Something startled her, I suppose—she ran out into
the dark—frightened—and then That must be it.
Just shock."
Dr. Eves shook his head. "Ah daren't do it, Croy-
land. That's the truth. She died by violence. Ah'U
have to say so."
"It's crazy. Who would hurt her here?"
"Thaat's not for me. Ah can't help ye. Ah'm sorry.
There's nothing ah can do in this, Croyland. Ah'll just
have to give information."
"Police?" Croyland growled.
"Ay, ay, ye'll have the police. There's no stopping it.
Ah'm clear, ah can't do other. It's a baad, baad busi-
ness for you. Ah'll be off now, if ye please."


CHAPTER XIV
ON THE ROAD
Among the more genial qualities of Superintendent Bell
is an enviable ability to find an old and cosy inn. He
can do this in the most unlikely places. He had done it
even among the opulence of modernized Limbay. He
was in the bar parlour at the third sausage of breakfast
when Inspector Gunn arrived.
"All right. Finish it," Gunn answered his question-
ing eyes. "There's no special hurry."
"You can talk here," Bell said placidly, and went on
eating.
"Oh, I know. Well, it's only murder. And we're not
more than six hours late on it."
"Too bad." Bell took much marmalade. "Who's
murdered?"
"Old Mrs. Garston, that's all."
"The mother!" Bell munched on. "Makes you think,
doesn't it?"
"I haven't begun to think myself. I don't know whe-
ther I'm on my head or my heels."
"No use getting rattled." Bell poured another cup
of coffee. "How was it done?"
"That's one of the little things we don't know. It's
supposed to have been done in the Abbey."
"Inside the house? Queer."
"That's the story. We don't know anything first
hand. It comes to us like this. Dr. Eves drove over to
the coroner early this morning, said he'd tried to tele-
126


ON THE ROAD 127
phone him in the night and couldn't get through—
that may be true, but look how it sets us back ■"
"Half a minute," said Bell. "Eves. Isn't that the doc-
tor who gave evidence in the Alfred Garston inquest?"
"That's right. He's the Garston family doctor. Lives
near. Well, he told the coroner he was rung up from
the Abbey in the night about one-thirty to go to Mrs.
Garston. When he got there he found her dead. Been
dead an hour or less. Dr. Eves says he believes the cause
of death was shock following violence: he's sure she'd
been violently handled. So he came to the coroner."
"Why didn't he come to the police?" said Bell.
"Yes, there's that. Still, you can't make much of it.
He's quite correct—couldn't give a certificate—in-
formed the coroner at once. But it makes a rotten case
for us. When he saw her, she'd been moved. Now it's
half a dozen hours after. Anything nasty can have been
cleared away. Anyone who is in it can have covered
his tracks"
"What have you done?"
"Sent our own doctor out to examine the body and
some men with him to look things over."
Bell nodded and lit a pipe and stood up. "Well,
George, I was betting you'd have a bit of work to do
with old Josh Clunk staying on. And here we are."
"What, you don't think Clunk was in this?"
"I'm not thinking yet, only wondering. But I do
wonder why Josh Clunk's been so fond of these parts."
They drove away in Gunn's car.
"I don't see how you can work Clunk into it," Gunn
pronounced. "The old lady was killed in the house, as
far as we know. He isn't the sort of fellow to break in:
he isn't the sort of fellow for rough stuff at all."
"No, I don't suppose he did it himself." Bell smiled
grimly at the fancy of Mr. Clunk being violent.


128 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Meaning he arranged it? But how could he stand to
gain by putting Mrs. Garston out of the way?"
"Ah. If we knew who did stand to gain we'd know
something, wouldn't we? Look here, Gunn: we began
with somebody stealing letters that Alfred Garston
wrote; now somebody murders Alfred Garston's mo-
ther. Well? Don't that mean somebody wants to get
rid of evidence about Alfred Garston?"
Gunn shook his head. "Neat idea. But it won't do,
to my mind. The man's been dead twenty years, and
never any bother about it till now. Miss Morrow's had
the letters all the time. She must know everything in
'em, and she's not been touched."
"I don't set up to see my way through it," Bell said
slowly. "Take it again though. The letters are stolen
and soon after they're in the hands of the fellow who
wanted 'em, Mrs. Garston is murdered. Suppose we say
something has turned up to make it mighty important
to wipe out what was left on record of Alfred Garston's
private life. How about that for a theory?"
"I don't care so much about theories myself," Gunn
objected. "I haven't found it's any good expecting
things to be reasonable. Some chap pinched the jewel
case. Some chap killed the old lady. That's all we really
know. Very likely one thing's nothing to do with the
other. Say they had a burglar at the Abbey, she heard
him and he shut her mouth and bolted. That explains
it all."
"Theory too, isn't it?" Bell grinned. "And very
nice, I'm sure. I wish you were right. But it's a bit
too simple, old man. Why hasn't Croyland rung up the
police to say he's been burgled?"
"He may not know it. Fellow bunked before he got
anything. House all up on end with the old lady's
death."


ON THE ROAD I2Q.
"All right. Maybe. Try it that way. We'll have to
try everything. Do you know what bothers me? Josh
Clunk was defending the man who stole the letters
and he stayed on down here for the week of the remand,
which wasn't business, and as soon as he gets the fellow
off, Mrs. Garston is done in. I'd like to know who Josh
Clunk is acting for."
"But I say," Gunn was startled, "the last time you
talked about Clunk, you said he was trying to stand
in with us."
"So he was. All the more reason to wonder what he's
up to."
"Where are you getting to?" Gunn protested. "You
said he was giving us the tip to look for the man who
wanted the letters."
"So he did, so he did," said Bell impatiently. "And
what about it? The only man I know that could be
interested in Alfred Garston's letters is Croyland.
And now the mother of both of 'em has got murdered
in Croyland's house with Josh Clunk in the offing. That
looks like Josh had a notion things might happen with
Croyland behind 'em. But how did he know? And
where does Josh come in himself? He don't take up
things for his health."
"Oh, search me!" Gunn said. "You're fogging your-
self, I should say. Let's work on the facts."
"Plenty of fog about without me. You'll find it all
right when you look," Bell smiled. "One of the facts
I shall want is where Josh Clunk's. got to now."
But about that there was no mystery. Mr. Clunk
was in a car which, driven by Lewis, followed them not
many minutes behind.
When Mr. Clunk came down to breakfast that morn-
ing Lewis remarked that there was a sort of liveliness
at the police station. Fellow drove up in a car early:


I30 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
cars coming and going: and one of them went loaded
up with constables. Lewis had never seen so much doing
in the Limbay police force.
"Dear me," Mr. Clunk beamed. "And so early in
the morning! I wonder what it's all about, Lewis. A
earful of constables in uniform! That's very impressive."
He tittered. "It looks like a desperate situation some-
where."
"Most likely going to arrest a kid for poaching bun-
nies," said the sardonic Lewis.
"I'm afraid you're not very respectful, Lewis," Mr.
Clunk sighed. "You know, I shouldn't underrate the
police. I never found that answer, my boy. And Mr.
Bell is still with us, you know. Did you happen to see
his friend, Mr. Gunn?"
"Not showing." Lewis gulped his tea.
"I wish you would find out whether Mr. Bell has
been called upon," said Mr. Clunk plaintively. "He's
at the White Lion, I noticed. I don't want to spoil
your breakfast, my boy. But I should rather like to
know."
Lewis looked at him without any affection, swal-
lowed egg and bacon in uncomely bulk, and de-
parted.
Mr. Clunk finished his breakfast with much straw-
berry jam, put a lump of sugar in his mouth and three
in his pocket, went out to a chair in front of the hotel,
and sat and sucked, contemplating benignly the sunlit
sea, and as he sucked he murmured:
"Will you meet me in the morning,
On that bright and golden shore?
Will your lamp be trimmed and burning
When He comes to take you o'er?
Yes, I'll meet you in the morning"


ON THE ROAD I31
Lewis appeared briskly and Mr. Clunk sauntered
out to meet him. "Gunn's been round to Bell," said
Lewis under his breath. "Took him off in a car. Went
Bradstock way."
Mr. Clunk's large eyes became more prominent.
"Were you going to get our car, my boy?" he asked,
and Lewis vanished at speed. Mr. Clunk stood still
and tapped his teeth. An unusual keenness sharpened
his mild and glossy face. He did not look pleasant.
But that had passed when Lewis came back with the
car. He climbed in smiling. "Very good and quick, my
boy. And now I think you might go just as fast as you
can safely. Safety first, my boy, eh, always safety first."
The idea seemed to amuse Mr. Clunk unreasonably.
"What's up now, sir?" said Lewis.
"Dear me, I can't tell at all. I can't imagine. Mr.
Bell is so hasty. I'm quite afraid of him, Lewis."
And Lewis, being annoyed, drove on without any re-
gard for safety. Mr. Clunk put one hand to his mouth
and with the other held himself in the car.
Gunn and Bell, driving at less illegal speed, were
stopped by a man who ran out from a field to shout
and hold up his arms. "What's the matter with you?"
said Gunn.
"There be a man dead here, mister. I found un."
"What, in that field?"
"That's right. Lying dead as mutton. And a police-
man, too."
"My oath!" Gunn muttered, and jumped out.
"Where is he?"
Inside the field, two horses stood patiently with a
harrow among the young barley. Just beyond them,
up against the hedge, lay a policeman and a bicycle.
Bell reached him first. "Shot through the eye," he
grunted. "Been dead hours. Do you know him?"


132 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Of course I know him. It's Brownlie, the man at
Cranton, the village near the Abbey, where Eves comes
from."
"That's right, sir. He be George Brownlie to Cran-
ton," the countryman said.
"Is he though?" Bell stared. "He was killed some
time ago. That means in the night. He'd be out patrol-
ling on his bike." He whistled.
"When did you find him, my lad?" Gunn turned
to the countryman.
"Just a bit ago. When I came down with harrow. I
was loading a cart o' pigs for market after breakfast.
Then I come along to harrow this bit o' barley and there
a was lying dead." He sucked his teeth. "And what be
I to do with un, if you please?"
"I'll stand by, my lad," said Bell, and turned to
Gunn. "You take the car and get on to the next tele-
phone."
"Right. That's the Abbey now. I'll be back with some
men in a few minutes." Gunn ran off.
Bell looked at the dead man and scratched his head.
The body lay on its back; the tunic was drawn up in
crumpled folds from the trousers; the button of the left
breast pocket was undone. Bell put his hand inside
and found nothing. He tried the other pockets, and
put back their trivial contents. Then he strolled into
the road and paced about studying the surface.
Lewis sounded his horn, was hooting again more
truculently when Mr. Clunk grasped his arm and cried:
"Stop, you foolish fellow, stop!" The car slid to rest
under Bell's nose.
"Oh, Mr. Clunk, is it?" Bell stared. "Fancy meeting
you here."
"Dear me, it's Superintendent Bell," Mr. Clunk
beamed. "Can I be of any assistance, my friend?"


ON THE ROAD 133
"How could you?" said Bell.
"Why really, I don't know," Mr. Clunk tittered.
"But you seemed to be rather at a loss. I thought per-
haps your car had broken down. You might like a
lift."
"Well, it hasn't, thanks," Bell growled.
"Not the car?" said Mr. Clunk sweetly. "Well,
well, well. Nothing I can do for you?"
"I wonder if there is. I wonder if you could be of
some use," Bell considered him. "Just come and have a
look, Mr. Clunk." He took the little man's arm in a
professional grasp, which made Mr. Clunk look up at
him with mild amusement, and marched into the
field.
Then Mr. Clunk's amusement was suddenly lost.
Bell saw his big eyes swell, his sleek face distorted with
horror. "Christ Jesus have mercy," he said in a queer
whining voice, and plucked off his hat with a hand that
shook, and stood bowing his head and murmuring scraps
of the Bible. Then he drew a long breath and was again
erect and turned to Bell. "This is a dreadful thing.
Really it is," he said quietly.
"You think so, do you? That was rather my idea."
Bell frowned. There was a gleam in Mr. Clunk's prom-
inent eyes which puzzled Bell, a look of hate or ferocity.
He seemed to Bell like an angry cat, turning at bay to
claw.
But he spoke very placidly. "Yes, indeed. It is the
kind of thing which I can never forgive."
Bell gave a contemptuous laugh. "I wasn't thinking
of forgiving it myself. It's the sort of thing I've heard
you defend sometimes."
"Ah, how wrong of you to say that." Mr. Clunk was
hurt. "Really so wrong. Sometimes I must defend the
vilest creatures, as a doctor must try to cure those


134 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
whose diseases are the wages of sin. But do we forgive
them? No, indeed. That is not in our hearts. We
do"
"All right. Cut the sermon," said Bell gruffly.
"My dear sir, believe me, this kind of crime revolts
me. The poor, poor fellow. Sent to his account, all
unready perhaps, shot down, unarmed, unoffending,
robbed of his sweet life to make sin easier for a cruel,
selfish villain——" He stopped and shook his head.
Bell was looking at him with grim curiosity. "Go on,
go on," Bell exhorted. "You know a lot, don't you,
Mr. Clunk? Let's have some more."
"Oh, my friend, I know what I see." Mr. Clunk was
not embarrassed. "Here is a village policeman shot
down on the road as he made his night patrol and hid-
den behind the hedge. It is perfectly clear he was killed
by some scoundrel because he had observed what would
have interfered with a crime."
"Thanks. I'd got as far as that myself. And what
exactly was the crime?"
"What has been done about here, my friend?"
said Mr. Clunk. "You should know more about that
than I do."
"Should I?" Bell grinned. "Well, I'll try to, Mr.
Clunk, you may take your oath."
"I am sure you will, Superintendent," Mr. Clunk
nodded. "Yes, indeed!" #
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of
two cars. From the first came Gunn with a sharp-faced,
quick-moving man, from the other a couple of stolid
constables.
Gunn's companion bent over the body. "Our own
surgeon," said Gunn in Bell's ear. "He's finished at
the Abbey. It's "Bell trod on his foot and directed
his eyes to the unobtrusive presence of Mr. Clunk.


ON THE ROAD 135
"And what can we do for you?" Gunn glared.
"Don't you want him, George?" Bell chuckled.
"Well, I don't know that I do either. Not yet. How
about moving on, Mr. Clunk?"
"Dear me, am I in the way?" Mr. Clunk was pained.
"I didn't know. Good-day, then, gentlemen. But do
please remember, I should be so grieved if you don't
apply to me when you're in any difficulty, I should
really. Don't hesitate, pray. It would be no trouble to
me at all. Quite a pleasure. Good-day." He tripped out
of the field.
"Can you beat it!" Gunn growled. "Perishing cheek!
The nasty little insect!"
"Ah." Bell was not irritated. "I wish I knew what his
game was, George."
The surgeon rose from the body. "This man was shot
at close quarters. Pistol or revolver, of course. No
marks of struggle. His tunic was pulled about dragging
him here, I should say. Killed not less than six hours
ago. I'll get back now, Gunn. You'll send the body
to the mortuary with Mrs. Garston's?"
"All right, sir." Gunn nodded and the surgeon
strode away. "There we are then." Gunn looked at Bell.
"Shot in the small hours—somewhere."
"Out on the road just close by," Bell corrected.
"There's a bit of blood about. Better have your chaps
note the place. I should say he stopped a car, he had
his notebook out, he was getting particulars, and he
was killed for it. His notebook's been taken."
"My oath!" Gunn muttered. "Poor chap. Dirty,
isn't it?"
"The man in that car was feeling pretty desperate,"
said Bell. "I wonder what he'd been up to. Hullo!
Look at that, George. Josh has only just got going."
He pointed to Mr. Clunk's car.


I36 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Nasty little maggot," Gunn growled. "Been hop-
ping about behind the hedge to listen."
"And he's going on towards Bradstock Abbey. I
think we'd better get there too, George." They went.
But in fact Mr. Clunk, though he may have heard
something, had not been listening. He wandered about
the road like Bell, and, like Bell, he saw the drops of
blood where the murder had been done.
Then he came back to Lewis. "Well, my boy, we had
better be going," he said cheerfully.
"Queer start, sir," Lewis ventured, as they drove on.
Mr. Clunk did not answer and Lewis, glancing side-
ways, saw on his smooth yellow face a strange expres-
sion of pleasure. Lewis, like Bell, was reminded of a cat,
but of a cat that after watching and waiting marked
its prey at last within reach of a spring.


CHAPTER XV
THE DARK ARCHWAY
The car which conveyed Bell and Gunn followed the
car which conveyed Mr. Clunk on the road to Brad-
stock Abbey. But they did not overtake him.
Two or three miles were covered before Bell spoke.
"What did your doctor say about the old lady, George?"
Gunn roused himself. "Ah, I didn't tell you. I was
just going to when"
"When I trod on your corns. Yes, we don't know so
much you want to give it away to Josh Clunk."
"Of course I don't. Sorry. I didn't see the blighter.
He is the devil and all, isn't he? Fancy him turning up
by that poor chap's body! How did he know? How did
he get on to it? He knows a deal too much, old man."
"Yes, he always does," Bell said slowly. "That's his
little way. If you ask me, he knows more than he likes
about this Garston case. Give us a bit of luck and we
might catch Josh Clunk bending at last. But I don't
think he knew anything about your man being killed.
He just butted into that, and when he saw the body
it pretty near turned him up. Queer little cat, he is."
"Why, what did he do?"
"Oh, he prayed and he preached." Bell made a gri-
mace of nausea. "Good Lord, I don't set up to say any
man's religion isn't honest. I've seen too much. But
Josh Clunk being pious! Well, it isn't that got me,
though. He was very queer. First the dead body gave
him a turn. Then he kind of got his back up as if he
>37


I38 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
was going to give someone hell—and nasty pleased
about it. That's what beats me, George. He never lost
his head, either. He knew what he was doing right
through. Heard him purring at me, didn't you? And
with that spiteful look in his eyes. As good as told me
he could put us on to something when he chose. Looks
to me he was wanting to do the dirty on somebody
and that poor chap's murder showed him how."
"My oath!" Gunn was excited. "Maybe he has an
idea of putting the murder on a chap he wants out of
the way. How about that?"
"Quite likely, George. Bear it in mind." Bell smiled.
"When Josh Clunk starts giving evidence anything
may turn up—except the truth. Oh, we'll have a lot to
bear in mind before we're through. Now then, let's
get back to the old lady. What did the doctor say?"
"What didn't he say!" Gunn groaned. "He makes it
murder all right. Cause of death, shock following vio-
lent assault. She'd been taken by the throat and half
strangled. Marks of hands on her neck. But he thinks
she's been doped and that helped. He has to make a
post mortem before he can be sure what was used.
Might have been chloral or veronal. And of course
she was a bad life—turned seventy-five and feeble.
Pretty mixed, isn't it? If there was dope, that fixes
murder on somebody in the house."
Bell shook his head. "Not for certain. She might have
been doped regular to keep her quiet, and yet been
throttled by somebody from outside. She may have
doped herself. And anyway, with an old woman who
used dope there might have been a struggle quite in-
nocent—people only trying to keep her quiet."
"I don't think!" Gunn laughed. "If that's all there
is to it, they'd have told Eves, and Eves wouldn't have
bucked off to the coroner."


THE DARK ARCHWAY I39
"Funk," said Bell. "Everybody's in a funk. You can
see that. Why didn't Eves show up to meet your doctor?"
"It's a fact, he didn't," Gunn nodded.
"Our Dr. Eves is keeping well out of this, isn't he?"
Bell smiled.
"Yes, so he is. But what do you make of that?"
"Nothing, George. I don't make anything of any-
thing yet. Here we are. By the way, where's Josh got to?
We haven't passed him."
"Oh hell," said Gunn. "Forget him. He wouldn't be
here, would he?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if we found him with Croy-
land," Bell laughed.
But they did not. Mr. Clunk's car was parked at
the place appointed for the cars of visitors to the ruins.
Mr. Clunk was resuming his study of ecclesiastical
antiquities.
Gladys, a correct and solemn Gladys in black and
only half a coat of paint, brought them to Croyland's
study. He was at work on a mass of papers and smok-
ing. He waved them to chairs and stared at them and
made noises. Gunn introduced himself and Bell with-
out a word of their having worked on another case in
the Garston family twenty years before. And if Croy-
land remembered them, he did not say so. He did not
say anything. He continued to clear his throat.
"This is a terrible affair, my lord," Gunn began. "I
have to tell you the police surgeon's report is that Mrs.
Garston was killed by violence."
"Hmph. That's what Eves said," Croyland growled.
"It's my duty to ask you if you can give us any
information how it happened."
"Heard a noise in the night. Went upstairs and found
her lying in the corridor. Nurse had just got to her.
She seemed to be dead."


I40 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"What time was that?"
"Don't know. Small hours."
"You hadn't gone to bed?"
"Working in here."
"You hadn't heard any noise before?"
"Heard nothing."
"You see what I mean, my lord?" Gunn asked.
"Any reason to think somebody had broken into the
house?"
"No sign of it."
"Well, you see what that comes to. Mrs. Garston
was killed by one of the people living here."
"If she was killed."
"We have to believe the doctors, my lord." Croy-
land did not deny it, but he made rumbling noises.
"Do you think she died natural?"
• "She was old. Bad health a long time," Croyland
growled. "Doctors talk about shock. Anything would
upset her. Seen it often."
"There's marks of violence on her throat. The sur-
geon's report is she was half strangled."
"Can't understand that." Croyland stared at him
with heavy eyes. "No sense in it. More likely the doc-
tors are wrong. Who could want to hurt her?"
"That's what we've got to ask you, my lord. Would
you answer for all the people in the house?"
"How the devil could I?" Croyland growled. "No
more than I can answer for the doctors. If you're ask-
ing whether I know anybody with a grudge against
my mother, I don't. I don't believe there's anyone in
the world."
"All the servants above suspicion?"
"The upper servants have all been here for years.
I don't know the others. Better ask the housekeeper."
"Thank you, my lord. Anyone else in the house?"


THE DARK ARCHWAY 141
"I was in the house." Croyland glared. "D'you mean
me?"
"Beg your pardon, my lord. I meant visitors."
"No visitors. Servants. My secretary, Miss Hurst.
My mother's nurse, Miss Dean."
For the first time Bell spoke. "Have they been
with you long?"
"Had Miss Hurst a year or more. Miss Dean came
a few weeks ago."
"Mrs. Garston's health been getting worse lately?"
said Bell.
"Eves said she ought to have a nurse."
"I see. Then we'd better hear what the nurse has to
say about it."
"Want her in here?" Croyland frowned.
"Sorry to trouble you," said Bell. "By the way,
where did she come from?"
"No idea. My secretary found her."
"Trained nurse, I suppose?"
"You can ask her," Croyland growled.
May stood before them, looking less a nurse than a
tired child. She was not, like Gladys, prepared with
black. The gray and white of her frock made the pallor
of her little face ashen. She tried to stand very straight
and in the effort the slim youth of her body and its
weariness were manifest. But all that did not interest
the comprehensive gaze of Bell. It seemed to him there
was something desperate and defiant in the drawn face
and the eyes, sunken above dark curves, but bright.
"Miss Dean?" he said coldly. "Sit down, please."
And May did not sit. "As you like. We are police offi-
cers. I have to tell you your patient, Mrs. Garston, was
murdered."
"I know she was!" May cried.
"When did you know?"


142 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"When I saw the marks on her neck."
"Very good. What can you tell us about it?"
"About how she was killed ? I can't tell you anything.
I don't know. I can tell you how I found her," and she
did.
"She was dead when you reached her?"
"I think so. If not, she died almost at once. As soon
as I felt for her pulse, it wasn't there, she wasn't breath-
"How long was it from when you heard the cry to
when you reached her?"
"I couldn't possibly say. Not more than a few
minutes."
"Was it Mrs. Garston's voice that cried?"
"Oh yes. At least I think so. Oh, I feel sure it was."
"What did she say?"
"I don't know. I was only just waking. I'm not sure.
And then the cry seemed stifled."
"It wasn't your name?"
"Oh no. Nothing like my name. She always called
me Miss Dean. It wasn't that." She pushed back her
hair. "I can't tell you really. It did seem something
like a man's name."
"What name?" Bell snapped.
"I don't know, truly."
Croyland cleared his throat. "My name's Henry,
if that's what you want."
"Oh no, it wasn't that," May said.
"Thanks," Bell grunted. "Now then. Before all this
happened—how did you leave her last night? Anything
wrong with her?"
"I left her in bed. She'd been very difficult. Her maid
put her to bed. I couldn't do anything with her."
"What do you mean, there'd been a struggle?"


THE DARK ARCHWAY I43
"No, of course not. She wasn't like that. Just refus-
ing to do anything. She was fretful and excited. There'd
been a scene at dinner."
"Oh, had there? Who with?"
"With me," Croyland growled. "My mother was in
a state of nerves. Broke down and was hysterical. I
told her she wasn't fit to be up. That's what Miss
Dean's thinking of."
"What was it all about?"
"I haven't any idea," May cried.
And Croyland said quickly. "About nothing."
Bell allowed a satiric expression to appear on his
stolid face. "I see. She was upset. The maid put her
to bed and the nurse left her and in the night she was
killed. That's what we've got. Now I want to see where
she was found. Both of you, please."
"What do you want me for?" Croyland jerked back
his head.
"Miss Dean was first at the body. You were second.
I want you to check each other about what you saw."
Croyland dragged himself on to his feet and strode
out.
With his eyes looking every way, Bell followed slowly
up the Tudor staircase and along the bright gallery to
the darkness of the archway. Croyland stopped so sud-
denly that the two men jolted him and each other.
"Here, was she?" Bell said. "Queer place. What is
it?"
"Corner of the old part of the house," Croyland told
him. "Where you've been is Elizabethan. This arch-
way goes through the old wall to the monks' dortoir."
"The what?" Bell asked.
"Where the monks used to sleep."
"Oh." Bell walked through to the light of the vaulted


144 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
corridor, looked about him and came back to the gloom.
"And what would Mrs. Garston have been doing up
here?"
"I don't know. Miss Dean's room is beyond in the
dortoir. She might have been going there."
"I see." Bell turned to May. "Show me Mrs. Gar-
ston's room and yours, will you?"
He was taken first to Mrs. Garston's. "The door's
locked," May said. "Dr. Eves took the key. The other
doctor had it."
"All right. We've got it. Now where's your room?"
She took him back through the archway and opened
her door. "I see." He did not go in. "She might have
been coming to you."
"But she didn't," May cried.
"Ever come to you in the night before?"
"Never. I can't imagine her doing it. She never
wanted me."
"Didn't she? Uncomfortable job for you, Nurse."
He looked at her. "She didn't like your being here,
eh?"
"She didn't like having a nurse," said May.
"I see." Bell came back to the gloom of the archway.
"And you found her lying here?"
"I fell over her. I fell on top of her."
"Did you, though?" Bell was interested. "Lying
right across the floor, was she?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I don't know quite. Yes, I think
so."
"Dark here, isn't it?" Bell was almost affable. He
peered about the archway. "Ah, there is a lamp. Could
we have it on, my lord!" Croyland moved away and
snapped the switch. "Hallo. Not working. Get us a
chair, George." He stood on it, took off the bulb, and
fetching another from a point in the vaulted corridor


THE DARK ARCHWAY I45
put that on. The light came. "Oh, it was just the bulb
gone wrong." He turned it over in his hand. "Fila-
ment broken." He looked at May. "Did you have the
light on here last night?"
"I had a torch. I don't remember. There were lights
on when people came."
"I told them to put the lights on," Croyland growled.
"Oh, did you? No light anywhere till then?"
"It was all dark," said May.
"And this light came on with the rest?"
"Whole place lit up," Croyland grunted.
"I don't know." May put her hand to her head. "I
don't believe there was ever any light in here." She
shuddered.
"Ah well, you can't tell when a filament will go,"
Bell said, and looked about the archway Its floor was
of old oak planks, black and shining; on either side it
was panelled from the floor to the spring of the arch
above their heads in oak of linen-fold carving, old and
dark as the floor. He worked over the floor and walls
with careful eyes and hands and found nothing.
"Thank you, my lord." He turned to Croyland. "I'm
keeping you too long. Now we'll just have a look round
Mrs. Garston's room, and then we'll want to see some
of your people: if you'll tell 'em to have a room ready
for us."
Croyland cleared his throat. "Give your own orders,"
he said: "want you to report to me before you go."
He lumbered off.
"Thank you, Nurse. That'll do now," Bell dismissed
May. "I'll want you later." He watched her hurry back
to her room. He rolled the lamp in his hand and looked
from it to Gunn. Then he went to the switches in the
corridors on either side and put them on. The lights
flashed out. "See that, George," he whistled. "She was


I46 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
found dead in the one place where the lamp didn't
work."
"What do you make of that?" Gunn frowned.
"Ah. I wish I knew," said Bell, and moved away to
Mrs. Garston's room.


CHAPTER XVI
BEFORE LUNCH
Mrs. Garston's room, with the morning sunshine
pouring into it, made an ugly show of things confused
and awry.
The police surgeon who drew back the curtains to
examine the body had not repaired the disorder of the
night but made more, and locking the door again be-
hind him kept all the mess inviolate.
"My oath! You couldn't say whether somebody had
been upsetting things o' purpose or they've been care-
ful not to touch anything," Gunn grumbled.
Bell stood in the middle surveying chaos. "Ah,
there's a lot you can't say, George," he pronounced.
"Look here though, old man." Gunn approached
the table which was normally at the bedside. "Just
look at her medicines. My word, there's a blooming
shopful. She must have taken a drop of everything she
could get."
"I see. Well, you'd better pack up the lot and bring
'em along for the doctor to look at. But if there was
dope used, you can bet your life it isn't there. Who-
ever did this didn't leave things lying about."
"I don't know. Everybody makes a mistake some-
times," said Gunn.
"Don't you believe it." Bell turned away and began
to look over Mrs. Garston's possessions. "Keys on the
dressing table. That's handy. Bit too handy. Nothing
H7


I48 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
much locked either. Jewel case. Aha. That is locked.
Good bit of stuff too. Well, if she had any love letters,
they aren't there." He continued his researches." Don't
seem to have kept much in the way of papers." He
whistled softly. "What do you think about that,
George?"
Gunn came to look at the open drawer of a bureau
in which was a flat leather case, scraped and at one cor-
ner bent. "I don't know." Gunn stared at him.
"Looks like the drawer was shut up in a hurry with
that thing tumbled over so it caught. Say a fellow was
pinching something else from the drawer and that's
just what would happen."
"But nobody could get in here. Eves went off with
the key."
"Oh, George!" Bell laughed. "Eves locked the door
all right—when the horse was stolen. Plenty o' time to
pinch anything before he came along."
"Do you mean somebody came to her room to steal
something and did her in?"
"I don't know. Might have been. Or it might have
been taken after she was found dead. Because it gave
things away."
"Half a minute. They carried her back in here at
once. Then Croyland and the nurse were in here with
her till Eves came."
"That's the story. Well?"
"You're putting it on Croyland and the nurse?"
"Well?" said Bell again.
Gunn was troubled. "After all, you can't be sure any-
thing has been taken."
"I can't prove it," Bell agreed. "But I know all
right. Let's see what was left behind." He took up the
leather case and opened it out. It displayed three old
photographs, of a child, of a boy, of a young man.


BEFORE LUNCH I49
At the man Gunn pointed. "My oath! Alfred Gar-
ston," he said.
"That's right. Alfred Garston at three ages. The child
—what will he become!" Bell laughed grimly. "Kept by
mother. God help us all! Makes you feel a brute, don't
it? Poor woman. I wonder how much she ever knew?"
He breathed hard. "Ah, well, no use talking like that.
Look what it comes to, George. She's murdered and
something's taken from the drawer where she kept
Alfred's photos: likely it would be letters of his. That
links the murder with hushing up something about
Alfred. Did you say I was putting it on Croyland and
the nurse? Well?"
"Getting a bit thick, isn't it?" Gunn agreed. "Croy-
land has a nurse brought in that his mother didn't want
and his mother's murdered and him and the nurse are
in at the death. And over the murder something about
his brother which she had is stolen. Don't look too well
for Croyland."
"No. And it all happens What the devil's that?"
Someone knocked at the door. Bell lowered his voice.
"It all happens when something else to do with his
brother has just been stolen. Bite on that, George.
Now then." He strode to the door and opened it- Mrs.
Garston's maid stood there. "What do you want?"
She was not prepossessing. Her sallow face was
paler than common and more haggard, her brown eyes
shrunken into beads. She came very close to him.
"I want to speak to you, sir. I want to tell you about
last night."
"Much obliged. Who are you?"
"My name's Jones, sir. Mrs. Jones. I'm Mrs. Gar-
ston's maid, if you please, sir. I've been with her fif-
teen years. Ah, she was a dear good mistress to me, so
she was. I want to tell you the truth about last night.


I50 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Ah, my poor dear! There's no one knows the truth but
me.
"Oh, isn't there?" Bell shut the door behind her.
"Then you'd better mind what you say."
"You don't have to caution me, sir. I haven't any-
thing to be afraid of, thank God."
"That's good," said Bell. "Well, what is the truth
about last night?"
And Mrs. Jones spoke at high speed, in one continu-
ous sentence of fervent emphasis. "It was like this,
sir. I came up to make Mistress comfortable for the
night, which I always did it myself, for this nurse never
did anything for her decent, and she was that fright-
ened of her, she used to cry about it often, poor lamb,
and there I found her in a dreadful taking, I can't tell
you what Nurse had been doing to her, I'm sure, I never
saw the like, and her always the lady with everybody,
poor lamb, but this I do know, for I heard it with my
own ears, Mistress was saying, 'You want me dead,'
she said, yes, sir, as God hears me, that's what she was
saying, 'Of course I know you want me dead,' she said,
but I didn't think so much of it then, knowing this
nurse had a hard way with her and being wishful to
quieten the poor dear and have her rest, which she was
wanting terrible but now—now!" She broke off pant-
ing and her beads of eyes searched Bell to discover if
she had made her effect.
"Now you think a lot of it," Bell said stolidly.
"Why?" The maid swallowed and began to speak again.
"Take your time. Sort of thing women do say when
they're hysterical. Why should the nurse want her
dead?"
"It's not my place to say, I'm sure." The maid was
less fluent- "I don't know why Nurse ever came. It
wasn't that Mistress wanted her, nor liked her neither.


BEFORE LUNCH 151
Never had a quiet hour, she didn't, after this nurse
was about her."
"What did the nurse do?"
The maid hesitated- "I won't say anything I don't
know, sir, I'm not that kind. If you ask me, Nurse was
always driving her. Always at her."
And again Bell asked, "Why?"
"It's not for me to say. I told you, I don't know why
she came. I don't go prying, I'm sure." She tossed her
head. "But I've got my duty to Mistress, poor lady.
There's some things I couldn't let be hid. I'll have to
tell you, sir, after it happened last night, I went up to
Nurse's room, just to see if she'd have me to help her
with anything. She wasn't there. You never do know
where to find her. But she'd been tearing up a letter
or something and I couldn't help but see bits of it. Fair
turned my heart over, I kept 'em for you. Here, sir.
You look at that."
Bell read these scraps of Tony's letter "... reasons
about as serious as they can be . . . after what hap-
pened with Croyland I want to see you at once . . .
things to say I can't write. . . ."
His square face showed no sign of interest. "Is that
all you found?" She nodded. "Pity. Anything else to
bring out?" She shook her head. "Then you can go
away and hold your tongue. Hold it tight, or I shall
have to be nasty. See?"
"I'm not one to talk." The maid tossed her head and
strutted out, pleased with herself but not at ease.
Bell looked at Gunn. "This has been a happy home,
George."
"That's a vixen all right," Gunn said.
"I believe you. Poor old lady—between that maid
and the minx of a nurse and Croyland—my God! Well,
let's get on with it. Perhaps there's some more jolly


152 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
folks in the house. But look here. We'll have to watch
out for anyone getting into touch with people outside."
"Might as well ask Nurse Dean who the chap is
that wants to see her about what happened with Croy-
land."
"I don't think so, George," Bell smiled. "We won't
ask Nurse anything more just yet. Why frighten the
poor girl? If she'd like to pop off and meet the bloke,
that suits us nicely. Just let your men know that any-
body who leaves the house is to be shadowed. We'll
run over the household. Croyland's secretary—house-
keeper—butler. That'll give us the hang of things."
So they established themselves in the morning room
and sent for Gladys.
The mind of Superintendent Bell catalogued her as
a business woman. It is not a type he is capable of ad-
miring, but he respected her. If a man must have a
woman secretary, which he deplores, it appeared to
him that a man could not do much better than Gladys.
She was quick, she was clear, she had no nonsense about
her.
Gladys did not affect any emotion at Mrs. Garston's
murder. "Pretty ghastly," was her phrase for it. She
couldn't herself imagine anybody killing the old lady.
"Most harmless old thing you ever saw."
Gladys had never heard of Mrs. Garston having any
trouble with the nurse or the maid. Of course there
would be some. She was feeble, and didn't want to be
looked after. Like other old people.
A scene at dinner? Gladys smiled tolerance. Yes, a
bit of a fuss. The old lady got weepy and queer and
Lord Croyland couldn't stand it. Nothing to think
twice about. "An old woman rather nervy and a busy
man—that's all there was to it." Lord Croyland was
always very decent to her.
■


BEFORE LUNCH 153
The maid? Gladys didn't know much about the maid.
"Genuine antique. Faithful family retainer. That kind
of thing."
"You engaged the nurse yourself, didn't you?" said
Bell.
"Not quite. Lord Croyland told me to look out for
one. He wanted a nurse enough of a lady to be a com-
panion. So I got on to Miss Dean and he took to her.
I knew her at school. She was trained at St. Hugh's.
She's had nursing-home experience. Looks a bit young,
don't she? But she's done very well."
"Well, what it comes to is, you can't think how it
happened?" said Bell.
"I cannot. Mad, it looks like, if you ask me."
And the housekeeper and the butler were also with-
out theories. They showed in a genteel way more hor-
ror than Gladys, more regret. But their feelings had
not inspired them with suspicion of anyone. They were
free from animosity as she. It emerged from their dis-
cretion that neither had a love for the maid. Towards
May they exhibited the cool neutrality proper between
higher servants and a trained nurse, but they had no
personal grudge against her. As for Croyland, a ques-
tion about him warmed them into respectful sym-
pathy. "It's been a dreadful thing for his lordship."
That seemed to be their deepest feeling,
o Bell dismissed them and blinked at Gunn. "They
like him, George," he said solemnly. "Would you be-
lieve it? They like him. After that I want my lunch."
That morning Mr. Clunk also conducted a small in-
vestigation.
He wandered about the ruins till he came upon a
gardener, a wooden-faced stalwart, and then exhibited
all his charm to induce conversation. The effort was not
well received. But Mr. Clunk's affability ignored the


154 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
broadest hints that he should take himself off. He
tripped among the flowers, chirping about them and the
skill of the gardener and the delights of Bradstock
Abbey and the good fortune of its owner.
The gardener was pushed beyond the limit of his
endurance. He thrust his fork deep in the ground,
he straightened his back and scowled at Mr. Clunk.
"Here! Ain't you got no decency?" he inquired.
"Dear me, yes, I hope so," said Mr. Clunk eagerly.
"What can I do for you?"
"Dancing about like a little old midge in the sun-
shine and buz-buzzing," the gardener rebuked him.
"Think shame of yourself."
"But why should I, my friend? I'm told visitors may
come here freely. Lord Croyland very kindly allows
"'Taint what you be allowed to do. 'Tis what's de-
cent for 'e. Didn't you never learn no respect? Us don't
want no trippers coming trapesing about to-day."
"But I'm very sorry to offend you. My dear friend,
I had no thought of doing anything wrong. What has
happened to-day?"
- "You trippers do never know nothing surely," the
gardener spat. "There's death in the house, that's
what. Mistress died in the night." He was gratified by
the impression he made.
Mr. Clunk stood very still. His large eyes swelled.
"Mrs. Garston," he said in a whisper. He shuddered.
He took off his hat and wiped his brow.
"Ah. My lord's mother."
"I didn't know." Mr. Clunk's voice was small and
humble. "I hadn't thought of that. That's terrible in-
deed."
"Ah," the gardener was pleased with him.
"I didn't know," Mr. Gunk repeated. "Was she ill?"


I56 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Quite recently. The broken columbines were not faded.
He gazed back at the smooth stone seat and returned
to examine it. "Well, well, well," he concluded and
tripped away to Lewis and his car.
"We had better go and have some lunch, my boy,"
he beamed. "Let us go to Bradstock Village."
Lewis leaned towards him and said confidentially,
"Bell's come on here. And the local. Still inside."
"So I'm told." Mr. Clunk got in. "Mrs. Garston is
dead, you see. She died mysteriously in the night."
"I say!" Lewis was shaken from his sardonic com-
posure. "Do you mean murder?"
"Oh yes, certainly, I should think she was mur-
dered." Mr. Clunk blinked. "Poor soul, I feel quite
sure of it."
"My Lord!" said Lewis with respect. "This case is
piling up, sir."
"A terrible affair, indeed," Mr. Clunk sighed. "Dear
me, I wonder what Superintendent Bell will make of
it? But let us be going. I really need my lunch."


CHAPTER XVII
AFTER LUNCH
May came down to the call of the luncheon gong and
found Gladys alone. "Hullo, baby. Let's go in. The
old man's not having any. Off his feed—and making
work. He's been hanging on the end of the phone all
morning. Poor old thing. He's a terror with a trunk
call. I tell you he don't need a phone when his blood
is up. They'd get him with the naked ear in America.
Come on. You look about all in, baby."
"I'm all right, really," said May, but they went in
with Gladys's arm round her.
"By the way, Jackson," Gladys turned to the butler,
"Lord Croyland wants you to look after the police
officers."
"Thank you, ma'am. It has been attended to."
Under service which ignored any cause for distur-
bance, under watchful pressure from Gladys, May
found herself eating through a meal which was impos-
sible before it began. But it was a point of honour to
be normal, to admit no weakness or dread.
"Good for you, baby," Gladys laughed, and pushed
back her chair. "No use starving the little system,
what?" and again encircling May's waist, took her
back into the drawing room. "You've got grit, May, I'll
tell the world." Coffee came. "What about a spot of
poison? Benedictine for baby? No? All right, all right.
Gasper? No, again. Well, cheerio, old thing." She lay
'57


I58 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
back luxuriously and blew smoke through her nose.
"Did these bright bobbies put you through it?"
"It was rather ghastly," said May.
Gladys nodded. "Get you on the sore place?"
"Of course they seemed to think it was my fault. I
don't blame them. So it was, in a way."
"Oh, come off it! You! You couldn't kill a canary."
May flushed. "Ah, don't talk like that. Of course I
never hurt her. You know I didn't, Gladys."
"I'm saying so, dearie." Gladys opened her eyes.
"Why fuss?"
"She was my patient. I oughtn't to have let it hap-
pen. I ought to have stopped it."
"As how?" Gladys drawled.
"If I'd been sleeping in her room she wouldn't have
been killed."
"You never know. She wasn't killed in her room."
"That's what's so queer. I can't think what she was
doing in that archway."
"No, that is rum. What do the bobbies think?"
"I don't know. Of course, she might have been com-
ing to me. They're bound to think that. Oh, if I'd only
been with her."
"What's the good of saying that? She wouldn't have
let you. The old girl hadn't exactly fallen for you,
had she?"
"She hated me, I know. Oh, poor thing, it's too hor-
rible."
"Did you tell'em that?"
"That she didn't like me? Of course I did. That's
part of it."
"I say, you have been going it, baby." Gladys lit
another cigarette. "Why talk so much?"
"They've got to know everything."
"I should smile. But look here, my child, suppos-


AFTER LUNCH 159
ing she was coming to you, who met her on the way?"
"I haven't an idea. Of course I haven't." May wrung
her hands. "Gladys, have you?"
"Search me. I can't half believe she was killed."
"Oh, she was! She was!" May cried.
"All right. Then somebody went mad. No sense in
it. Just temper. What do our bright bobbies think?"
"I don't know at all."
"Bit thick in the head, aren't they? Bone from the
mouth up. They're going to be a damn nuisance, baby.
They'll pinch the lot of us before they're through."
"Oh, don't talk like that!"
"I should worry!" Gladys laughed. "Look here,
what about somebody from outside the jolly old place?
Have these bright boys thought of that?"
"How can I tell?" May cried. "You mean some-
body breaking in? But what for? A sort of burglary?
Nothing's gone, is there?"
"Bless you, no. Not a sign of a burglar. Of course
there wasn't one. That's why I wondered if these
bobbies might go and look for him."
"They didn't say anything to me like that." May
pushed back her hair. "It couldn't be "She stopped
suddenly. "No, it couldn't."
"Sure thing." Gladys looked at her with interest.
"Not a chance. Only wanted to know you'd got that
right. Won't do starting false scents. You have to
watch your step now, baby. Well, be good." She slid
out.
May was left with her mind in a tumult. She had not
been able to think calmly of the murder as a problem.
The thought that Croyland had killed his mother was
with her from the first as a ghastly probability, yet
too horrible for belief. Suspicions of the maid had
risen in her, been banished as the ugly fancies of dis-


16o THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
like and risen again, but not admitted as possible. She
told herself that both had loved the poor woman and
her unreasonable heart accepted it. For she was so
made that her unconscious desire was not to discover
the guilty and punish but to find everyone innocent.
A purpose outside reason: she had no doubt that the
death was murder and the cowardly cruelty of it a
wrong which she was bound to fight against with all
her strength, a wrong for which there could be no
mercy in earth or heaven.
The cool cross-questioning of Gladys set thought
and feeling in a whirl. Gladys was always hard, of
course, and rather vulgar—but she had never been so
horrid. It was all ghastly before but she made it uglier,
taking it in that cold way, as a mess to get rid of. And
she thought she was being kind, she meant to be kind,
with her warnings about what the police would suspect
and taking care to say nothing! Oh, but how vile it was!
May was sure that the police suspected her already.
They must, of course. They ought to. She couldn't do
anything but just face it and tell everything.
Everything! That boy Tony Wisberry! WhervGladys
talked about somebody getting into the house, did she
mean it might have been? Was that a warning to know
nothing? Had they found a trace of someone getting in?
Oh, but it was mad! That boy never hurt anyone.
And why should he come into the house? He said he
wouldn't ever again. He said Lord Croyland had treated
him so badly he couldn't come. What did he say?
She ran upstairs to her room. The fragments of the
letter were gone. The waste-paper basket was empty.
Of course it would have been cleared. But if somebody
had looked at the letter, if the police knew he had had
a quarrel with Lord Croyland!
Well, but a quarrel with Croyland was no reason


AFTER LUNCH 161
for breaking into the house. Why should he? He
wouldn't, of course. One only had to look at him to
know that. Such a boy! But the police might think so.
If Croyland had papers he wanted and wouldn't give
them up—he talked as if there was something like that.
Then the police would think he broke in to get them—
and Mrs. Garston heard him—and then
May pulled on her hat and hurried out. He might be
on the road where he said—it was a day late—but he
might be—he was the sort of man who would come
again—or he might be still in the village. She must
see him, she must talk to him—ask him
In the morning room Superintendent Bell pushed
away his plate with a sigh of satisfaction.
"They've done us very well, I will say," Inspector
Gunn agreed. "That pigeon pie was prime."
Bell took an easy chair and lit his pipe. "Were you
going to tell me what you think of things, George?"
he inquired. "I'd like to get it in order, myself."
"That's right," Gunn nodded. "It is all sorts of a
muddle. Well, you know, what keeps sticking in my
gizzard is they're a nasty lot of people. Croyland—
the nurse—the maid—that smart secretary. I wouldn't
like any of 'em to mind my baby."
j "No, George," Bell smiled. "But that's confusing to
me. Let's take it another way, do you mind? Begin
from the murder. Leaving out the chance of dope, the
woman was killed by throttling. That means a bit o'
strength, though she was old. I should say neither the
nurse nor the maid is up to it. The secretary, p'r'aps—
she's a hefty wench. But it's more a man's way of kill-
ing than a woman's."
"I thought of that too. Points Croyland's way,
don't it? And the nurse said she was calling out a man's
name."


162 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Said she thought so," Bell corrected. "Also said it
wasn't Henry, which is Croyland's name. It might
have been some pet name his mother used."
"While he was killing her! Lord, it is nasty, isn't it?"
"Go easy. Yeu haven't got him in the dock yet.
Keep on the facts. She was found dead up in that
archway. I should say she was killed there. If the job
had been done somewhere else, why should anyone
choose that place to dump the body? But what was
she doing up there? She might have been going to
the nurse's room—not very likely. She hated the nurse;
she'd have rung up her maid if she wanted anything.
She might have heard a noise to get her out. That's
been done before now. Anyhow—who was it she met
in the archway?"
"Might have been more than one of 'em," Gunn
answered. "If you ask me, they all know a bit too
much."
"Did they get you that way, George?" Bell smiled.
"You may be right. I should say they're all wondering
how much the others know. Or how much they're going
to give away. That don't have to mean they're all in
it together. But they've all got notions about it."
"The maid has, hasn't she?" Gunn grinned.
"Putting it on the nurse? Yes, I wasn't falling for
that, George. She's yellow with spite: so what she says
cuts both ways. But there might be something in it.
Half a minute, I'm taking it a man did the job. Well,
if there was a man in the archway, it was Croyland or
some chap from outside."
Gunn shook his head. "Nobody got in last night. My
chaps have been all over the place. Nothing broken.
Not a sign."
"Oh, George!" Bell laughed. "Tell me another.
There's about a hundred ways of getting into this


AFTER LUNCH 163
place. A man wouldn't want to do anything rough.
Besides, who told you he wasn't let in?"
"There's that, of course," Gunn said sulkily. "That
only brings you back to these people inside."
"It does so. Might fit with the gent who wrote to the
nurse, eh? But let's take it in order. Croyland or a man
from outside. Either of 'em possibly helped by the
women. Now what about motive? Who had any reason
to kill the old lady? The nurse—having had a deal of
trouble with her and a big blaze-up last night. The
maid—for jealousy of the nurse, to get her in a mess—
I've known that done—or just in a mad temper. We
can't tell any motive Croyland had. But somebody had
the motive of wanting what she kept with Alfred's
photographs. That would fit Croyland. We know him
and her have been quarrelling hard. Or it would fit a
chap from outside."
"Look here though—if she was killed to get some-
thing in her room, why was she killed up in the arch-
way?"
"Oh, that's easy. The chap got in and got away with
it, but she woke and went after him, calling out, and
he scragged her."
"Theory, isn't it?" Gunn objected. "You don't
even know anything was taken."
Bell made an impatient noise. "I know all right,
George. You mean I can't prove it. Something about
Alfred Garston was taken. Just like something about
him was taken from that old girl in Limbay. But this
time it cost two lives."
"Two?"
"What do you think your constable was killed for
last night? He stopped someone who was buzzing about
these roads and couldn't afford to have it known.
Why not? You don't have a whole lot of motor thieves


164 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
in these parts, do you? You get one ready for murder
the same night another murder was done. The chap
that killed the constable was right in this, you bet your
life. That's why it didn't suit him to be put in the note-
book."
"My oath! I believe you've got it," Gunn muttered.
"Have I?" Bell made a grimace. "I wish I knew
what to do with it. What were you thinking of doing
next, George?"
"If that's right," said Gunn reluctantly, "it lets
Croyland out."
"Yes, you'd think so," Bell nodded. "Why should
he go a jaunt in a car because he killed his mother?
But I don't know, George. There's a lot of things I
don't know yet. I'd like to know what the devil it is
about Alfred Garston that's got so blooming precious
now. I'd like to know what's brought Josh Clunk into
it and what his little game is." Bell filled another pipe.
"And if you'd kindly tell me why the old lady was
killed just where a lamp wouldn't light, that'd be some-
thing to go on with."
"The lamp? What's the matter with supposing the
lamp gave out?" said Gunn. "That's common enough."
"Yes, I have met electric light before. I knew that.
But when a common little thing goes and happens
just where a lot of uncommon things have happened,
I get wondering about it."
Gunn took some time over lighting a cigarette. "If
you don't mind my saying so, old man," he hesitated,
"you're making too much work over a lot of little
things. To my mind we'd do better to take it straight."
"God bless you!" Bell applauded. "Get on with it,
George. How do you start?"
"Well, I mean to say, follow up this clue of a chap
in a car out for murder. Of course, I've sent out a no-


AFTER LUNCH l6$
tice, asking for information of any car seen last night;
now we'll work over the whole district with inquiries
for strangers with cars staying anywhere about. And
I'll go through all the servants here to find out if any
of them have noticed a chap round the house."
"The old stuff," Bell grunted. "All right. You have
to try it. It never did me any good yet. I always get
nothing—or a bit too much. But you may be dealing
with a silly ass this time. Only I don't think you are,
George. By the way, were you meaning to go through
Croyland again?"
"All of 'em. And the nurse. I want to know all about
her young man."
"Then I wouldn't ask her. Go easy about what you
ask. There isn't much we've got gives us any pull:
only that the nurse had a letter from a chap who'd
quarrelled with Croyland and that something about
Brother Alfred is gone from Mrs. G.'s room. That's
all—and precious little. Don't give any of it away."
A constable came in. "That nurse has gone out, sir.
Smithers is on to her like you said."
Bell started up. "I was thinking of taking a walk
myself, George," he smiled.
•> Tony Wisberry sat down to his lunch that day in
melancholy determination. He could not indeed make
up his mind about May. It seemed too probable that
she was a girl with nothing to her, a silly, futile girl,
since she did not make any answer to the earnest at-
tention of Mr. Wisberry. She might have been pre-
vented from coming to meet him as instructed. But
clearly she ought to have written. Difficult to believe
she was properly impressed with the importance of
Mr. Wisberry. In fact, she didn't care two hoots about
him. And that was that. Yet she did seem rather a
darling. And she was all on her own with that tricky


166 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
beast, Croyland. Might be having a hell of a time.
Only decent to give her a chance. But his magnanimity
did not avert melancholy.
Thus allowing May the benefit of the doubt, he made
his plans. In action, if not in judgment, he was, as has
been exhibited, a youth who had no difficulty in de-
cision. His determination was to go again after lunch
on that road to the Abbey where he had instructed
her to appear the day before, and if she failed and no
word came from her, to depart from Bradstock that
night, as from a woman of no importance.
While settling down to cold pork he was disgusted
to see a car stop, from which descended Mr. Clunk.
"Ah, my dear boy!" Mr. Clunk's face shone and his
teeth gleamed. "Delighted to find you. May I share
your lunch?"
Tony failed in hospitality. "Better ask Collins," he
growled. "It's his pig."
"Your good landlord?" Mr. Clunk said. "To be
sure." He tapped at the inner door and to the walnut
face which came round it he remarked that Mr. Wis-
berry spoke so well of the pork he must taste it; and
could he have a pot of tea?
"Tea?" The walnut face gaped. "Lord love you!"
"Yes, indeed, I hope so," Mr. Clunk beamed. "And
the same to you." He came back to the table and made
himself a place. "Well, Tony, how have things gone
with you?"
"They haven't," Tony growled.
The landlord stumped in and banged down plates
and knives and forks. Mr. Clunk began to eat bread
and pickles. "You'll carve for 'e, Muster Wisberry?"
the landlord asked.
"A little of the crackling, my dear boy," said Mr.
Clunk eagerly. "And I shall have my tea, shan't I?"
"


AFTER LUNCH 167
It came, a large pot, bumped down with a snarl of
contempt. Mr. Clunk poured it, dark and syrupy, sug-
ared it richly, stirred and drank. "Ah, delicious," he
murmured, and fell to the pork.
"My God!" said Tony with awe.
"I hope you don't take that name in vain, Tony,"
Mr. Clunk reproved him, eating heartily. "Well now,
you were telling me you hadn't made any progress. I
suppose you haven't been to the Abbey since I saw you."
"I have not. If that's anything to do with you."
"It is, my dear boy, indeed it is. Because it's quite
an important thing for you. I'm very glad to hear it."
"Why?"
Mr. Clunk stopped eating to drink. "You don't
know what happened last night, Tony?"
"No, I don't. Do you mean at the Abbey?"
"At the Abbey—and on the road from the Abbey
to Limbay. Two horrible crimes. Mrs. Garston was
murdered in the house, on the road a poor fellow of a
policeman out patrolling was shot dead. That is what
I came to tell you, Tony."
"Good God, it's ghastly!"
"The devil is with power," said Mr. Clunk.
"Mrs. Garston—how was she killed?"
"I can't tell you. The doctor who was called to her
brought in the police."
"That means some sort of tricky business."
Mr. Clunk considered a pickled onion critically. "I
couldn't say at all."
"But the policeman was shot. What's that got to do
with her death?"
"My dear boy, I don't pretend to know. You can see
what the police will assume—someone broke into the
Abbey, murdered Mrs. Garston, and in making his
escape shot a policeman who stopped him."


168 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"A burglar?"
Mr. Clunk smiled. "A man who breaks into a house
at night is a burglar certainly. It doesn't matter very
much what we call him, Tony. The point for us to
consider is that the police will at once look for any
strangers in the district. They will show a particular
interest in a stranger who has been visiting the Abbey.
By the way, you haven't your own car, have you?"
"I haven't got a car," Tony growled.
"No, that's excellent," Mr. Clunk beamed.
"You mean they'll suspect me?"
"My dear boy, that's just what I came to put be-
fore you. I'm afraid you must be quite prepared for
that."
"Do you think I did it?"
"No, indeed. I'm quite sure you didn't," Mr. Clunk
smiled.
"Thanks. Why the devil should they think I did?"
"Now, you mustn't get angry," Mr. Clunk soothed
him. "What you should have before you is that the
police take a very comprehensive view in these matters.
They suspect everyone. But I've always found that the
police mind is quite a simple mind. My friend Super-
intendent Bell is taking this case. Now he's very typical.
He likes to follow the obvious line. And, you see, you're
so obvious, Tony. You came to stay in this little place,
you went to see Croyland and quarrelled with him,
you continued to stay here. What my friend Bell will
get in his head is that you wanted something from Croy-
land, and as he wouldn't give it you, you broke into
his house to take it. I"
"What on earth should I take?"
"Ah, what indeed? Of course, you couldn't have
found anything of use to you. You're not so foolish
as to think so." Mr. Clunk beamed at him affection-


AFTER LUNCH 169
ately but found him a little amusing. "And quite in-
capable of planning a crime. Dear me, yes. But you
can't expect my friend Bell to know that. I want you
to see that he will certainly ask you to account for
yourself and what you've been doing at the Abbey.
When he does, don't be angry, my dear boy, don't be
hasty"
"Oh, be damned!" Tony cried. He started up so
violently that the table recoiled from him into Mr.
Clunk's stomach, and he marched out at the best of
his long-legged speed.
Mr. Clunk separated himself from the table. "Tut,
tut. That is provoking," he complained. When he
reached the window Tony had already vanished into
the village. Mr. Clunk stood looking out at the empti-
ness of the green, a grave and pained little man. He
tapped his teeth. "Really quite perplexing," he sighed,
and made his way to the bar where Lewis was happy
with bread and cheese and beer. "Oh, there is no
hurry," said Mr. Clunk plaintively. "No hurry at all.
When you are quite ready." He went back to his tea,
and pensively dipping lumps of sugar in it crunched
them.
"Car's all ready, sir." Lewis appeared. "Where
would you like to go now?"
"We may as well go back by the Abbey," said Mr.
Clunk sadly.
The road, curving round the gulf and creeks of the
harbour, makes some five miles of salt-meadow loneli-
ness between the Abbey and the village. They had
travelled three when Mr. Clunk saw Tony striding out
in front of them. He touched Lewis's arm. "Don't stop,
my boy. But go gently." They passed Tony at a se-
date pace, and if he saw who they were he gave no sign.
Nor did Mr. Clunk. His prominent eyes, very wide-
■


I70 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
open, watched the road ahead. It was not straight;
here and there beside it were osier beds and pollard
willows, but it had no other cover. From some dis-
tance Mr. Clunk saw May hurrying on to the hurrying
Tony. He did not fail to see a man vanish and appear
again behind her, and behind him another man. A
chuckle came from Lewis. "Deuce of a place to be
shadowing anyone, ain't it, sir?"
Mr. Clunk shook his head. "Most inconvenient,
Lewis, most."
They passed May, and his alert eyes recognized her
as the girl he had spoken to at the Abbey. "Oh, very
inconvenient," he sighed.
"She's almighty innocent, or she's having somebody
on proper," he grinned.
"Dear me, yes, I fear so, Lewis," Mr. Clunk agreed
sadly.
They passed the plain-clothes policeman, who gave
an imitation of a loitering rambler; they passed Bell,
who plodded on, ignoring them with stolid determina-
tion. Mr. Clunk touched Lewis's arm again. "Stop
by the next willows," he said, and when they stopped
in that shelter he stood up in the car and watched till
May reached Tony and Tony grasped at her hand.
"Well, well, well," he sniffed. "Turn the car, Lewis.
Quickly please. Let us go back."
Thus he returned to them just as their first confused
greetings were broken off by the arrival of Superin-
tendent Bell. "I want a few words with you two please,"
Bell was saying, well aware of the rush of the car be-
hind him. "Just stand fast." He swung round. "Why,
if it isn't Mr. Clunk! Fancy meeting you! Always bob-
bing up, aren't you? And what might you want here,
sir?"
Mr. Clunk descended from the car with slow, prim


AFTER LUNCH 171
motions. "My dear friend, have I disturbed a little
trap of yours?" he asked blandly. "You shouldn't use
these tricks, you know, really you shouldn't."
"I don't take my instructions from you, Mr. Clunk."
Bell glared. "And I'm not going to stand any imper-
tinence."
"Dear me, why use foolish language?" Mr. Clunk
complained. "We all know you've been amusing your-
self by following this lady in order to come upon her
when she met the gentleman. That is, in order to be un-
fair to both of them. If you wanted to know where she
was going, why didn't you ask her? Because you hoped
to alarm them both. That is what I call a trick and a
trap, Mr. Bell."
"He hasn't alarmed me," Tony growled.
"No, I'm sure he hasn't, Tony," Mr. Clunk smiled.
"But that isn't an excuse for playing tricks on a
lady."
"I've had all I want of you, Mr. Clunk." Bell grew
loud. "You'd better take yourself off. If you're going
to interfere with me in the execution of my duty, I
know how to deal with you."
"My dear friend, I'm sure you do," Mr. Clunk
beamed. "You know me quite well. Now I'm a very old
friend of Mr. Wisberry's. I was his mother's solicitor.
I don't propose to allow you to play tricks on him or
any friend of his. Is that quite clear?"
Bell scowled at him and turned to Tony. "Mr.
Joshua Clunk's a friend of yours, is he? Sorry for
that."
"He knew my people before I was born," Tony said.
"What about it?"
"Did he? And you want to have Mr. Clunk with you
as your solicitor when I ask you for information about
a murder?"


172 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Why don't you want his solicitor to be with him?"
May cried.
"I'm not talking to you, Miss Dean." Bell glared.
"No indeed. You don't seem to like talking to Miss
Dean," Mr. Clunk remarked. "You prefer to lay
traps for her."
"If Miss Dean had told me the truth we needn't
have had all this nonsense." Bell spoke with compressed
rage. "Now then"
"Oh, that's shameful. I did tell you the truth." May
cried. "Everything I knew that you asked. You didn't
ask anything at all about Mr. Wisberry, and he was
nothing to do with it; and you didn't ask where I
was going or tell me not to go out. You've just been
hunting me;"
Tony's jaw hardened. "Pretty work," he said with
an angry eye on Bell. "About time there was a solicitor
looking after you, my lad."
Bell stared at him. "You're not doing yourself any
good. Nor her either. Now, I came here to ask you two
for information about the murder of Mrs. Garston of
Bradstock Abbey. You won't answer unless your so-
licitor's present to stop you saying anything dangerous
to you."
"Oh no, no, my friend," Mr. Clunk beamed—"to
stop you asking anything dangerous to the course of
justice."
"Yes, you would," Bell growled. "All right. Now I
know where I am with you." He turned to May. How
long had she known Mr. Wisberry? Never seen him till
he came to the Abbey? How often had she met him at
the Abbey? Only that once? Humph. Why did she
come out to meet him? Because he wrote and asked
her to? Humph. What for?


AFTER LUNCH I73
"Why does a man ask a girl to meet him?" Tony
broke in fiercely. "Don't play the fool."
"I've known a lot of bad reasons," said Bell. "Now,
Mr. Wisberry, what were you doing down here?"
"I came down to see Lord Croyland. And I did. Last
week. Hasn't he told you?"
Bell answered with another question. "Never been
there again?"
"I have not."
"Why did you stay on in this little place?"
"I wanted to see Miss Dean," said Tony. And May
flushed.
"I see. That's all now. You'd better stay here a bit
longer, Mr. Wisberry. What's your address?"
"Cock and Pie at Bradstock. Don't worry. I'm going
to see this through before I go."
"Yes. I think you are," said Bell grimly. "Good-
day to you."
Only Mr. Clunk answered him. And Mr. Clunk said,
"Oh, good-day, my friend. You see how simple it all
is when you deal with it naturally. Such a pity for the
police to put themselves in the wrong. But we won't
let that rankle, don't be afraid. We're quite ready to
help you. You may depend on that."
Bell marched off with a stamping tread to relieve his
feelings. He was far from pleased with himself. But what
particularly displeased him was the condescension of
Mr. Clunk. Being patronized by that little squirt!
Bell's heels punished the road.
Mr. Clunk with his smile of many teeth beamed
upon May. "Now, my dear, may I drive you back to
the Abbey?"
"Thanks very much," said Tony sharply. "I'll walk
back with Miss Dean."


174 T H E G A R S To N M U R D E R c As E
Mr. Clunk surveyed them with benignity. “That
would do very nicely,” he said. “But really now it's
rude of me to say so. Good-bye then for the present,
my dear. I’m sure we shall meet again. Pray don't let
yourself be frightened by anybody.” He patted her
shoulder. “There’s a brave girl.” He turned to his car.
“Oh, Tony my boy, just a moment.” Tony came to,
him reluctantly. “If our friend Mr. Bell gets hold of
you again, don't be angry, my dear boy, don't be hasty;
tell him the whole truth.”
“What the hell did you think I should tell him?”
Tony muttered.
“Really now! That isn't at all nice of you.” Mr.
Clunk was annoyed. “I resent it, Tony. You ought to
understand me. I mean tell him all your story: your
father's disappearance—the discovery you found in
his papers—your claim upon the Garston firm—every-
thing.”
Tony was startled. “About my father—what's that
got to do with this? And you tried to make me keep
quiet about it. Now you want it all told to the police!”
“My dear boy, it must be told,” said Mr. Clunk
earnestly. “That's necessary in your own interests.
But a duty also, your duty in the interests of others.
And we are all bound to assist justice in the punish-
ment of crime.”
“I say, don’t preach,” Tony muttered. He stared
at Mr. Clunk, bewildered between irritation and the
coming of an amused approval. “This beats me. You
did your damnedest to make me bury it. Now you want
to dig it all up.”
“Just so, Tony.” Mr. Clunk lifted his eyes to the
heavens and was pathetic. “We see through a glass
darkly. But we were meant to use our own poor judg-
ment. I don’t think I was wrong then.” He came down


I76 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
this ghastly thing happened and I thought you ought
to know at once."
"Awfully decent of you," said Tony, and then with
some difficulty, "I say—that means rather a lot—
it's pretty good to me you felt like that—going to be
angry now?"
"Don't be absurd." May's face was pink. "I mean
these detectives are suspecting everybody."
"Meaning me?"
"I don't know. I suppose I've made them worse
about you, being found with you. I'm awfully sorry.
I didn't think of that wretched man following me."
"Silly brute," Tony growled. "Why should you?"
"Of course I should. He suspects me."
"Perishing idiot. That is the absolute limit." Tony
gave forth a loud angry laugh.
"Oh no. I don't wonder at all. It is really my fault
she was murdered. She was my patient. I ought to
have kept her safe."
Tony laughed again, but in a different key. "You
know you're rather like my mother, Miss Dean."
"Please don't talk nonsense," May cried.
"Not a bit. Whenever she heard of anything going
wrong with anybody she cared about, she used to think
it was really her fault."
But May would not take any interest in this foolish
woman. "It's not like that at all," she said sharply.
"I didn't care about Mrs. Garston—it's horrid of me
but I didn't, only as a patient. But if I had slept in
her room last night she wouldn't have been killed."
"One doesn't have a nurse to watch for murderers,"
said Tony. "How was she killed?"
"She was strangled in a corridor in the night."
"Queer sort of murder." Tony frowned. "Looks like
a burglar, doesn't it? She heard something, got up to


AFTER LUNCH Iff
see, and the chap stopped her mouth and bolted. That's
about it. I say, didn't you know there was another mur-
der down here last night? A policeman shot on the
road. That looks like a burglar getting away."
"How dreadful!" May stared at him. "I didn't
know. The detectives said nothing about that. How
did you know?"
"Clunk told me."
"Mr. Clunk!" She grew very pale. "He knew all
about it! What is he doing down here?"
"Now you beat me," Tony grinned. "He's a bag of
mystery. He's known me since I was born. I haven't
begun to know him. If you'd asked me last week I
should have said he was a regular wrong 'un. Now I'm
beginning to like him."
"Because he helped us to-day?"
"Yes, partly. And the way he did it. And one thing
and another."
"Did he know you were looking for me to-day?"
"I didn't tell him you were coming. Did you?" Tony
was amused.
But not May. "Of course not!" she cried, and was the
more annoyed at his chuckle.
"Sorry, I never told him you existed."
"What is he doing here then?"
"Well, you know, I don't want to be proud, but I
begin to think the little beggar's come after me."
"Did you know he's been at the Abbey?"
"I did not!" Tony cried. "What, seeing Croyland?"
"Oh no. He's not been inside. But he was looking
round. I met him one day last week. He said he'd come
to see the ruins. Of course, people do."
"Clunk looking at ruins! I do not think."
"But what was he there for?" she checked, and gave
Tony a strange searching look.


AFTER LUNCH 179
"I mean he vanished absolutely. And the people
who gained by it were Garstons. That wants a bit of
explaining. And Croyland won't explain it."
"You do mean Lord Croyland murdered him,"
May said. "How ghastly!" She walked on a little way
and then stopped and turned to him. "Why did you
come here?" she cried. "Why did you stay here? What
good could it possibly do?"
"I came to see Croyland, of course." Tony's chin
came forward. "I had to. I had to have it out with him."
"But after—why ever didn't you go away?"
"Well—" the chin relaxed its insistence—"I met
you, you know. I wanted to meet you again. I found
what a beastly place it was. I wanted to get you out of
it. I wish to God I had before this happened. I"
"Oh, stop, stop!" she cried. "This is mad. You had
no right—I'm nothing to do with you at all."
"Sorry," Tony said gruffly. "I suppose I've made it
worse for you now, being mixed up with me."
"I'm not! For heaven's sake leave me out. Don't
you see what these detectives will think—they are
thinking so, they can't help it—you stayed to come
to the Abbey again, to get something more from Lord
Croyland." She looked up at him breathless, fiercely
eager.
"What if I did?" Tony frowned. "My Lord! I see,
thank you. You mean I was after Croyland's papers.
I was the burglar. I murdered his mother. You think
that, do you?"
"Of course I don't. I know you couldn't be. Oh—"
she stamped her foot—"do you think I'd be here if I
believed that?"
"Sorry," said Tony again and with an uncomfort-
able smile "I seem to be most kinds of a brute with you.
Wonder why that is?"


180 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Don't be so foolish," said May. Her eyes were shin-
ing.
"You came out to warn me these beauties were sus-
pecting me. And that's got them on to you too." He
looked down at her with a shamefaced affection. "My
dear."
"No," said May.
"Yes," said Tony. "Very much yes. And all right.
All exceedingly right. Now we know. My ghost! If
anyone bothers you, send 'em along to me. This is my
show. I say, I wish I could take you right out of that
beastly house."
"You are a child," May laughed sadly. "This is all
nothing. I don't want anyone to help me. And there
can't be any help. I've just got to see it through."
"I know," Tony nodded. "I'm going to see it through
too. That's all."
They walked on. There was no more to be said in
words. Each head was borne high. At the gate of the
Abbey gounds she looked at him, but he made no sign
of turning and she let him come with her to the door.
"Send for me if you want me," said Tony.
"Yes," said May, and gave him her hand.
He held it for time that could be felt. "Thanks."
This ceremony was observed by Superintendent Bell
and Inspector Gunn from the window of the morning
room: from her own window by Gladys.
"My oath," said Gunn.
"Pretty, isn't it, George?" Bell grunted. "Only wants
Josh Clunk there saying,'Bless you, my children.'"
The sagacious face of Gladys was perplexed. She
withdrew to her mirror and slowly and with thought
repainted her lips.
Gunn and Bell contemplated one another. "Well,
what are we going to do about it?" said Gunn.


AFTER LUNCH 181
"That's meant to let us know they don't care a damn
for us. Looks like a bluff of Josh Clunk's: just his style,
when he's got a shaky case. I thought he was bluffing
good and hard this afternoon. But some of this young
fellow's story must be true. He did come here before
the murder quite open: and Croyland did see him. The
next thing is to find out what he came for. Look here,
George, I'll go and ask Croyland. You pop over to the
pub at Bradstock and ask the young man. Josh Clunk
won't be there. He buzzed off the other way."
"All right. But he won't talk without Clunk, will
he?"
"I don't know. Struck me he didn't like Mr. Clunk
as much as Mr. Clunk liked him. Don't bring in my
little turn-up with Clunk. You're on your own. Be
civil, George, be hearty. That ought to try him out."
Gunn nodded. "I see. And I'll have a look into his
alibi last night. That won't do any harm either."
"Not if you don't sniff too much," Bell said slowly.
"Go easy."
"Don't worry, I won't force it," Gunn smiled. "Well,
when do we join up again?"
"I'll go back to Limbay when I've finished with
Croyland."
. "You won't force him," Gunn chuckled, and de-
parted.
Bell was in no way pleased. He knew very well that
he had mishandled Tony and May and allowed Mr.
Clunk an unwise advantage and that the error came
from the weakness for forcing his cases which other
enemies besides Mr. Clunk had used. But he did not
want Gunn to tell him so. And a deeper discomfort
troubled him. The further he went, the less sure he felt
of the way. It looked as if it would turn out to be one
of those cases in which there was such a tangle of dirty


182 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
work a man couldn't get anything clear. A result most
obnoxious of all to the pride of Superintendent Bell.
His square face was grim and glum as he marched
into Croyland's room. Croyland was writing with a
glass of whisky beside him. He jerked a nod at a chair.
"What have you got to tell me?" he mumbled, and
went on writing.
Bell began abruptly. "There's no trace anyone broke
into the house last night."
"Hmph. Never supposed there was," Croyland
grunted. "Well?"
"I don't connect any of your servants with the
murder."
"Thought you wouldn't." Croyland wrote on.
"So we'll have to look for some more information,"
said Bell.
Croyland cleared his throat. "Can't make evidence,
can you?"
"I'm taking it you want the case cleared up." There
was a hint of suspicion in Bell's voice.
Croyland finished his writing or his self-control
failed. He dropped the pen and flung himself back
and stared with sullen eyes. "Told you what I think.
It's clear enough. My mother was old and ill. Nothing
strange in her sudden death."
"That won't be the verdict. The medical evidence is
murder."
Croyland made noises: mumbled something about
doctors being damned fools and said, "I can't find a
murderer for you."
"Are you giving us all the help you can?" Bell looked
hard at him.
"Done what you liked in the place, haven't you?"
Croyland growled. "Ask me anything you want and
I'll answer."


AFTER LUNCH 183
"Yes, I've been round the house." Bell spoke thought-
fully. "I find a man could get in all right without break-
ing anything. So"
Croyland interrupted. "Could he? How?"
"Plenty of ways. Pretty well anywhere if he knew
the place."
Croyland drank off his whisky. "Maybe. Don't
know much about burglary. Daresay."
"So there might have been someone in last night."
"What about it? I didn't see him."
"Any idea what he could have been after?"
"Damn it, what are burglars after?" Croyland's
voice rose in angry contempt.
"You haven't missed anything in your mother's
room?"
"She had nothing there but her jewels. They're still
there, I suppose. Ask her maid. I haven't heard of
anything taken."
"I see. This is what I wanted to ask you, my lord.
Do you know of any strangers looking round the place
lately."
"No, I shouldn't: only here week-ends. Ask the ser-
vants."
"I'm told there's a fellow been staying in Bradstock
Village this last week, acting rather queer. Calls himself
Wisberry."
Croyland frowned and rumbled. "Wisberry? Ah
yes. That fellow. He came to see me. Queer enough.
Bee in his bonnet. If he's honest."
"Oh, he came in to see you. What did he say he
wanted here?"
"Told a tale about a steel process. Wanted to claim
his family invented what we've dropped for years.
I have fellows trying that sort of game often enough."
"You turned him down, of course," Bell nodded.


I84 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"He might have thought of having a try for your
papers."
Croyland was some time considering that. "He might.
If he was fool enough. I've no papers any use to him."
"Or he might have put up that tale to get a look
round the house. Before trying for something else."
"What?" Croyland said sharply.
"I don't know what there might be here he'd be
after."
"Nor do I," Croyland grunted. "Well?"
"Well, that's all now, my lord." Bell rose. "I judge
we've some way to go yet."
"And get nowhere." Croyland turned again to his
table.
When May came down to dinner that night Gladys
met her on the stairs. "Hallo, baby. Who's your young
man?" Gladys ogled her.
"What do you mean?" said May.
"Aren't we coy! The boy who saw baby home."
"Oh, that was Mr. Wisberry. The man who came to
see Lord Croyland last week. He met me when I was
out this afternoon."
"How sweet of him! Did jolly well in the time, what?"
"I don't know."
"What's he up to down here?"
"He's down here to see Lord Croyland."
"What, again?"
"I don't know."
"All right, all right. I don't want him." Gladys
laughed unpleasantly. "He seems to have clicked good
and hard."
"Don't be disgusting," May cried.
"Got you where he wants you, hasn't he?" said
Gladys. Her eyes darkened. "Who is he anyway?"
"Oh, ask him!" said May furiously, and swept on.


CHAPTER XVIII
AFTER TEA
Bell drove back to Limbay and comforted himself with
a tea on the ample scale of the White Lion. He was
nevertheless at the police station before Gunn and a
grim pipe was smoked out before Gunn came.
"Well, George, he's taken you some time," Bell's
tone was satiric. "And what did you get out of him?"
o Gunn settled down in his chair without hurry. "We
got on very nice, thanks. I should judge you went the
wrong way to work with him, old man. Bit too much
of the high hand, if you know what I mean. These
young gents from college won't stand for that. You
can't drive 'em. Only get a damn-your-eyes that way.
He's a gentleman all right. Don't care if it snows pink,
he goes where he wants. Just a boy, of course. But I'll
say I took to him. And he didn't mind me, either."
Bell laughed. "Very pleasant all round. Thank you,
George, I'll try to do better next time. Well, as he's
your blue-eyed darling, I suppose he told you every-
thing?"
"Yes, he told me a bit, old man," said Gunn compla-
cently. "And very rum stuff it is."
"You don't say so!" Bell grunted. "You know,
George, in my silly way, I thought it would be, if
you got anything."
"All right, all right." Gunn was not disturbed. "Don't
start with your back up. That's no way to take it. I
tell you, we'll have to do some thinking about this."
i8S


186 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Right you are, George. I'm watching you," Bell
chuckled. Gunn pulled out a notebook. "Hallo! Hallo!
Took him down, did you? Oh, George! And him such a
nice young gentleman."
"You needn't be so smart." Gunn turned the pages.
"Just cut out the back chat for a bit. This wants
listening to. As soon as I got at him, he opened out
proper, told me he didn't want any mysteries about
himself—and this is what he said." . . . Put into the
order which the mind of Inspector Gunn required, the
story of the inheritance of Antony Wisberry was told.
Bell heard to the end in a silence of grim attention.
Still silent, he filled his pipe and lit it. Then, "Did you
say rum stuff, George?" he inquired. "You were right."
"Gets you guessing, don't it?" said Gunn with satis-
faction. "You know what I said to myself as he went
on? I was saying, this kind of tale won't do for me.
And before he'd finished, it looked so silly queer I
couldn't believe he'd made it up. Anybody who was
playing tricks would have a better yarn ready."
Bell spread himself and answered deliberately. "I
didn't say he made it up, George. I wouldn't be sur-
prised if some of it was true. There might be very queer
stuff at the back of this business. Often is, in a nasty
murder. But I don't have to believe your Mr. Wis-
berry is mother's angel boy because he's got hold of a
chance to blackmail Garstons'."
"My oath!" Gunn exploded. "You've gone right off
the rails. He's no blackmailer. He don't know what it
means."
"Keep calm. P'r'aps he don't. But what about Josh
Clunk? He was in this from the start. Your Mr. Wis-
berry says so. Clunk always knew everything—and a
bit more. And why is Clunk working in with Mr.
Wisberry? Not for his health, George."


AFTER TEA 187
"I can't see what Clunk's after," Gunn confessed.
"If you ask me, I don't believe Wisberry knows either.
He was kind of shy when he mentioned Clunk, as if he
wasn't sure how to put it. Look here. Take it Wisberry
went to Clunk, like he says, when he found about the
Garston process in his father's papers, and Clunk
thought he could work that into a nice little thing for
himself. Then you can explain Clunk all right. He want-
ed to get a good pull on Croyland—Alfred Garston's
letters went and Clunk defends the thief—Mrs. Gar-
ston gets murdered, something's gone from Mrs. Gar-
ston's room, and Clunk buzzes round the place next
day. If you say Clunk was gathering evidence to
squeeze Croyland good and hard, you've got it all
combed out."
"Thought you didn't like theories, George," Bell
smiled. "Can't do without 'em, can we? That's a good
one. Explains everything—except who killed the old
lady and who killed the constable. And I'd rather like
to know about those little points. But I don't say you're
wrong. I think you're getting very warm. Now I'd like
to put things my own way, if you don't mind. Take it
like this. Your friend Mr. Wisberry goes to Josh Clunk
saying his father discovered some invention Garstons
have been using for twenty years. Soon after a new
young woman gets into the Abbey, this Miss Dean,
coming to nurse Mrs. Garston. A little later Alfred
Garston's love letters are stolen from Miss Morrow.
Wisberry comes down here and goes to the Abbey to
see Croyland. A day or two after Mrs. Garston is mur-
dered and something else about Alfred is taken. And
the next day we find Wisberry and Clunk and Miss
Dean thick as thieves. If that don't mean they're all
in it together, what does it mean?"
Gunn frowned. "You want to say Wisberry did the


188 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
murder with that nurse helping him. I'll give you the
nurse, I don't feel safe with her myself. But I'm not
going to believe Wisberry's done anything dirty."
"Not till you can't help it. All right. You want
things so clear, George. I don't suppose each of 'em
did the murder. P'r'aps Wisberry didn't. Might be the
girl. She could have managed it and handed over the
loot to another of 'em—and he shot the constable
getting away. I'm not saying they're all equally guilty.
When you have three or four in a crime, there's gener-
ally one makes the others dance to his tune: some of
'em mayn't even know what he's up to. Might be
like that now with Josh Clunk about. But I want 'em
all."
"I don't know." Gunn was much troubled. "I've
got to own it looks bad. Look here though. You went
to ask Croyland about Wisberry. What did he say?"
"Ah. Now you're asking something." Bell knocked
out his pipe. "He handed out some rum stuff too,
George. It wasn't what he said, it was what he didn't
say. He made very small beer of Mr. Wisberry. As far
as he went, he bore out what Wisberry told you. Wis-
berry came to claim rights in an invention Garstons
had been using. But Croyland was very anxious to
make me believe he didn't care a damn for Wisberry:
said if the fellow was honest he was balmy."
"Well, he isn't that," Gunn cried.
"Which?" said Bell, with a grin. "No, I'm not taking
much stock in what Croyland put up. I should say
Clunk and Wisberry have got on to a bit of dirty
work by Garstons. But that don't give 'em leave to
murder."
"You think Croyland's keeping something back?"
"Bet your life." Bell was confidently scornful. "He's
not a little gentleman, George. I don't think he's be-


AFTER TEA 189
having at all nice. For a man that's just had his mother
murdered upstairs, I call him pretty cool. He don't
want any unpleasantness about it. He'd like it brought
in a natural death. If we're going to suspect Wisberry
or the nurse or somebody, well, he won't step us, but
he stands out. Pretty clear he's in a funk what may
turn up if it gets to a trial, but he means to bluff hard
he knows nothing."
"Well, then "Gunn stared.
"Well what?"
"That's not far off saying Croyland's our man."
Bell shook his head. "Won't do, George. He might
have killed his mother. But why should he go and kill
the constable? No. That must have been somebody
running away from the Abbey who couldn't afford to
be stopped."
"I see. Yes," Gunn admitted reluctantly. "Somebody
coming towards Limbay though. That cuts out Wis-
berry. He's staying the other side at Bradstock."
"You've got a point there, George," Bell nodded.
"But Josh Clunk's at Limbay. Take it anyhow you
like, we get back to Clunk. He's the man that put up
the show."
"I don't say you're wrong," Gunn frowned. "But
there's nothing to go into court with."
Bell filled another pipe. "Don't I know it!" he mut-
tered, and began to smoke with some violence.
Gunn watched him sympathetically. "Looks like
a nasty case, don't it?" he said at last. "What did you
think of doing, old man?"
"My Lord, I'd like to get my hands on him," Bell
grunted.
"Ah!" said Gunn.
The door opened. A police sergeant came in and shut
it behind him. "Beg pardon, sir," he said softly. "That


I9O THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Mr. Clunk's been here some little time. I said you were
engaged. He's pressing to see you."
"Got round you, did he?" Gunn sniffed. "Let him
wait. I'll ring if I want him." The sergeant withdrew
and he turned to Bell with a grin. "Hullo, hullo. This
looks like cold feet."
"It does, George. Probably heard you've got at Wis-
berry and he's afraid Wisberry's told too much. Keep
him waiting a bit. Do him good to fret."
But when Mr. Clunk was at last admitted, he came
beaming. "How kind of you to let me in, Inspector. I
must be disturbing your evening rest. Ah, Superin-
tendent Bell's here too. That's excellent." He drew up
a chair and made himself comfortable.
"Well, Mr. Clunk?" Bell's square face set hard.
"Come to make a statement?"
"I shouldn't call it that, you know," said Mr. Clunk.
"Confession, eh?"
Mr. Clunk tittered. "My dear friend, you're always
so pleasant."
"Thanks. I didn't mean to be funny."
"It's better not, isn't it?" Mr. Clunk sighed. "Really,
we ought not to cut jokes. No indeed. This is a very
terrible case, my friend. And I'm afraid it's a very
difficult one. I have the greatest sympathy with you.
One or two little suggestions occurred to me and I felt
it was only my duty to give you the advantage of
them."
"You're very good," said Bell. "I was thinking of
bringing you here, Mr. Clunk. There is some informa-
tion I want from you. Your young friend Mr. Wisberry
has been talking."
"I'm so glad," Mr. Clunk smiled. "I advised him to
tell you all about his affairs."
Bell was startled. "Oh, did you! Changed your


AFTER TEA I9I
mind then. When I was there, you told him not to say
a word without a solicitor."
"Quite so," Mr. Clunk beamed. "That was simply
for your good, my friend. It was necessary to restrain
you. You were attempting to frighten these two young
people. That won't do. I never allow that practice.
It's most improper—and very bad for the police. My
dear friend—don't you see?—if you had gone on bully-
ing my young friends you would have made them sullen
and defiant and confused the whole affair. Believe me,
your success in this case depends upon their being quite
open and candid with you. As soon as you had retired,
I advised Tony that when he was asked properly, he
should tell the police everything about his position.
Now, I hope you've made it possible, eh?" He chuckled
and rubbed his hands.
"You're playing a tricky game," Bell scowled. "You
own up to it, you arranged with this young fellow what
he should tell us."
"Dear me, this is rather paltry," Mr. Clunk sighed.
"My conduct is quite correct, it always is. You will
make nothing of a quarrel with me, you know that,
my friend."
"Expect me to kiss you when you interfere with my
inquiries?" Bell was loud: but it did not conceal that
he found the confidence, the serenity of Mr. Clunk
bafHing. "What I don't know is why you're here now."
"Now, really, really!" Mr. Clunk was hurt. "I came
to offer any assistance in my power. It is my duty as a
citizen, and as a solicitor—and indeed as a friend, for
I feel that my dear friend Tony Wisberry is in a man-
ner involved."
"So do I," said Bell. "Very much involved. And my
dear friend Mr. Joshua Clunk."
Mr. Clunk giggled. "Oh, I? Well, certainly, as his


192 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
friend and adviser and the solicitor of his family, I am
familiar with his affairs. But dear me, what a lot of
time we're wasting. Forgive my saying so, I don't
think you quite realize the importance of time in this
case. Suppose you ask me about any point you think
I can clear up for you. And then perhaps I might give
you some little ideas of my own."
"That's right," Gunn broke in. "That's the best
way. There is a bit we'd like to know from you, Mr.
Clunk. I'll run over Wisberry's statement and you can
check it."
, Mr. Clunk made a very good listener. At the end he
nodded and beamed. "Yes, that's very clear and com-
plete. I've nothing to correct. You appreciate it was
quite a surprise to me when Tony found this process
among his father's papers. A ve-ry great surprise."
"Was it?" said Bell. "You thought it was impor-
tant? But Wisberry's story is you told him to do noth-
ing about it."
"He is quite right. I advised him that on such evi-
dence he had no chance of making good any claim
against Garstons. I am sure any competent solicitor
would have given the same advice. And the event has
justified me. Tony has told you Lord Croyland's reply
to him—the process was discovered in Garstons' own
laboratories. No doubt Lord Croyland is prepared to
prove that."
"So there won't be an action," Bell grinned. "Pity.
Makes it look rather like an attempt at blackmail
that didn't come off."
Mr. Clunk was not to be irritated. "You shouldn't
say things like that. Really you shouldn't. It makes you
seem so foolish. If Lord Croyland felt able to take it as
blackmail he would prosecute. We should be happy to
meet him."


AFTER TEA 193
Bell thought that over. "Croyland told me that if
Wisberry's honest, he has a bee in his bonnet."
"Lord Croyland was practically compelled to tell
you so, wasn't he?" said Mr. Clunk, and his voice
squeaked.
Bell frowned and did business with his pipe and Gunn
cut in. "You stick to it, Mr. Clunk, this is a genuine
claim?"
"My dear sir! Absolutely. That's beyond dispute.
The papers can be produced. And, you will agree, Tony
has done nothing secretly." Mr. Clunk giggled. "Quite
otherwise, dear boy."
"Yes, he's made himself pretty conspicuous," Bell
agreed. "You haven't exactly been lying low either.
And just as soon as you two get busy down here,
crimes begin to happen. You said you had some sug-
gestions to make. What's your little idea about that?"
"Now this is taking the case rationally." Mr. Clunk
rubbed his hands. "But you're not quite accurate, my
dear friend. The first crime was committed before either
of us came here. If you recall, it was that which brought
me to Limbay—the theft of Miss Morrow's jewel case
with Alfred Garston's letters. I am free to admit that
before that occurred Tony had written about his claim
to Lord Croyland. But I give you my own opinion,
I do not think the theft of the letters was the conse-
quence of the claim." He stopped and tapped his teeth.
"I have considered that very carefully. No, I do not
think so, my friend."
The two stared at him, Gunn frankly puzzled, Bell
with concentrated interest. "Oh, the jewels were
pinched for the sake of the letters, were they? Well,
I always thought you knew more about that business
than we did."
Mr. Clunk did not deny it. What he said was: "My


194 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
dear friend, I put it quite plainly at the police court
the object of that theft must have been the letters.
You should have taken that up, really,you should."
"What was in them?" said Bell sharply.
"I have never seen them," Mr. Clunk answered. "I
do not know who arranged the theft. I do not know who
has them. I never heard of Alfred Garston till that
case." And suddenly he turned towards Gunn and his
large eyes became more prominent. "My dear sir,
you must have had great experience of these county
affairs. Were you here when Alfred Garston met his
death?"
"I was. We were both on it," said Gunn.
"Oh, really," Mr. Clunk blinked. "Superintendent
Bell too! I didn't know Scotland Yard was interested
in that affair. Just an accidental death, wasn't it?"
"That's all," said Bell curtly. "Drowned out sail-
ing."
"Ah yes, so I was told," Mr. Clunk murmured.
"Drowned in the harbour. Just so." He seemed to
lose the thread of his thoughts. "Well, what I was going
to ask was simply this: you gentlemen knew the sort
of man Alfred Garston was and his manner of life—
what sort of compromising matter could be found in
his letters?"
Neither of the two was in a hurry to answer that.
Mr. Clunk filled in the delay—or emphasized it—by
feeling in his pockets, finding a bag of sweets and offer-
ing it to them. It was rejected. "The lady told you
there was nothing in the letters," Bell said.
"Quite so, yes." Mr. Clunk took a sweet and sucked
complacently. "Nevertheless they were stolen."
"We're wandering," Bell frowned. "I'd like to keep
to you and Wisberry, please. About this invention. Do
you believe Garstons got it from Wisberry's father?"


AFTER TEA I97
I should think that practically impossible. No, I meant
something about Alfred Garston, or his family, or his
death, which it was most important to keep secret."
"I see. Your suggestion is, Croyland wanted to get
hold of the letters."
"Oh, my dear friend, you are so hasty," Mr. Clunk
sighed. "That is certainly one possibility."
"Croyland was afraid of something coming out
about Alfred Garston," said Bell, "so he had the let-
ters stolen to keep it quiet. And then he remembered
his mother knew something, so he had her murdered.
That's the idea, eh?"
Mr. Clunk looked at him with plaintive surprise.
"Why will you rush on so? It is unwise, really it is.
That Lord Croyland may have thought it necessary
to obtain possession of the letters is clearly a possi-
bility. But beyond that I should quite decline to go at
present. For there is at least one other possibility. The
letters may have been stolen by someone who wished
to use them to put pressure on Lord Croyland. With-
out prejudice, I may tell you I rather favour that
opinion." He put his fingers together and looked at
them. "Yes, as at present advised, I should prefer
to act on those lines."
"You think Croyland's been blackmailed about Al-
fred," Bell summed up curtly. "That's what's back of
everything."
> "I should infer an attempt has been made," Mr.
Clunk corrected him, "and that it is an element in the
case—oh, certainly an element. My dear friend, are
you in any way acquainted with Mr. Gordon Har-
wood?"
Gunn looked at Bell with a blank face. Bell stiffened.
"I do happen to have heard of him," he said, heavily
sarcastic.


I98 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Quite so, yes, quite so," Mr. Clunk giggled. "I sup-
pose Lord Croyland didn't happen to mention him?"
"He did not."
"That was father a pity," Mr. Clink beamed. "Yes,
indeed. Quite an unhappy oversight. Did you see
Lord Croyland's secretary?"
"Miss Hurst? Yes- She didn't say anything about
Harwood either."
"No, I was afraid she would forget," Mr. Clunk
purred. "That was one of my reasons for coming to
you. You know I shouldn't be surprised to hear that
she is quite familiar with him."
"What exactly are you giving us?" Bell snapped.
"Something you'd swear to, or suspicions?"
"Oh, my dear friend, I have been most careful to
distinguish between what I know and what I consider
probable. Pray note that. Now I know Mr. Gordon
Harwood has been staying for some little time at the
Grand Hotel, Spraymouth. I know that he came to
see Lord Croyland last week. I know that Miss Hurst
drove in the Spraymouth direction the same afternoon.
I allow myself to infer that Mr. Harwood is not a
stranger to her."
Bell sat silent staring at him. From the bewilderment
of Gunn came a grumble. "Who is this chap Harwood
anyway?"
Mr. Clunk smiled and appealed to Bell. "Now how
would you put it, my friend?" But Bell shook an im-
patient head. "Well, Mr. Gunn, Mr. Gordon Harwood
lends money, quite a lot of money, but I don't think
he would lend to you. Mr. Gordon Harwood is an
agent, yes, an agent," he giggled, "but I should be
sorry if he were yours. He is quite in the front rank
of his profession, which is blackmail. But I'm afraid
Mr. Bell has never yet been able to—eh?"


AFTER TEA 199
"My oath!" Gunn cried. "And that smart minx
the secretary is in with him!"
"Ah, my dear sir, we mustn't judge modern women
as we did those of our own youth. We shouldn't be
prejudiced by their manners or their adornments.
These things are within the liberty of choice of each
generation. The heart may be true enough, I always
say"
"All right. Don't say it now," Bell broke in. "You've
given me plenty to think about without a sermon.
I've got to say I'm obliged to you, Mr. Clunk"
"Now that is most pleasant," Mr. Clunk cried.
"That is what I hoped for. Really, I am most anxious
to work with you in this case."
"Yes, I believe you are." Bell's grim stolidity did
not relax. "And I don't mind telling you that's what
bothers me. It's not much in your line, is it? I want to
know why you're taking such an almighty interest in
this case. You must have done a lot of work on it—and
before the big things happened. Where do you come
in ? If you want it straight, what do you stand to gain?"
Mr. Clunk drew himself up. "My dear friend, I
am not offended. I am not hurt. I see it is very natural
you should feel so. You have not knowledge. My in-
terest in this case began a very long time ago. Tony
Wisberry's mother was my dear friend, my very dear
friend. It is the greatest sorrow of my life that she
was not granted long years of happy marriage. There
is no better blessing in God's gift. She was robbed of
it. I did all that I could to discover by what means and
I failed. I do not often fail. That has been a bitter
memory: a regret that smarts. It is my duty to her, it
is my duty to God, to use all my powers to bring the
truth to light." He stood up. "God bless your endea-
vours, my dear friend, God speed you." He tripped out.


AFTER TEA 201
surprised Lewis. He sat and sighed till Lewis asked him
if anything was wrong. "Not wrong, my boy," Mr.
Clunk mourned, "only not right. I see my way quite
clearly. I have told these good fellows how to act. But
I can't feel sure of them. Not very clever fellows, Lewis.
I'm sadly afraid they will blunder again. That might be
ruinous. Well, well, well, we are in God's hands. But we
shall have to make our own arrangements. I think we
had better have another man down, Lewis. Someone
who could do rough work, eh?"
"Scott's up to anything," said Lewis.
"Quite. Yes, quite. A very reliable fellow," Mr.
Clunk beamed. And he rang up Scott.


CHAPTER XIX
LORD CROYLAND IS OUT
It was already dark when Bell and Gunn set out again
for the Abbey, a clear night with clouds moving across
the stars. They made good speed on the empty road,
slowed into the darkness of the trees of the Abbey, and
their headlights discovered its gray mass.
The butler received them with aggrieved surprise:
did not conceal satisfaction in announcing that his
lordship was out. He was told it wouldn't do, but
insisted that his lordship was out, had gone out into
the grounds after dinner—if the gentlemen wished to
wait, a gracious hand gave permission.
"Does he often walk in the grounds at night?" said
Bell, and was told that his lordship did at times. "All
right. We'll have a walk too." He turned away and
took Gunn's arm. "Just a bit odd, George," he mut-
tered. The band of light from the hall was shut off by
the closing door. They stood and looked through the
dark and listened to its rustling murmur. "Not a sign
of him. Where's he gone ? And why's he gone?"
"You can't make anything of this," Gunn protested.
"Lots o' chaps like a stroll in the evening."
Bell did not argue, but looked along the paved
walk by the house and drew him away into the garden.
There too no one was to be seen, no footfall sounded.
They moved quietly down across the lawns and one
arm pressed the other and they stopped. "Coming
up from the ruins, eh?" Bell whispered.
202


LORD CROYLAND IS OUT 203
A small red glow approached, they smelt tobacco,
a big form came into sight.
"Good-evening, my lord," said Bell.
"Who are you?" Croyland's voice was fierce.
"Superintendent Bell and Inspector Gunn. Sorry to
disturb you."
"What the devil do you want now?"
"Well, shall we talk about it here?"
"I don't mind."
"This will do. If we shan't be disturbed."
"No one disturbs us," Croyland growled. "I'll give
you five minutes. You'll have to understand, my man,
I can't have you breaking in on me whenever you
choose."
"It's your own fault we're here now, my lord. Much
better to be frank with us. You leave us to get our
information otherwise. You'll have to take the conse-
quences."
"Damn it, are you threatening me?" Croyland said
thickly. "If you are, you can go to the devil."
"That sort of thing's no good. I've got to ask you
why you didn't tell me Gordon Harwood had been
here."
o Croyland made noises. "Hmph. That fellow. Didn't
think of it. Nothing to do with this business. Nothing
to do with anything."
"Do you know what Harwood's reputation is?"
Croyland laughed. "Stinks, I suppose, doesn't it?"
"But you saw him all the same?"
"I did. Wanted to know what he was up to."
"And what was it?"
Croyland cleared his throat. "Sort of blackmail.
Told me he was going to put up a fellow as my brother's
son. Wanted me to pay to keep it quiet. I told him to
go to the devil."
r


204 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"I see. There isn't a son, I suppose?"
"Never heard of it. Don't believe a word of it. You
know as much about my brother as I do. More, eh?
Any reason to think he had a son?"
"I have not," said Bell.
"No," Croyland rumbled. "Blackmailing trick. Clev-
erly managed^ Couldn't prosecute. Nothing to take
hold of."
"You might have told us though."
"Why? What's it got to do with you?"
"It might have something to do with your mother's
murder."
"Don't see it."
"I've met a good deal of blackmail, my lord, and
my experience is there's generally a something to it.
Not what the chap threatens, most likely, but just
something he feels sure the other fellow wants to keep
quiet. Now, I put it to you, is there anything Harwood
could be nasty about?"
"Damn it, no," Croyland growled. "I've got noth-
ing to be afraid of."
"Then we have to take it he thinks there is," said
Bell. "Else he'd never have tried it on."
"What do you mean?"
"You remember Miss Morrow's letters from your
brother were stolen. Your mother may have had some
letters too. If an attempt was made to steal them last
night, that might be how your mother met her death."
Croyland mumbled and grunted. "Have you got in-
formation Harwood was here last night?"
"Not yet," said Bell.
"Hmph. Heard anything about the man that shot
the policeman?"
"Not so far."
"Doesn't amount to anything then. No evidence at


LORD CROYLAND IS OUT 205
all. I don't believe my mother had any letters of my
brother's."
Bell was silent for a moment. "That seems a bit
odd," he said slowly. "A mother generally keeps some
of a son's letters. And a son that's dead—well!"
"I don't know of any," Croyland growled. "That's
all I can tell you."
"So you feel no suspicion of Harwood?"
"Suspect nobody." Croyland cleared his throat. "No
ground. Told you so."
"I wonder why he stayed on in these parts after you
turned him down." Bell asked of the surrounding
night. "Must have had something in his mind." He
turned to Croyland. "I suppose it never occurred to
you some of your people might be standing in with
him."
"It didn't," Croyland grunted, and then with a sud-
den ferocity, "Who do you mean? What are you after
now?"
"Somebody who knows your affairs from inside."
Croyland made noises. "Nothing to know. Told
you that a dozen times. I've had enough of this. If
you have any evidence bring it out. No more time to
waste on fancies."
"Thank you. That's all now," said Bell.
Croyland grunted something profane and strode
away.
For a moment Bell stood looking down towards
the rustling bushes about the ruins. "Ah, well, come
on, George," he sighed. "Let's get back."
The car swung out to the road again and Gunn be-
came conversational. "Well, we haven't made much
of that, old man. I can't half make him out. All he cares
for is to hush it up. But he must know it's going to
make a noise with the doctor swearing to murder. The


206 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
only way I see to take that is that he had a hand in it
and he's in an almighty funk. But then you'd think
he'd jump at a chance to put it on Harwood. And he
won't hear of that."
"He's afraid to have Harwood talk, that's plain
enough," said Bell.
"Well, all right. But then he said he told Harwood to
go to the devil. That don't look like being afraid of
him."
"We don't know if he did, though," Bell objected.
"Ah, but that won't do, old man. Supposing he didn't.
Supposing he made terms with Harwood, then Har-
wood had no reason to try for any more papers, and
that cuts Harwood out of the business last night."
"Yes, you've got a point there, George," Bell ad-
mitted. "I like that. Remember who put us on to Har-
wood. It was Josh Clunk. Just like him to come trailing
a red herring."
"It's not that quite," said Gunn. "All he said was,
the chap was down here seeing Croyland—and that's
true and we wouldn't have got it but for Clunk—and
if you ask me, our knowing it gave Croyland a knock."
"It did so. A nasty knock. Yes, you're in good form
to-night, George. There must be something in the
Harwood business that Croyland funks."
"And yet he turned him down," Gunn insisted. "No,
I can't half make it out."
"Something that Josh Clunk has a sniff of too,"
Bell went on. "He wants to get us on to it. I don't
like that. Croyland bluffed it last week. Now his
mother's been murdered he's afraid of it. What the
devil was it?"
"That tale about Alfred leaving a son—that won't
do," said Gunn. "He never had a legitimate son. Son
cropping up after twenty years too—rats."


LORD CROYLAND IS OUT 207
"Oh no. Nothing in that. Croyland wouldn't funk
it, either: wouldn't have mentioned it if he did. I dare-
say Harwood may have come with that tale, but you
bet your life he's got on to something else. He don't
start a game unless he knows where a man's weak. And
now Croyland's in a sweat, we should find out too.
Since his mother was killed. It beats me, George."
"Ah," Gunn gave him sympathy, and the car made
a mile in silence.
"If I knew why Croyland went out to-night I'd know
something," Bell announced.
Gunn was not impressed. "You do go for trifles,
old man," he said tolerantly. "But I've got to own
I don't care for Croyland's ways. He's tricky, to my
mind."
"I don't bet against it, George," said Bell.


CHAPTER XX1
EMBARRASSMENT OF SUPERINTENDENT
BELL
In the morning Bell brought a gloomy face to the
police station. Sleeping on things, he complained, did
not straighten them out. Had Gunn any news? Gunn
had not. Bell settled down with his pipe and was
philosophical.
He didn't know that he wanted anything more. The
trouble with the blamed case was that they had a deal
too much. He always found that the worst kind. The
case that gave you nothing at all wanted a bit of pa-
tience and a lot of work but it was easy going compared
to one with a whole lot of queer things about. Starting
with nothing, you could keep your head clear and lay
out what you had to try for. But when you began with
a big mix-up of stuff all pointing different ways, no
knowing which to take, you lost yourself trying one
thing and another. "Talk about being embarrassed by
riches, don't they? That's us, George. We're million-
aires in this case. Got so much dirty work stinking at
us."
"That's right," Gunn nodded. "What did you think
of getting on to first?"
"I'm going to get on to Old Man Clunk," said Bell.
"He's been a lot too busy to please me. I'm fed up with
Josh Clunk working my cases for me. I'll have him
watched. I phoned for young Underwood last night."
208


EMBARRASSMENT OF BELL 211
bring the stuff" down from London. It looks a bit like
Nurse's touch. Just the sort of thing she might have
been put in to do. And all the funny stuff's been hap-
pening since she came."
"Yes, George. That's one of the things I'm think-
ing," said Bell grimly.
"She wouldn't buy her drugs down here though."
"She shouldn't," Bell admitted. "You think every-
body slips up some time. Well, it's about time they
began. We could do with it."
The telephone rang. Gunn snapped an answer, then
changed his tone and murmured grateful approval,
listening eagerly. "Many thanks. Just what I wanted.
Good-bye." He turned to Bell. "That's the post office.
They've traced that call to the Grand at Spraymouth
early the morning after the murder. It came from the
Abbey. So somebody there gave Harwood the tip he'd
better be off. Somebody has slipped up, old man."
"Only we don't know who it is," said Bell. "We
are getting a lot of stuff, aren't we?" There was a
noise in the outer office. "Hallo! What's going to
happen now? Mrs. Garston come back to say she isn't
dead?"
A sergeant came in with much care in opening and
shutting the door and stood with his back against it.
"It's that Miss Morrow, sir. Seems rather losing hold
of herself, as you might say. Quite upset. Asking to see
you, very wild."
"Come on," said Bell quickly. "Let's have her while
she's worked up."
The bulk of Miss Morrow came in violently. She
clutched a newspaper. "Is that true, Inspector?" she
cried. "Tell me, is that true?" She thrust the crumpled
paper upon Gunn and with a trembling hand pointed
to a place in it.


EMBARRASSMENT OF BELL 213
years ago and you've never told the police till now.
That's a criminal offence. That makes you guilty too."
"Me?" She stared at him, her swollen, reddened
face showing no sign of fear but indignation and be-
wilderment. "Oh, how stupid you are!" She beat upon
her knee in futile passion. "It's all so hopeless with men
like you. I couldn't say anything. We settled that ever
so long ago. Of course we couldn't. It would simply
have killed her. And it wouldn't have brought Alfred
back to us. It wouldn't have done any good at all.
And the horrible disgrace of it!"
"You say both you and Mrs. Garston knew Alfred
was murdered by Lord Croyland," Bell said slowly.
"How did you know?"
"He told me himself," she cried.
"What! Alfred told you he'd been murdered? Did
he! How did he manage that?"
"Why will you be so stupid!" She wrung her hands.
"It's simply impossible to make you understand any-
thing. I had his letters, of course. He told me every-
thing—oh, my poor boy!" Weeping again overcame her.
"In his letters," said Bell more gently. "Now do try
to think what you say, Miss Morrow. You wouldn't
have any letters from him after his death, would
you?"
"Of course I didn't," she sobbed. "Oh, how silly.
It was before he was killed."
"Before he was killed, he wrote that Croyland had
killed him. Is that right?"
"No, no, no, not that he had. How could he? You
are so stupid. He wrote to me about Lord Croyland
hating him and wanting him dead, and if ever anything
happened to him, I could be sure it was Lord Croy-
land's fault. Dreadful letters. My poor boy. He knew
—he knew"


214 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"I see. And those were the letters in the jewel case
which was stolen?"
Miss Morrow nodded and gulped and again wept.
"I wish you'd told us what was in those letters be-
fore."
"How could I?" she sobbed. "We always said no
one must ever know."
"Mrs. Garston had letters of the same kind?"
"Yes, yes. Just the same."
"I see. Now why should you think Lord Croyland
murdered her? She's been living with him for twenty
years quite safe."
"Oh yes, it's been dreadful."
"I daresay. Still, nothing happened to her. Why
should he murder her now?"
"He murdered Alfred," said Miss Morrow fiercely.
"No other reason?"
"What does it matter about reasons? He did! Can't
you see he did?"
"You mustn't talk like that." Bell shook his head.
"We shall have to make our inquiries. You mustn't
let anyone else hear a word. You see, if you let it
out you'll be telling Lord Croyland he's suspected.
That won't do. Do you understand?"
Miss Morrow nodded. "Yes, yes, of course. He
mustn't know the'police know. He'd killime."
In that satisfactory frame of mind she was put into
a cab.
"My oath!" said Gunn. "I don't know but what
she's right, old man. Croyland might kill her if he
heard what she'd given us. Tightened it up good, hasn't
she? You asked her what reason Croyland had for kill-
ing his mother now. That's an easy one. He knew some-
body had got hold of these letters. He wanted to make
sure his mother and her letters were put out of the way."


EMBARRASSMENT OF BELL 215
"Yes, you can take it like that, George," Bell an-
swered slowly. "The trouble is, what started the busi-
ness? Why did somebody go digging up Alfred twenty
years after he was dead?"
"I see how that could happen all right. Miss Morrow
and Mrs. Garston may have been talking. You can bet
they did talk sometimes. Say the secretary picked it
up. She gave this blackmailing chap Harwood the
office. He went for Miss Morrow's letters and got 'em.
He put Croyland in a funk—and there you are."
"That's quite neat," Bell admitted. "But where am
I, George? You mean Croyland did the murder and
Harwood was just playing about?"
"You could cut Harwood right out if you like,"
Gunn explained. "Using this idea the women talked,
Croyland got worried, got desperate, and went for one
lot of letters first, then the other—and killed his
mother by the way."
"And that's quite neat too, George," Bell smiled.
"You're in form to-day. But I can't do without Har-
wood myself. He has been down here. He has been up
to something about Croyland. By himself or with that
secretary. My Lord! She could have killed the old lady
herself. She's hefty enough. We could cut out Croy-
land, if you like." He meditated sardonically. "But
did you say Miss Morrow had tightened the case up?
Seems to me she's loosened it quite a lot. What she
says you can use against anybody you've ever heard
of. It comes to this. She's given us the reason why
her letters were stolen: an accusation in 'em of Croy-
land by Alfred. Everybody's acting against Croyland
—Harwood and the secretary, Wisberry and the nurse,
and my dear old Josh Clunk—and of course Croyland
would like to squash the whole thing. So where are
we?"


2l6 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"You're being too clever to my mind." Gunn shook
his head. "I should say, after this, it lies between
Croyland and Harwood, with Croyland a strong fa-
vourite. Hallo!" The telephone rang. He answered it
and listened. "Right. Nothing more doing there, then.
You'd better come back." He turned to Bell. "That's
my man at Spraymouth. He says Harwood wasn't out
the night of the murder. He dined in the hotel. There's
no late trains this way. His car was locked up. Pretty
good alibi. That does cut Harwood out." He grinned
broadly. "And leaves Croyland in, old man."
"All right. I don't mind," Bell grunted. "My Lord,
it's a comfort to get something clear. Harwood didn't
kill her himself. That don't let the secretary out. Quite
otherwise. We still want a little heart-to-heart talk
with Mr. Harwood. But look here, George. Take this
another way round. Why did Alfred go writing to the
women that Croyland wanted him dead? We know a
bit about Alfred Garston, we went into him pretty
thorough, and we never came across anything between
him and his brother."
Gunn shook his head. "No. Alfred was all kinds of a
bad egg but there wasn't any suspicion of a row in
the family. What we did think was that Croyland—
Henry Garston he was then, wasn't he?—that Henry
had done his damnedest for the fellow. There was
never any idea of any foul play about the death. A
chance it might have been suicide, Alfred guessing he
was up against it for that girl's murder. About a million
to one it was accident. Besides, Croyland had no mo-
tive for killing him. Alfred was the younger one. Croy-
land had the firm and everything in his hands—why
should he want Alfred dead?"
"I can think of a reason," Bell said slowly. "To save
the family name. He probably knew Alfred would be


EMBARRASSMENT OF BELL 217
in the dock for murder. It stopped a nasty business for
the family, Alfred going out when he did. But still—
pretty steep to suppose Croyland would take the risk
of doing a murder himself for that."
"I don't believe it, old man. Not for a moment."
"No, I don't think I believe it," Bell agreed. "Be-
sides, it don't explain anything. If Croyland did kill
him on that account, it would all happen quick. But
here was Alfred writing letters to the women saying
Croyland wanted him dead. That means a bit o' time.
I should say it was just one of Alfred's monkey tricks.
We know he was a mean, dirty beggar. Just the sort to
get the women on his side by pretending he was a poor,
injured innocent and his brother a brute."
"You've got it, I should say," Gunn nodded.
"Yes, that's about it. But then—don't you see?—
we're up against this. Why should Croyland funk that
sort of stuff now? The women may have been giving
him private hell for years. But there couldn't be any-
thing else to it. As blackmail, it's rotten. Couldn't be
used, only in the family, and they knew already."
"Well, I wouldn't say," Gunn hesitated. "Not so
nice for Croyland to have it put about he killed his
brother. Once that sort of talk gets going it worries men
mad: even when they know it's all bunk. You must
have seen that in your time, old man."
"I have," said Bell slowly. "And it makes a very
awkward case to handle. But I don't think we've got
one of that sort here. Croyland don't look mad to me,
not by a jugful. He's playing a deep game, whatever it
is. And if Harwood reckoned to make him bleed by a
yarn that he murdered his brother, I should say Har-
wood reckoned him up wrong. And that's not usual with
Mr. Harwood." He gazed at Gunn. "Do you know what
I've begun to think, George? I'm wondering if Alfred


218 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
might have put something more in those letters than
talk about Croyland wishing him dead."
"Miss Morrow was telling the truth all light," Gunn
said.
"Oh yes, absolutely. But maybe not all the truth."
"If there'd been anything else nasty about Croyland,
you bet she'd have told us."
"She would," Bell agreed. "If she got the hang of
it. Well, maybe there wasn't anything. But suppose
there might have been."
"I say, I say," Gunn protested. "This is a bit too
clever to make sense. Don't seem to me to get any-
where."
"I know it don't," Bell said gloomily. "What sticks
in my head is, Harwood must have had something big
to work on, something that really hit Croyland where he
lived. Looks like Harwood couldn't prove it, he was
trying for proofs, but he'd got on it."
"What could there be? Remember what Croyland
said it was—about Alfred having a son. That's all
bunk."
"Of course it is. If Croyland cared a damn, he
wouldn't have told us. But you can take your oath
there's a something."
Gunn stared at him. "This isn't like you, old man.
If it was anyone else, I'd say it was being run away
with by your own idea."
Bell smiled. "Not my idea, George—Josh Clunk's.
Didn't you notice he's always had his nose down after
those letters? He put us on to Harwood. He didn't
come into this business to work up a yarn Croyland
killed his brother. He knows there's something else. I
wouldn't be surprised if he knows what it is. Remember
him burbling about the personality of Alfred Garston?"
"Then what do you suppose Clunk's up to?" Gunn


EMBARRASSMENT OF BELL 219
cried. "How is it going to help him to get Harwood
pinched?"
"Cover him up, wouldn't it?" said Bell. "We get
busy making a case against Harwood and Old Man
Clunk slips out." He snorted. "I don't think!"
"Well but "Gunn began, and a plain-clothes
constable came in. "What is it?"
"About that medicine, sir. Warrens' have sold several
bottles to Mrs. Garston's maid. Paid herself. Didn't
have it on the Abbey account."
"All right," Gunn dismissed him. "The maid then,
old man," he whistled. "The maid, with her down on
the nurse. Looks ugly."
"And that's another of 'em," Bell grinned. "Quite
embarrassing, isn't it, George?"
"I own I don't see my way," Gunn lamented.
"See your way!" said Bell grimly. "You want a lot.
I know what I'm going to do. We ought to hear about
Harwood soon. If he don't turn up in his regular ways
in town, we'll know he's the man we want. If he does,
our people will get him quick. Then I'll put him through
it. And as soon as young Underwood gets here I'll stick
him on to Josh Clunk's tail. If Josh isn't up to some-
thing on his little own I miss my guess."
In a little while Sergeant Underwood arrived and
was given his instructions, and under another name
and without a mustache took a humble room at the
Victoria.
Before lunch the Chief of the Criminal Investigation
Department rang up Bell. Mr. Gordon Harwood had
been found at Brighton: he had his usual room at his
usual hotel: no attempt at secrecy. He was told that
the officers investigating the murder of Mrs. Garston
at Bradstock Abbey in Sandshire wanted to ask him
some questions. He replied that it was damned non-


220 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
sense, for he knew nothing about Mrs. Garston and
had never seen her. He was told that it would be neces-
sary to take him to Limbay to give him an opportunity
of explaining himself. His answer was that they would
get themselves into an infernal mess meddling with
him.
The Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department
gave judgment that Mr. Harwood was rattled and
bluffing but confident. He advised Bell to go slow. He
did not want another charge which would have to be
dropped.
"I'll watch it, sir," said Bell ruefully.
"All right. You'll get him this afternoon. I should
say you're on to something. But God knows what. Take
your time. Good-bye."
Bell turned to Gunn. "The Chief thinks there's a
something, George. And a good judge too. Now what
about a bit o' lunch."
But before this, rather before Sergeant Underwood
reported himself at the police station, though they
had come by the same train, a short, thick-set young
man approached the Victoria Hotel. He had an unob-
trusive care in keeping out of people's way rather at
variance with the pugnacity of his heavy face.
Mr. Clunk was taking the sun on the hotel steps. He
strolled away along the promenade into the gardens,
and there choosing an empty seat sat down. The young
man joined him. "Very good and quick of you, Scott,"
Mr. Clunk beamed. "Have you any money?"
"Drew twenty pound, sir."
"I'm afraid that won't be enough." Mr. Clunk began
to feel in his pocketbook. "You have to get a motor
bicycle. If you can hire, that will do, but it must be a
good one. You know all about that, don't you?"
The bulldog face grinned. "I think so."


EMBARRASSMENT OF BELL 221
"Yes, Lewis said you did." Mr. Clunk gave him notes.
"Now what you have to do is quite easy. Buy a map
and you'll find on it Bradstock Abbey. Take your bi-
cycle and go out there. You're a tourist going to look
at the ruins. You'll meet Lewis. You have to stay out
there all night and notice anybody who comes, but most
particularly anybody who goes. What we're most in-
terested in is Lord Croyland, a large gentleman, big
head, no neck, stooping shoulders. There"—he passed
Scott a portrait cut from a paper. "If he leaves, you
follow him wherever he goes. Telephone me as you
can. But on no account lose him. Quite a simple job,
you see."
"Right, sir. Do I stay out there for ever?"
"Oh no, no. You take the night. Lewis will relieve
you in the morning. I don't think this will go on very
long. Now have a really good meal and get anything
you want for the night and run along. Good-bye, my
dear boy."
Mr. Clunk tripped away.
As he sat down to lunch, a little later than others,
he remarked that Miss Morrow was not there. That
did not surprise him. But he sighed. "Poor dear lady.
Too cruel! Really too cruel." He reflected on the shock
which the news must have given Miss Morrow. It did
not spoil his lunch. He was almost the last in the room,
eating a second helping of rice pudding.
As he drank his coffee rather belated among the as-
pidistras in the lonely lounge, he became aware of a
man in its darkest corner: a man who read a paper. The
ineligibility of that seat for reading was obvious to Mr.
Clunk. He dipped lumps of sugar in his coffee and
sucked.
After a while he went out swiftly and tripped away
to the post office and went in and spent some time writ-


INVESTIGATIONS AT THE ABBEY 225
at all. They could all come and look, Gladys and the
policemen and everybody. She was not to be frightened.
There was nothing to hide.
Ah! He felt like that too. She gave a little laugh of
happy courage. He certainly wasn't hiding himself.
Rather difficult for him to hide! What a big fellow! But
he wasn't trying by any means.
Tony had the aged car of the Cock and Pie: it was
stopped on the summit of one of the hillocks of the road,
and from that eminence he watched for her. He waved
his hat, he came to her in swinging strides.
"I say!" he took hold of her shy hand and did not
say it. She had to look up at him, quite a way up to
his face—comical face—big chin and hard but so kind.
She smiled at it and felt like crying. So it was neces-
sary to look away.
"Awfully decent of you to come," said Tony in a
hurry. "I was coming for you really, but I thought
p'raps you'd rather I didn't, so I left it to you for a
bit." He still had hold of her hand. "If you hadn't, I
should have come along. See?"
"I see."
"Knew I'd be here, didn't you?"
"Well, I came." May looked up at him again and
for that was allowed to recover her hand.
"Good girl. I've got to see you every day, you know.
Promise."
"How can I: Why?"
"Just because," said Tony, "if I don't I shall come
and break in. Get that."
"Oh, don't be absurd."
"I won't. But you're my job."
"Indeed I'm nothing of the sort," she cried.
"Better get used to the idea," Tony smiled.
"I don't want any help," she said fiercely. "I won't


INVESTIGATIONS AT THE ABBEY 227
There's just this dreadful thing around us all the time.
We're caught in it, you're sorry for me and you want to
be kind. That's all that really is."
"My ghost! Don't you believe it. There's just you
and me and nothing else that really matters to either
of us. The mess at the Abbey—the only thing about
that you've got to think of is we're in it together."
"You're not. You're not. You're nothing to do with
it."
"In it just as deep as you," Tony repeated. "My
good girl, these priceless bobbies are on to me all right.
If there wasn't any May in the world I should have to
stay and see it through."
She looked at him with large eyes. "Oh, but that's
my fault," she said unsteadily.
"What, again?" Tony laughed.
"They think I'm something to do with you, so they
suspect you too. I ought never to have spoken to you."
"Yes, all your fault," Tony chuckled. "I say, you
are like my mother. Anything that went wrong with
people she liked was always her fault."
"You told me that before." May was contemptuous.
"Yes, it does keep coming up. You're very like her.
But let's be reasonable by all means," he grinned.
"Everything is really my fault. The bobbies only worry
you because it bothers 'em I should know somebody in
the house. I'm the man they're after. I don't blame
em.
"Don't be so horrible."
"We've got to see it their way. A chap who has a
rummy claim on Croyland might break into the house
to get his papers and then—the rest just happened."
"They don't think it was you. They couldn't."
"Well, I should say that's one of the things they've
pretty well got to think. And we've got to make up


INVESTIGATIONS AT THE ABBEY 229
He watched her go well pleased at himself and life.
She went with her mind in tumult. She believed him
completely: she was as sure as of her own life that he
could never hurt anybody, never do anything cruel or
mean. She felt him just what she wanted a man to be,
strong and gentle and true and rather a child. But he
was a child! He didn't seem to think. He hadn't done
anything wrong, so everything must come right. As
if the world was like that! He just laughed and talked
about seeing it through—and all the while he knew
those detectives were working to prove him a murderer
and they had a sort of evidence. And he was only going
to wait and stand up and say he wasn't, though he
really knew people must suspect him. Such a child!
She must think for both of them. Unless the real
truth was found out, it would be terrible for him.
Even if he wasn't accused, there would be dreadful
things said. See it through! They would never be free
of it unless they could prove how it really happened,
why it was done, who did it. No other way to be happy,
to be safe. They couldn't ever—without the truth.
How could it have happened?
She lived over again the moments of her waking and
the stumble on the dead woman's body in the dark. No
fresh memory came: it was all cruelly vivid and fa-
miliar; no new thought, only the old, first, baffling ques-
tions: How did the woman come there in the old arch-
way? Why was it there she was killed?
While May thus stated the problem Inspector Gunn
was making his investigations at the Abbey.
The butler received him as if he were a common,
insignificant incident. He established himself in the
morning room and said that there were one or two
people he wanted to have a word with. He would begin
with Mrs. Garston's maid.


23O THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
While he was waiting for her, Gladys came in. "Hal-
lo! I didn't know you'd blown in again. Anything I
can do for you?"
"Well, there might be. Later on, miss, if you don't
mind. I'll let you know."
"Righto. I shall be about. Any news?"
"Not what you'd call news. I wouldn't say but there
might be developments before long."
Gladys laughed. "That's the stuff to give the troops,
what?" She winked and swung out.
She produced in the simple mind of Inspector Gunn
the conviction that he did not like her; and also a
suspicion that she was not as free from anxiety as she
wished him to believe.
The maid stood before him tense, fighting excite-
ment, and under his slow inspection broke out. What
did he want her for? Was there something he wanted
to ask her? Gunn told her to sit down. But that did not
check her flow of words. "I'm sure anything I can tell
you, you've only got to ask me, I can't hardly bear it,
my poor dear lying murdered and nothing done about
it, it's too cruel"
"Now don't talk what you don't know," Gunn said.
"There's a good deal been done, Mrs. Jones. And one
of the things we've found out is that your mistress was
drugged when she was killed. Do you know anything
about that?"
The flood was checked. "Ah, poor dear!" Mrs. Jones
rolled her eyes. "Who says she was drugged?"
"That's the doctor's statement."
"Then it's that nurse!" Mrs. Jones cried, and her
yellow face was paler. "The wicked creature! Didn't I
tell you she was always vicious with my poor lamb?"
"You say the nurse drugged her. You didn't think
of that before."


INVESTIGATIONS AT THE ABBEY 231
"I don't ever say no more than I know." Mrs. Jones
tossed her head. "I wouldn't do such a thing, I'm sure."
"The doctor says it was done with a medicine called
Algicure. There was a bottle of that in Mrs. Garston's
room. You've been buying Algicure in Limbay. The
chemist will swear to you. Now be careful. Can you
explain that?"
Mrs. Jones licked her lips. "What chemist?" she said.
"I've got the chemist all right. Warren & Son. You
bought more than one bottle."
"Which I use it myself, Inspector, suffering with my
poor nerves like I do. Sometimes I go about with my
head aching fit to split, I don't rightly know what I'm
doing, I couldn't never have kep' up and done my duty
by my poor dear without my medicine. And it's a very
good medicine, I'm sure, I've took it for years, which
the chemist recommended me to it himself and now to
turn round and say it's drugs, I don't know what he
means by it." She wept.
"Your story is you bought the stuff for yourself. Why
did Mrs. Garston take it?"
"I'm sure I don't know. I don't know as she did,"
Mrs. Jones sobbed.
"That won't do. You were her maid. There was a
bottle half empty by her bed."
"I don't know anything about it. I never had anything
to dowithhermedicines. She had ever so many. That was
the nurse's business. That nurse, she wouldn't let me
give her anything, poor dear. I wish she'd never had
anything worse than mine, which it's a very good, nice
medicine, and I never took any harm from it."
"Very well. I don't think much of your story. I'll
have to warn you, you'll be asked about it at the inquest.
That'll do now."
"It's cruel, that's what it is," Mrs. Jones sobbed.


232 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"There was never anyone but me cared for her at all.
And to blame it on me, oh, it's wicked." She wept her-
self out of the room.
Gunn thought her over with the help of a cigarette
and decided that she was a nasty fool and rang the bell
for Gladys.
She kept him waiting some time; she came in with a
languid and careless manner and sat herself down.
"Well, here we are," she yawned. "What's doing?"
"I thought you might be able to give me a bit of in-
formation, Miss Hurst." Gunn gazed at her solemnly.
It seemed to him the lines on her well-painted face were
rather deep. "Just carry your mind back to the morning
after the murder."
"Righto. One steady rush. What about it?"
"I suppose there was a good deal of telephoning?"
"Quite a bit. Lord Croyland was putting people off
all over England."
"You'd be at the telephone?"
"Off and on. Getting numbers for him."
"Did you get a number at Spraymouth?"
"Where's that? If he asked me, I daresay I did. Don't
remember. Spraymouth. What is it?"
"Seaside place, fifteen mile away. Never heard of
it?"
"Not that I know of." She put up her eyebrows.
"What's the idea? I shouldn't have thought Croyland
had anything doing there. But he was on the phone
most of the day."
"Mr. Gordon Harwood was staying at Spraymouth."
"Was he?"—an amused sneer. "Pal of yours?"
"You've met him," Gunn frowned.
"Have I? My error. Didn't know I'd had the pleas-
hah. Who is the blighter? Oh, I remember. Fellow that


234 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"You don't have to take me like that, my lord."
Gunn got on his feet. "You ought to be helpful. And
begging your pardon, it would be more decent if you
was civil to men that's working to get justice for your
dead mother."
Croyland made noises. "Want me to be civil? Don't
play the fool then. You're not working, you're making
an infernal mess for yourselves. Can't be plagued with
nonsense day and night."
"I know my duty, my lord. And I'm going to do it.
I've come to tell you we've got that man Harwood."
"What?" Croyland flushed dark. "Do you mean
you're charging him with the murder?"
"We're not charging anybody—yet. We're bringing
Harwood down to give an account of his actions. Any
objection?"
Croyland cleared his throat. "Not my business to
object. Do as you like. If you want to know, I think it's
damned folly."
"Much obliged. Well, we'll find out what Harwood
thinks. This is what I have to ask you, my lord. Who
is it in your house that's in collusion with Harwood?"
Croyland stared at him and rumbled. "Humph.
Don't believe a word of it."
"That's a pity. Early in the morning after the murder
Harwood was rung up from here. As soon as he got that
message he left Spraymouth. What was it? Who sent it?
That's what I want to know."
Croyland made noises. "Somebody here telephoned
Harwood after the murder?" he repeated. His heavy
head sank deeper on his shoulders and he stooped the
more.
"Yes, who would that be?"
"Damn it, man, I don't know," Croyland growled.
""The whole thing is an infernal, mad mess. I can't help


236 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"I'm afraid it has been unpleasant, sir." The butler
was at last tempted to speech. "I hope she's not felt
it too much. Always most careful and considerate."
"Well liked, is she?"
"Very nice lady, if I may say so," the butler pro-
nounced.
"Oh, it's just as well to say these little things, you
know. Some aren't."
"No, sir." The butler was not to be tempted further.
"Well, I'd like to see her."
"Thank you, sir."
The butler retired and after some long time returned
to say that Miss Dean was out. She had gone out after
lunch and not yet come back.
"I'll wait a bit," said Gunn. "Let me know when she
comes in."
But May had come back—come back urgently labour-
ing at her problem: why was the murder done in the
archway? Her memory had the scene cruelly clear: the
black darkness beyond the glimmering corridor, her
stumble over the body, the touch of her hands upon it,
the stab of knowledge it was Mrs. Garston and dead.
Her own cries sounded again in her ears. She saw the
flash of her torch pierce into the darkness to show
the livid face and Croyland standing beside it. Again
the lights came on in the corridors on either side and still
in the archway it was dark.
Why was it dark there? She had never seen it like
that before or since. There must be a lamp in the arch-
way, or she would have noticed some time. And as Bel!
had asked before her, she asked herself why it would
not come on that night.
The archway! What was there queer in the archway?
Something that had to be hidden there that night of the
murder?—something more than the body? Or was it


INVESTIGATIONS AT THE ABBEY 237
darkened for the murder to be done? But what brought
Mrs. Garston there? Why should she be taken there, to
be killed or in death?
What was there in the archway? Scores of times she
must have passed through and never seen anything
strange about it—a gloomy, creepy place, but not worse
than other old corners of the horrible house—just a
tunnel of an archway with panelling up the walls.
Never anything strange there. Yes! Mrs. Garston's
maid. That very day she had been there, loitering,
watching, spying. What could there be in the arch-
way?
May ran upstairs. The archway waited for her, a
patch of gloom at the end of the corridor. She switched
the lights on and the lamp in it lit with the others. So
that had been changed. Of course it had. She would
have noticed else. She went into the archway and looked
about her. The old oak floor, polished dark with ages of
use, was solid as stone. She looked at the walls. There
too the panelling shone black. She felt along it, tapped
it here and there, and it answered with dull solidity.
It was all alike, carved in linen fold with bands of deep
bosses dividing the broad panels.
Her fingers ran over it, searching vaguely for some-
thing strange, anything—a mark of violence, a secret
hiding place. There were marks enough, bruises of cen-
turies, cracks, worm holes. She could find none new or
sinister, no trace of anything hidden. She handled the
bosses between the panels. At last one turried in her
hand. She went on turning it slowly and felt something
move with it in the wall. She pushed and pulled in vain.
The panelling stood stolid. She tried one boss after an-
other in that line till she found a second which would
turn. Then as she pulled at both the whole panel came
away, turning as a heavy door higher than her head,


238 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
and hit the lamp and set it swinging wildly. In the
tossing light she saw a black gulf beneath her.
Then she was thrust forward and the door pressed
upon her and swept her away and she fell down and
down into the dark, heard a faint clang above her, felt
pain crush through her head and felt no more.


CHAPTER XXII
FURTHER INVESTIGATIONS
In this, if in this alone, resembling Mr. Clunk, Inspec-
tor Gunn liked a large and leisurely tea.
He had it, he rounded it off in comfort with some
cigarettes, and the Abbey clock struck six. He rose and
stretched himself. Conscience said that he ought to be
getting on; waking intelligence remarked that the nurse
was taking her time. But when he rang for the butler,
he was told that Miss Dean had not come in. "Late, isn't
she?" The butler agreed that it was unusual. She was
always in to tea. But she had certainly gone out: he
had seen her himself: and certainly she had not come
back: no one had seen her and she was not in the house.
The reluctant mind of Gunn was roused to suspicion.
He had settled it that the nurse, if only the nurse, was
all right, confirmed in this useful belief by her associa-
tion with Tony, for whom he had acquired a liking.
But if the girl had bolted just when things began to
turn up it looked nasty. Gone out after lunch—that
was just what she had done before when Bell followed
her and she met Tony. Might have gone to meet him
again—and having no policeman to bother 'em got on
so nicely they forgot all about the time. Gunn's amiable
heart wouldn't blame them. Pretty girl—manly young
fellow—didn't ought to be too careful. But he couldn't
let it go at that. Got to make sure she hadn't nipped off.
Better run over and look up Wisberry.
He did so and found Tony on the beach at Bradstock
239


FURTHER INVESTIGATIONS 24I
"Just about. Couldn't swear to five minutes."
"Near enough." Gunn let the car run on slowly while
they scanned the road and the pasture on either side.
They came to the house.
"Let me do the talking please, Mr. Wisberry," said
Gunn. But when the door was opened the butler began.
"Miss Dean has not returned, sir."
"Just come upstairs." Gunn led the way to the morn-
ing room. "This is a strange business. I have informa-
tion Miss Dean was seen just before four o'clock walking
straight to the house. You say she never came in."
"I beg your pardon, sir, I said no one saw her. I've
made every inquiry. It's quite possible she came in
without being seen. But I'm sure she's not here now.
I've been everywhere myself."
"Well, what do you suppose has become of her?"
"She may have gone out again," said the butler.
"Also without being seen!" Tony cried.
"Just so, sir," the butler agreed calmly. "There's
no certainty she'd be seen coming in or going out."
"I'll make sure if she's in now anyway," Gunn
frowned. "I'm going to search the house. You'll come
with me, my lad." He turned to Tony. "Mr. Wisberry,
you be walking round outside, and if anyone tries to
make off, just hold 'em up and call for me." He marched
the butler off". "I want to go everywhere and see every-
one, understand? I don't like the looks of things. We'll
begin with her room."
"Very good, sir. I have already been there," said
the butler. "It will take a considerable time to go all
over the house."
"It will. And we aren't going to miss anything,"
Gunn answered grimly.
But he did. As was natural, he missed the one thing
which could have shown him where May had gone. He


242 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
passed through the archway of the murder with no
more than a careful glance at its emptiness. The long
search found no trace of her anywhere. He made nothing
by questioning of the servants but confirmation of the
butler—no one had seen her.
All spoke of her simply enough and with decent sur-
prise, except the maid. Her yellow face confessed pleas-
ure. "I've seen nothing of her." She tossed her head. "I
suppose she's made off. Don't wonder she wants to get
away if she can."
"Why?" said Gunn sharply.
"Suit her much better, I should say," she laughed.
"Ah. That's your idea. All right." Under Gunn's
hard stare she lost her assurance.
He kept till the last the two of whom he hoped most.
Gladys was in her secretary's room, not at work but
smoking in an easy chair with her feet on another.
"What's the great idea?" She put back her head and
smiled and crossed her displayed legs.
"I'm searching the house for Miss Dean."
"Jumpin' Jews! What's the girl been and done?"
"It's not what she's done, it's what's been done with
her." Gunn walked round the room.
"I haven't got her." The bold eyes followed him with
amusement. "Like to search me?"
Gunn stopped. "Thanks. I'd like to have your idea
about it. She's vanished."
"Done a bunk? I suppose she's gone off with her
best boy then."
"Meaning Mr. Wisberry? Well, she hasn't."
"Oh, you've got him. She's off on her own. Wow, wow.
Looks queer, doesn't it?" Gladys whistled. "Baby face
not such a baby as she looked. Thought she'd better
go while the going was good. You must have been get-
ting a bit too near to be comfortable."
■


FURTHER INVESTIGATIONS 243
"Any reason to say so?" Gunn snapped.
Gladys laughed. "No use being cross with me, old
bean, I'm not in on this show."
Gunn marched off to Croyland and was received with
snarling fury. "Sorry to disturb you, my lord. I'm
looking for Miss Dean."
"Then why in hell do you come here?"
"Because she's vanished. And she must be some-
where, dead or alive."
Croyland's mouth moved and he swallowed. "Dead?
How the devil should she be dead?"
"I don't know she is. I don't know where she is.
Either she's gone off or she's been made away with."
"Can't be dead," Croyland growled and rumbled.
"Must have run away."
"Why should she run away?"
"Damn it all, I don't know.Gone mad,I should think.
Everybody's mad. Oh, hell, get out. Girl's not in here,
is she? Go to the devil."
"No, she isn't here. She's got to be found. I'm going
to search your grounds, my lord."
"Search hell, I don't care. Don't bother me. I've had
enough. My God, I've had enough."
Gunn went out and turned to the butler. "Has he
been like that often?"
"His lordship has been much distressed," said the
butler.
"Distressed! My oath! Well, we've got to have a
search party, my lad. Find a man or two with some
lanterns." He hurried away to Tony. "She's not inside
anywhere. She seems to have left all her things in her
room. Of course she couldn't take much if she was rush-
ing off without a car handy."
"She can't have gone," Tony muttered. "Where
should she go?"


244 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"She might have wanted to see somebody besides
you, Mr. Wisberry."
"That's a lie," Tony cried.
"Go easy. T don't mean anything improper. Some-
body about this business. I was thinking of Clunk."
"She wouldn't. She hardly knows him."
"Ah." Gunn was not so sure. "Well, I'm going to
search the grounds—just in case, see?"
It was almost dark. Slowly by lantern light they
worked over the garden, the ruins, the stretch of the
park between the house and the road—a search diffi-
cult and inadequate but sufficient to convince Gunn
that if May's body lay there it lay well hidden.
"We can't do any more here to-night, Mr. Wisberry,"
he decided. "Looks more and more likely she's gone off
somewhere. I shall go back to Limbay."
"You're thinking of Clunk?" said Tony wearily. "I
can't see why she should go to Clunk. I hope to God she
has. I'll come in to Limbay with you, if you don't mind."
"Ah. Want to see him yourself. All right. Half a
minute. I just want to ring up my people."
He told his Limbay sergeant that he wanted one of
the men who had seen Miss Dean, the nurse at the
Abbey, to find out if she had been noticed going to Mr.
Clunk.
"Right, sir. Mr. Clunk's just been here, talking to
Superintendent Bell."
"Has he! Well, make that inquiry. The London man
that's watching Clunk will know. And if she hasn't
been to Clunk, try the railway station. I'll be with you
in ten minutes."
He drove off with Tony. "Queer business, Mr. Wis-
berry."
"Queer!" Tony gave a miserable laugh. "I feel as if I
couldn't think. This beastly gang at the Abbey—they'd


CHAPTER XXIII
DISAPPOINTMENT OF MR. CLUNK
Superintendent Bell prepared himself for Mr.
Gordon Harwood with a determination to chasten his
natural method of driving a suspect hard. The warning
from above, that hurry into another failure was not
desired, found a tender conscience. He knew enough of
Mr. Harwood's career to provide the further warning
that fear would not be easily inspired. Mr. Harwood
had always shown a very sure sense of the limits of the
power of the law.
This determination to restraint was much tried. Mr.
Harwood developed bold powers of exasperation. To
Bell's mild opening that he had been asked to come to
Limbay to give the police some assistance, he replied
that he had not been asked but brought by force, and
he took it as illegal and an outrage. If he had been ar-
rested, they ought to have told him what the charge
was. If he had not, they had no right to meddle with
him. Thus Bell was involved in a wrangle about the
powers of the police to detain and demand explanations
which, futile in itself, made clear the confident ability
of Mr. Harwood to defy inquiry.
"You've been brought here in your own interest,"
said Bell patiently. "We've found suspicious circum-
stances in connection with your actions and the death
of Mrs. Garston of Bradstock Abbey. I'm giving you
the opportunity to explain them."
"Suffering snakes!" Harwood laughed contempt.
246


DISAPPOINTMENT OF MR. CLUNK 247
"What are you giving me? My good fool, somebody's
sold you a pup. Who is Mrs. Garston? Don't know the
dear lady."
"You know her son," said Bell. "My information is,
you went to Bradstock Abbey and made a claim on
Lord Croyland to part of his property." Harwood did
not answer. "Well, what about it?"
"Go on talking, old bean," Harwood grinned. "I
like to hear you."
"You deny that?"
"Deny it? Great Jimmy, what do you take me for?
I'm not balmy. I couldn't claim his property."
"There's ways of doing these little things. You know
all about that. Your way was to tell Croyland you'd
found the son and heir of his dead brother."
"The Lord Croyland's handed that out, has he?"
Harwood said slowly. "I wonder why."
"You did tell him so?"
"Where are we going, Gus ?" Harwood grinned. "You
started off on Mamma's death. What's that got to do
with the Lord Croyland's chat about his brother leaving
a son?"
"If you were trying to blackmail Croyland-
'Stop the bus. Am I charged with blackmail?"
"There's no charge yet. I told you so."
"You're playing dirty, aren't you?" Harwood glow-
ered. "You get me here pretending to inquire into some
death, and what you're really after is to fake up evidence
against a private claim on Croyland. Go to hell and
toast yourself."
"There is a claim, is there?" Bell sneered. "Where is
this son, Harwood? When do you produce him?"
"Nothing doing, Gus," Harwood laughed. "You've
shown your hand, thanks. Get it into your thick head
I'm not such a fool as you. Here you are pretending to


25O THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
satisfaction of using the strong hand on him. He was
beaten into sullen silence and taken away.
Then came the station sergeant and said, "It's that
Mr. Clunk, sir. Been here some time. But I didn't like to
disturb you."
"Quite right," Bell chuckled. "Do him good. I'll
have him now though." The last moments had restored
confidence. If the insolent Harwood could be frightened
something might be done with the evasive Mr. Clunk.
Mr. Clunk tripped in humming:
"There's work in my vineyard
There's plenty to do,
For the harvest is great
And the labourers few.
"Ah, my dear friend." He held out his plump hand.
"How do you do? We ought to be impatient, you know,
really we ought."
"Oh, I am," Bell grinned. "Come to give me another
tip, Mr. Clunk? Let's have it."
Mr. Clunk put his head on one side. "That's not very
amusing," he complained. "And really this isn't the
time to be facetious. Don't you perceive, my friend?
Time is practically everything. What have you done?"
"Doing as well as can be expected, thanks."
"Dear, dear," said Mr. Clunk. "Is that all?"
"And what did you expect, Mr. Clunk?"
"I hoped for a great deal," Mr. Clunk sighed. "A
great deal more than I expected. But I did really expect
you would have examined Gordon Harwood by this
time."
"That's what you wanted to know. Well, I don't
mind. You can take it I've got Harwood all right."
"I'm so glad. What for?"


DISAPPOINTMENT OF MR. CLUNK 253
explosion the more vigorous from a smarting suspicion
that the little brute was right—the failure to get at
Harwood's secret was missing the best clue.
Uneasy brooding over that was disturbed by the
irruption of Gunn and Tony. "Well, old man—here's
another nasty job—that nurse Miss Dean has vanished.
Absolutely." Between them they told the breathless
story. . . .
"Let me get this," Bell frowned. "You hadn't seen
her, George. Just when you were going to see her and
ask her a few questions, she was reported missing. And
wherever she is, she isn't at the Abbey." He turned a
glassy stare on Tony. "And what do you make of that,
Mr. Wisberry?"
"I can't really believe it," said Tony. "But there it is.
We can't find her."
"Not even her body," said Bell. "That is odd, isn't
it?"
"Don't be a brute," Tony growled.
"Go easy, old man," Gunn protested. "No call to talk
like that."
"Sorry to hurt your feelings." Bell was not sympathet-
ic. "Seems pretty clear to me. You needn't look for her
body at the Abbey. Either she ran away or she's been
got away. I wish you'd let me know a bit earlier, Mr.
Wisberry. I'd have asked your friend, Clunk. I thought
he was a bit above himself."
"Clunk's been here?" Gunn cried.
"He has, George. Going very strong. Mr. Clunk don't
like the way we're handling the case. Isn't that a pity?
However—let's see if we can handle Mr. Clunk. Pardon
me, George." He rang the bell and gave orders that a
man should go after Mr. Clunk and bring him back.
"Why should she go to Clunk?" Tony protested.
"She hardly knows him." -


DISAPPOINTMENT OF MR. CLUNK 255
your eye on the Abbey. God knows what'Il be the next
break. Come on, Underwood."
Tony ran out after them. "You're following Clunk?
Then I'm coming too."
"Are you?" Bell stopped and looked him over. "All
right. You can. I daresay I'll want you in the end." He
took the driver's seat and Underwood came beside him.
Thus the chase of Mr. Clunk began.


CHAPTER XXIV
MR. CLUNK'S FLIGHT
Mr. Clunk sat down in the lounge of the Victoria and
moved his chair to and fro and fidgeted in it, an angry
and nervous little man. A glimpse of the faithful Under-
wood taking up once more a post of observation brought
from him a peevish sound, a fleeting smile. He had just
begun to soothe his anxieties with a glass of warm milk
when they told him he was wanted on the telephone.
Mr. Clunk tripped to the booth. "Scott speaking,
sir," the telephone said. "From the railway station.
Lord Croyland's just come here. Sent his car back.
Taken ticket for London. Last train just going."
Mr. Clunk's large eyes swelled as he listened. He be-
gan to answer while Scott was still speaking. "Go with
him, Scott. Wherever he goes. I'll warn our people to
meet the train in London, Morris or another. Look out
for him. If Croyland goes somewhere else, telephone the
office. I'm going up. Do your best, my boy." He rang
off" and asked for a trunk call to London and waited,
tapping his teeth. "Is that Jenks? Good. I want you to
go to the office at once, my boy, and wait till I come.
Scott may ring up during the night. Before you go
warn Morris to meet the night train from Limbay
and look out for Scott. If you can't get Morris send
someone else. The instructions are to work with Scott
so that I am informed what the man does. Scott is fol-
lowing. Repeat that, please. Quite right. Good-bye,
my boy."
256


MR. CLUNK S FLIGHT 257
He tripped away to the smoking room and from its
dismal depths his eyes summoned Lewis. He took that
young man's reluctant arm. "I hope you haven't been
drinking, Lewis," he said anxiously.
"Haven't had time," Lewis grumbled. "Just one
little one."
"That's well. You will have to drive to London to-
night. Bring the car round at once."
"London!" Lewis groaned. "I'll have to fill up first."
"Not yourself, my boy," Mr. Clunk tittered. "Run
along, then. Be as quick as you can. I'll get your coat."
Mr. Clunk made haste to his room. When he came
down again with their coats and a case of his own he
saw the faithful Underwood reading a timetable in the
hall. All a smile, he turned to the office. He had been
called to London suddenly, he might be away a day or
two but he wanted to keep his rooms. That would be all
right? They had his London address if anyone should
inquire for him. He lingered, making amiable conversa-
tion, till the glum face of Lewis came to his elbow.
"All ready, my boy? Good." He saluted the girl in the
office and helped Lewis into his coat "Now let's be ofF.
I want to be in London as soon as that last train. A pity
we missed it. Do your best, my boy. The office may have
something for us." He gave a last look round the hall
where the earnest Underwood was studying the barome-
ter and hurried out.
They settled into the car. "I suppose you know that
young tec heard every blessed word," said Lewis mo-
rosely.
"Dear me, yes. I should think so. I hope so." Mr.
Clunk was plaintive. "A stupid business. A poor foolish
fellow. But we must try to use him."
They slid away from the hotel. "We aren't going to
London then?" Lewis inquired.


MR. CLUNK'S FLIGHT 259
And I've had to drive him a hundred and fifty mile
through the night. More to come, he says. Anybody can
have my job for twopence. He's got no bowels. Just a
nasty bit o' wire."
"Live wire," said Jenks, and fled to make the tea.
Mr. Clunk, in a clean collar and washed and shaved,
was drinking it when the telephone rang. "Scott speak-
ing, sir. From Waterloo Station. He's come right
through. In the refreshment room now. Morris is in
there with him."
"Well done, my boy. Very well done. Ring up again
as soon as you know his next move." Mr. Clunk took a
lump of sugar, dipped it in the tea and crunched. "Re-
freshing himself at Waterloo Station, Lewis," he smiled.
"Who is?" Lewis snapped.
"Really, my dear boy!" Mr. Clunk took another
piece of sugar. "Lord Croyland, of course."
"Him." Lewis was puzzled. "Come by train, did he?"
"Yes, though it's such a bad train. That's significant,
isn't it? And now he seems to be waiting for another
train. That's very significant, isn't it?"
The telephone rang again. "Scott speaking. He's just
taken a cab. Told the man London Bridge Station.
Morris is following."
"You had better go too. I'll be there as soon as I can.
Come along, Lewis. Quickly." Mr. Clunk ran down-
stairs. By the car he stopped and stood buttoning his
coat. A man crossed the street close by. "Now, my boy,
it's London Bridge Station," said Mr. Clunk. "London
Bridge. As quick as you can safely." And he began to
hum something about "Scatter seeds of kindness—
scatter seeds of kindness—for your reaping by and by."
The car shot away. "Going there?" Lewis grunted.
"But of course I am," Mr. Clunk reproved him. "I
hope when I get there I shall have done with you. You'd


26o THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
better have some sleep and take the car back to Limbay.
I expect I shall be there again very soon."
When they stopped at the station, a man came out of
the booking office. "He's here, sir. Took his ticket to
Folkestone. Morris is in the next compartment. Plenty
o' time. Train don't go till five-thirty."
"That's very nice," said Mr. Clunk. "Good-bye,
Lewis. Sleep well, my boy. I shall want you, Scott." He
tripped into the booking office and with a good deal of
conversation took two first-class tickets to Folkestone.
"Now, my boy, you'd better get in with Morris, unless
you think Lord Croyland has noticed you."
"Not him, sir. He's never had a look at me. Besides,
he's like a man half drunk. Don't seem to rightly know
what he's doing. Kind of dazed."
"Is he indeed?" said Mr. Clunk, and the look on his
yellow face was not amiable. "Well, watch him care-
fully. I think he'll go through to Folkestone. But if he
doesn't, let me know at once. I shall be right at the back
of the train. Run along now."
In the last coach of the train he chose his place,
bought several packets of butterscotch from an auto-
matic machine, and stood at the door of his compart-
ment sucking with gusto while daylight dimmed the
station lamps.
Doors slammed along the train, porters shouted. Mr.
Clunk looked at his watch and frowned and gazed plain-
tively up the platform and sighed and climbed into his
carriage and shut the door and leaned out of the window.
Bell and Tony came running hard, saw his shining face,
and made a dash for it as the train began to move. Mr.
Clunk opened the door and was fussy helping them in.
"That's it, that's it! Do be careful, Tony. It's so danger-
ous—ah! that's well." He sank back in his seat flutter-
ing. "I'm so glad!" He beamed clean-shaven and glossy


MR. CLUNK'S FLIGHT 261
at their dirty, unshorn faces. He patted Bell's arm.
"My dear friend, this is very intelligent of you. You
did gather my little hints then ? How clever! I was really
beginning to be nervous."
"Were you!" Bell eyed him grimly. "Fancy that!
And where might you be going in such a hurry?"
"Well, I think I'm going to Folkestone. It's not quite
certain. I feel sure myself."
"Folkestone, eh?" Bell was amused. "Nice place,
Mr. Clunk. But a bit too near the Continent."
"That did cross my mind," said Mr. Clunk pensively.
"But I don't.think so. No, really, I'm almost certain it
won't be that."
"So do I," Bell chuckled. "You'll stay in England all
right, Mr. Clunk."
"Me?" Mr. Clunk sat up. "My good friend, were you
talking about my intentions? Dear, dear, this is too
foolish. Surely you don't suppose I have been trying to
run away from you?"
"Well, it does look just a trifle like it," Bell grinned.
"Tut, tut, tut. It looks nothing of the sort." Mr.
Clunk was annoyed. "You silly fellow, how can you
say so? You only contrived to get here because I was
particularly careful to let your men know where I was
going. Surely you have noticed that?"
"If you mean I had you watched, I did, and it was
just as well." Bell frowned. "If you aren't trying to run
away, what are you trying to do?"
"What I am doing, my friend, is what you ought to
have done," said Mr. Clunk tartly. "I am following
Lord Croyland."
"Croyland!" Tony roared. "You're after him?"
"My dear boy, I am practically with him. He's in the
train in front of us. Now pray don't be excited. He is
being very carefully observed."


262 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"You mean to say Croyland left Bradstock last
night?" Bell said slowly.
"Dear me, this is too childish!" Mr. Clunk com-
plained. "You didn't know it! Of course not. How can
you expect to know anything if you won't take the
simplest, obvious measures? I had to arrange for keep-
ing Lord Croyland under observation myself. My good
friend, I don't mind doing your work for you, but when
you can't even understand the easy opportunities I
provide for you, you're very tiresome, you really
are."
"I don't want any lectures from you, Mr. Clunk,"
Bell growled. "If you knew Croyland was bolting, why
didn't you tell us?"
Mr. Clunk stared mild dislike. "I do think you are the
most ungrateful man I ever worked with," he said slowly.
"I have brought you here on Croyland's track, which
you could never have found for yourself till too late.
And you have the impudence to complain!"
"How do you mean, too late?" Bell cried. "What's
he trying to do, fly the country?"
"Oh dear me, I told you that was most unlikely."
Mr. Clunk could hardly bear it. "My good friend, do
try to apply your mind to the case. I pointed out to you
long ago the central point is, what had Harwood dis-
covered which is dangerous to Croyland? You failed,
you failed most deplorably, to extract that from Har-
wood. I hope we are going to find it at Folkestone. If
you leave the matter to me, I am confident that we shall
find it."
"And what do you want to do?" Bell growled.
"I want to find out where Lord Croyland is going
and to whom he is going. And he must not be frightened
first, or he'll not go."
"You want to follow him yourself. All right. I don't


MR. CLUNK'S FLIGHT 263
mind that. I follow you, Mr. Clunk. And when he's
marked down I come in."
Mr. Clunk looked at him and from him to Tony,
with some complacency. "By all means. Both of you.
I shall be very glad. I think it will be desirable to have
some force. That is one reason why I was anxious to
bring you with me."
"You believe Croyland's going to see some chap who's
got a pull on him. Is that the idea?"
"Do employ your mind," said Mr. Clunk plaintively.
"Lord Croyland chose to make for Folkestone by a slow
night train to London and then this very slow train on.
It would have been easier and pleasanter to go straight
there by car. Therefore we must assume that he could
not afford to let his chauffeur know where he was going.
I infer that he is going to see someone whose connection
with him it is important to keep secret. So I intend to
find it out."
Bell nodded. "All right. That sounds straight."
He meditated. "You know I've only your word for it
he's on this train."
"My dear friend," said Mr. Clunk acidly, "you might
have noticed by now that my word is the only thing you
have found reliable in this case."
"Oh God, stop wrangling!" Tony broke out. "Clunk,
do you know what happened at the Abbey yesterday?"
Mr. Clunk turned to him a startled face. "My dear
boy, you alarm me. What could happen?"
"Miss Dean's vanished," Tony groaned. "Vanished
absolutely. In the afternoon. I left her going to the
house. No one's seen her since."
"Yes, what do you know about that, Mr. Clunk?"
Bell chimed in eagerly.
He was ignored. "My dear boy," Mr. Clunk put his
hand on Tony's, "I'm so sorry. My dear boy! These


264 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
fellows," a nod indicated Bell, "they've done nothing?
They've made nothing of it?"
Tony shook his head. "That other chap, Gunn, says
he was in the house himself when she ought to have got
there. He came to me asking about her. He's had the
house searched, grounds searched, everything. She's
just gone."
Mr. Clunk swung in his seat and stared at Bell with
bulging eyes. "Is that all?" he asked. "Is anyone else
gone?"
"They were all there last night," said Bell sullenly.
Mr. Clunk made a little ugly giggle of contempt.
"You believed Croyland was there, my friend."
"Do you think it was him?" Tony cried. "Do you
think he killed her? There's the harbour"
"The harbour!" Mr. Clunk echoed him in a voice of
fear. "No, I won't believe that. I won't! Hope in God
yet, my boy."
"What's the hope?" Tony groaned.
"If we can make Croyland speak—if we can get at
his motives "Mr. Clunk said slowly, and paused,
tapping his teeth. "Yes, that is the best chance, Tony.
Be patient yet."
"Patient!" Tony groaned.
The jog trot of the wheels made the only sound in the
carriage, beating out a deadly slow rhythm.
Mr. Clunk felt his pockets, found a packet of butter-
scotch, broke it, began to suck, and offered a piece to
Tony. It was rejected violently. Bell also declined it.
Mr. Clunk gave forth a little deprecating noise and
sucked on.


CHAPTER XXV
DECISIVE ACTION BY TONY
Even that train comes at last to Folkestone. Mr. Clunk
started up. "Now please be patient. Don't show your-
selves." He put his own small person across the window
and watched till he saw the big form of Croyland come
hurrying down the platform, two men carefully aloof
behind him. "Ah, that's well." Mr. Clunk opened the
door. "Now, my friends. Not too quick. Follow me at
a distance." As they got out Croyland vanished.
Scott was waiting outside the station. "He's taken a
cab, sir. Told the man to drive out to Hythe and he'd
tell him where to stop. Morris is following in another
cab. I've got one for you."
"Excellent, my boy." Mr. Clunk beckoned to Bell
and Tony. "Come along, come along." He bustled them
into the cab.
Scott turned to the driver. "Saw the gentleman with
me took a cab just now? Know it again, won't you? Get
on after it quick as you can: going out Hythe way."
He packed himself in with the others.
"My young friend Mr. Scott, gentlemen," Mr. Clunk
beamed. "We owe him a great deal. He's had a very
trying night."
Scott grinned through his bristling beard. "I should
say you've had some too, Mr. Bell." He twisted in his
seat and his tired eyes puckered to watch the cab ahead.
They swung round into the straight of the Sandgate
265


266 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
road. "Come on, step on the gas, son," he exhorted the
driver. "Ah. There we are. That's Morris's outfit all
right." It led them down the hill, through Sandgate,
and on by the sea.
Mr. Clunk looked out over the glitter of foam and
green water and sniffed the breeze from it. "Delicious,"
he murmured. "I'm so glad of the sea, aren't you?"
But no one attended to him. "What a refreshing day!"
The sea vanished behind a belt of vacant ground;
on the other side were the fences and hedges of houses.
Scott moved. "Hallo. Slowing." He talked to the driver.
"Don't pass him. Go easy. Stop." He turned to Mr.
Clunk. "Morris getting out, sir."
"Run along after him," said Mr. Clunk. He gave the
driver a pound note and told him to wait. "Now, my
friends, the quicker the better."
Bell and Tony strode on, Mr. Clunk trotting beside
them, and Croyland's cab passed them going back.
Scott had turned up a road which curved and climbed.
In a little way they came on him and Morris lighting
cigarettes. "There we are, sir," Scott said. "In that
house over there. Gone right in as if he owned it."
It was a low gray house, a petty imitation of an Eliza-
bethan manor. Through a double hedge of euonymus
they passed among flowering shrubs to a garden of crazy
paving with plants set in it, suggesting, as a small repro-
duction may, the wild garden of Bradstock Abbey.
But none of them noticed that suggestion. They made
haste to the house. Mr. Clunk rang the bell and was
answered by a startled maid. "Take us to Lord Croy-
land at once, please," he panted.
"There's no lord here," she said. "I don't know what
you mean."
"Oh yes, you do," Bell pushed forward. "The gentle-
man that's just come in. Where is he?"


272 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
here—I can see him killing his mother so she shouldn't
give him away and shooting the constable who knew
him. That's all right. If you said him and Croyland put
the nurse out of the way to stop her mouth, I could
understand it, though deuce knows what they've done
with her. But why did you put me on to the secretary?
The idea is, she's Harwood's woman, isn't she, put in to
help him blackmail Croyland over Alfred? That's all
right. She looks it. But then why should she meddle
with the nurse? I can't see any sense in it."
"Well, well, well," said Mr. Clunk patiently. "Just
let me try to make sense of her. Have her brought here,
my friend."
She came in with her usual undulating show of herself,
her usual bold stare. "Oh dear me," Mr. Clunk sighed.
"Is this the lady? Miss Hurst, my name is Clunk,
Joshua Clunk. I am Miss Dean's solicitor. Inspector
Gunn has very kindly agreed to give you an opportunity
of explaining the disappearance of Miss Dean."
Gladys laughed. "I like that. Say another piece."
"I think I will." Mr. Clunk purred satisfaction. "You
don't know quite enough. This is your uncomfortable
position, Miss Hurst. Your friend Mr. Gordon Harwood
is detained under suspicion of blackmail and murder.
You know that, of course. It is very awkward for you.
But you've been so foolish, you've made it much worse.
You shouldn't have tried to divert suspicion to some-
one else. That couldn't have done you any good. We
knew far too much. You were stupid enough to think
if you made Miss Dean vanish, the police would believe
she was the murderer. But that won't happen." He
looked at Gunn.
"It will not," said Gunn with vigour. "We know all
about the murders."
Gladys looked from one man to the other. She could


THE SEAT IN THE RUINS 275
side of the stone. And that ring he found moves 'em.
And very neat too. Firm as houses till you find the
dodge. See?"
"Of course I see," Tony growled. He was leaning
down into the hole. The light which came into it showed
only a shaft like a well about twice as deep as his own
height. That was empty.
"What's the good of it though?" said Gunn. "These
old monks had some queer dodges. Just a hiding place,
or kind o' strong room or something?"
Tony swung himself over the edge and dropped down
and groped about. "Here's a passage or something,"
he called. "Come on, got any matches?"
The voice of Mr. Clunk was heard. "Tony, my boy,
Tony, one minute." He came to the hole with a stable
lantern. "Here, I have a light and a torch too. Oh dear
me, can I get down there?" He sat nervously on the
wall.
"Let yourself drop. I'll catch you," Tony cried.
"Dear, dear, this is very unpleasant," Mr. Clunk
gasped. But he put his legs over and, clinging with one
hand, edged himself over. "Oh Tony!" He squeaked
and dropped.
Tony caught him, set him on his feet, and took the
lantern.
"It's all very well, you know," Gunn called, "but
you won't get out of there without a ladder." He
whistled for his men.
"Yes, there should really be a ladder," said Mr.
Clunk, "I'm afraid Lord Croyland has removed it.
That is why he came here at night."
"Damn the ladder," Tony muttered. "Come on,
Clunk." The lantern light showed a low arched passage.
Mr. Clunk sent the beam of his torch into it. It became
higher soon and led on, curving. They flashed the light


276 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
to either side as they went, but there was no sign of
any other way or any hiding place in the stone walls.
"Deuce of a lot of it," Tony muttered. "Must run
up towards the house."
"Oh yes, quite," Mr. Clunk panted. "It would. Ah,
what's that?" They stopped. It was the sound of foot-
steps, but footsteps behind them.
Gunn appeared, striking matches. "Hello, young
fellows. This isn't half a queer place. Found anything?"
"Not yet, no," Mr. Clunk said.
"Shut up," Tony growled. "What's that?"
They heard a faint moaning cry, then laughter,
strange wretched laughter.
"My oath!" Gunn muttered.
"May!" Tony shouted. "May! I'm here, May! It's
Tony-"
"Ah, come, come, come!" she cried.
He ran on. He found her trying to raise herself and
moaning as she tried. "My dear." He knelt by her and
gathered her into his arms. "Oh my dear."
She clung to him sobbing, laughing, feeling at him.
"It's you, it's you."
"My own darling! Have you been here all the time?"
"When is it? I don't know. I came back from you and
I found the door and somebody pushed me down here.
When is it now?"
"It's the day after. Are you much hurt?"
"Only a day! Oh, it's been so long. I fainted, I think.
Wasn't that silly? Then I tried to make them hear and
they wouldn't. It was so ghastly, Tony. Take me some-
where, dear. Take me right away. I can't bear it."
"Yes, that's best, yes," Mr. Clunk bustled on.
"Now let us see what we can do."
"Can you walk, miss?" said Gunn.
"Not very well. My leg is hurt. It's the ankle, I


THE SEAT IN THE RUINS 277
think. I fell, you know." She looked up at Tony and
clung to him.
"Bit of a job getting her up out of that well place."
Gunn scratched his head.
"Can do," said Tony.
"No, no. I don't think we need bother." Mr. Clunk
tripped back. "There are quite good stairs here. Now,
my dear, if you don't mind Tony carrying you. He'll do
it very gently. Now, now, let me show the light. That's
the way. Here's the door, with a queer, big old latch.
Just a minute." He fumbled with it, the door swung, and
they came out into the gloomy archway of Mrs. Gar-
ston's murder. "That's all right, you see." Mr. Clunk
patted her cheek affectionately. "Now where are we?"
"Oh, take me away." She shuddered and hid her face
in Tony's shoulder. "Tony, take me away from here,
please."
"Rather," said Tony.
"My poor child." Mr. Clunk stroked her. "Of course
he shall. At once. Just make them give her a little some-
thing, Tony, and take her right away to Limbay. The
car's waiting, you know. She must have a doctor. I sup-
pose there's a nursing home, Mr. Gunn. Send one of
your men to show Tony the way. She really shouldn't
stay in this house another moment. It's been too cruel
to her. My dear child!" He kissed her tumbled hair.
"All's well now. All's well."
Tony marched off with her, Gunn at his heels.
Mr. Clunk began to pry about the door and the arch-
way, and as he moved and peered he sang to himself:
"There's a treasure is waiting for me
In a mansion of gold I shall be
On the shores of the silvery sea
Hallelujah!"


278 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
Gunn came back to him. "Poor kid, she's pretty well
all in. Don't wonder either. Do you know why it gave
her such a turn finding herself here again ? This is where
she found Mrs. Garston murdered."
"Is it really?" said Mr. Clunk without surprise. "I
see. Yes. Quite. This is the way Alfred came in, so that
no one should know he was coming to Croyland. And
he met his mother. A wicked fellow." Mr. Clunk swung
the big door and it hit the lamp.
"Lord! Look at that!" said Gunn.
"Yes? The lamp, my friend? What then?"
"Why, when we got here the filament in that lamp
there was broken. We couldn't make out why it should
get broken over killing her."
Mr. Clunk blinked at him. "You found the lamp
broken. Just that one lamp. And that suggested nothing
to you! Well, well, well. We won't tell anyone, my dear
friend." He shut the door.
"Look at it now." Gunn ran his hand over the panel-
ling. "Why should we think anything opened there?"
"To be sure!" Mr. Clunk beamed upon him. "Why
should you think?"
But Gunn was satisfied. His simple mind passed on.
"Filthy dirty business about this girl, isn't it? But as far
as I see we can't do anything. She don't know who
pushed her down. It was that vamp the secretary all
right, I don't doubt it, but we've no evidence."
"No, I fear not," Mr. Clunk sighed. "One would so
like to punish her, wouldn't one? One does want to
punish these hard people. But we mustn't be discon-
tented. We've really done rather well, yes, ra-ather
well." He turned away humming:
"There's work for me and a work for you,
Something for each of us still to do."


THE SEAT IN THE RUINS 279
As they went downstairs Gladys came to the door of
her room and looked round the shoulder of the police-
man on guard.
"Hallo, Grandpa!" she called. "So baby wasn't
killed. What a blow!"
"Dear me, I suppose it is, Miss Hurst," said Mr.
Clunk. "It ought to be a warning. Do you think it will
be?"
"Not much, old dear," she laughed. "You'll just go
on mucking things."
Mr. Clunk stood and contemplated her. "Oh, I hope
so," he beamed. "I think so." He tripped away. "I
shouldn't hurry to let her go, my friend," he purred.
"I should be just as unpleasant as possible."
"Not half," Gunn winked.


CHAPTER XXVII
MR. CLUNK AT HOME
Mr. Clunk sat in his drawing room drinking tea. The
hour was two o'clock. The massive midday meal pro-
vided by Mrs. Clunk was inside him, the tea was strong.
His glossy face shone with deep content. He bit a piece
of sugar in half, walked to the window and gave one half
to each of the two canaries, chirruped to them, caressed
the row of scented geraniums underneath them, came
back to his easy chair, arranged his little legs on a has-
sock and a peppermint lozenge in his mouth. Mrs.
Clunk, kissing the top of his head, rustled to the har-
monium. After a little while she also sang. Mr. Clunk,
gurgling peppermint, joined in:
"If we knew those baby fingers,
Pressed against the windowpane,
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow,
Never trouble us again,
Would the bright eyes of our darling
Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the print of baby fingers
Vex us then as they do now?"
To this domestic felicity was introduced Superinten-
dent Bell. He stopped short, he seemed uncomfortable,
whether at the pathos of the lyric, or the mingled scent
of peppermint and oak-leaf geraniums.
380
V


282 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
"Just so. That's very desirable," Mr. Clunk nodded.
"What is the last news of Croyland?"
"The doctors say they're going to pull him through.
But we shan't get anything out of him this long while."
"I am afraid it is going to be very difficult to deal
with Lord Croyland in a criminal prosecution," Mr.
Clunk sighed.
"Can't touch him," Bell grunted. "Can't prove a
thing against him."
"Probably not. No. When he is well enough, I propose
to cause him a good deal of annoyance," said Mr. Clunk.
"I must have payment for that process. Tony says he
will take nothing. But I always stand for justice. We will
concede that Lord Croyland has been placed in a diffi-
cult position: a very terrible position. We are not to
suffer for that. He's been a hard proud man." Mr. Clunk
put his finger tips together and gazed at them. "Well,
well, well. Let us take it from the beginning. Tony's
father, poor fellow. He discovered this steel process.
There is no doubt now that he got into touch with our
friend Alfred Garston. Ah, if I had only had evidence
of that at the time!" He sighed. "Well, we mustn't
repine. No doubt poor Wisberry thought that he was
doing the best for himself in approaching the big firm
privately through Alfred. So Alfred was able to in-
troduce the process as his own invention. We need
not say Croyland was a party to the fraud."
"Croyland's straight in business," said Bell. "Every-
body says that. So was his father. Alfred's the wrong 'un
in that family. What they call a detrimental. In the
mud at school and college. His old father had a fierce
time with him. I shouldn't wonder if he pinched this
invention to make a show he was doing some good, so
the old man would go easy with him."
--


MR. CLUNK AT HOME 28$
"That is quite probable, my friend. Well then, Wis-
berry would naturally press for some results and Alfred's
position grew difficult. I understand that Alfred had
other troubles, eh?"
"He had. There was a girl down in the New Forest.
He'd lived with her under another name and she was
found shot. I expect she got pressing, like poor Wisberry.
I was on that case—Gunn and me. We did a lot of work,
and just when we were ready to put Mr. Alfred in the
dock—phut! Alfred was found drowned."
"Very clever, wasn't it?" said Mr. Clunk. "Very
ingenious. Poor Wisberry went off on his spring holiday
tb meet Alfred and Alfred met him and killed him. I
should think it very likely that Alfred invited him to-
Bradstock. And showed him that secret passage. Then,
having killed Wisberry and changed clothes with the
body, Alfred put it in the harbour. I'm afraid he must
have battered the face too. He could hardly rely on the
action of the water. A nasty fellow. A very nasty fellow.
But I rather think at this point we must impute some
guilty knowledge to Croyland. Let us be just, my friend.
Probably Alfred represented to him that he was in
danger of being arrested for murder- I do not think
Lord Croyland a man likely to sacrifice himself to save
his brother. But he seems to have affections of a kind.
He has a regard for the reputation of his family and
his firm. There was the old father still alive, the affec-
tionate mother. For his own sake Croyland would no
doubt prefer to prevent his brother's conviction for
murder. And Alfred had managed the affair so skillfully
that what Croyland had to do involved no risk at all—
only to identify Wisberry's much damaged body as
Alfred's. If the fraud should be discovered, he could
plead that he had made a mistake, a mistake easily


284 THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
possible when a body has been long in the water. I'm
afraid we can't prove anything more, even now. And
also, you will observe, my friend, this scheme had the
great advantage for Croyland that it promised to get
rid of Alfred for ever. Once dead, he couldn't dare to
reappear. Croyland had eliminated him and his vices
from the family. Croyland had the Abbey to himself.
Croyland had the firm to himself. A great inducement.
I don't wonder Croyland did his part."
"No, that's all right. He was playing a bit high, of
course. I should say somebody else must have had a
notion things were fishy"
"Oh, I should think so," Mr. Clunk interrupted.
"The doctor almost certainly. A family doctor, you
know."
"Well, anyway we didn't get a hint of it. It was a good
risk."
"Dear me, yes. A very sound speculation. I should say
Lord Croyland has excellent judgment. He seems to
have paid some price for his gains, to be sure. His poor
mother, I gather, caused him a good deal of anxiety.
But he would have done very well if our friend Harwood
had not such an active mind." Mr. Clunk beamed.
"I do hope you feel grateful to our friend Harwood."
"I do," Bell frowned. "That's a nasty, filthy brute.
And his girl! My Lord 1"
"Yes indeed," Mr. Clunk sympathized. "The nastiest
creatures. The ways of God are very strange, my friend.
Mr. Harwood has been so useful. I tell you frankly, I
do not know how I could have done without him. I had
quite given up poor Wisberry's death as a mystery which
could not be solved here upon earth. Even when Tony
found that his father had made a discovery which Gars-
tons had been using, I did not see my way. I could only
tell the dear boy to let the matter rest. And still I do
X


29O THE GARSTON MURDER CASE
brother's murderer. There is a kind of nobility in the
man. Really rather a tragic person, my friend."
"He's had a life," Bell nodded. "I don't envy him his
death either—when it comes."
"No indeed," Mr. Clunk sighed. "A strong man. Let
God judge him."
"Rather fine, the way he defied us all—taking the hell
of a risk to himself. And it wasn't his own crime, not
really, not mainly, any of it. Do you suppose he had a
liking for Alfred all the time?"
"You know, I should doubt that," said Mr. Clunk
thoughtfully. "I should ra-ather doubt it. Probably
they were always hostile. Which makes Lord Croyland
all the more remarkable. I think he had a liking for his
mother. You'll observe that there was a breaking point
with Lord Croyland. When Miss Dean vanished he
could bear no more."
"That broke his nerve, you mean?"
"Yes, you may say so. Or let us say his conscience
revolted at another crime. He cannot have known what
had happened to her. Perhaps he suspected Alfred again.
I take it he rushed off in that mad way, to demand the
truth, to insist there should be no more villainy, to
hurry Alfred out of the country—he hardly knew what.
He was shaken, mind and soul." Mr. Clunk took an-
other sweet. "A strange night, my friend. That poor
child lying helpless under ground—while her fear and
suffering drove Croyland to reveal his brother's, crimes.
Dear me, I wonder if I should have followed Croyland
if I had known she was lost. I hope so." He blinked.
"Yes, I think so. I had quite resolved to rely on Croy-
land giving us a clue to Alfred. I believe I should have
been strong enough to put everything else aside. Ah,
but what an ordeal for her, dear child. How strange


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