bank, so she didn’t get the name of the town from that. I think these two foreigners exist all right.’
‘All you need is the local directory, then.’
‘The directory may not be much help because, as I say, I can’t put a name to these people. I’ve come to you because I thought you were the likeliest person to put me in touch with any foreigners you’ve got on your patch. After all, if these people
‘I know of only one foreigner, but he’s an Armenian. He’s the librarian at the agricultural college here and a very nice chap indeed. I don’t suppose for a moment that he’ll be able to help you, but I’ll take you over there if you like.’ He rang through and was told that they would be expected.
The agricultural college was several miles outside the town and even when they reached its gates there was a drive of about a mile and a half before they reached the college building. Here a porter, who obviously had been told to expect them, conducted them up two flights of stairs to a large room furnished with tables and chairs and surrounded on three sides by bookshelves. There were racks for newspapers and periodicals and a railed-off space containing a desk, a chair and a library ladder for the custodian.
This was a slender little man in a neat grey suit and an unobtrusive tie. The noticeable thing about him was his beard. It was spade-shaped and immensely, luxuriantly thick. Mrs Buxton had mentioned the Russian cap and the astrakhan collar of one of her supposedly Greek visitors, but (thought Routh) she could never have missed the beard. Whoever (if he existed at all) her male mysterious caller could have been, it was certainly not this man. Routh explained his errand. The librarian was polite but puzzled.
‘Greeks?’ he said. ‘There are none among the students and I know of none in the town. Pythias? I have never heard of him except as the legendary friend of Damon.’
‘Well,’ said Bellairs, when they had returned to the car, ‘he is the best I can do for you. We’re very short of foreigners here. No blacks, no Pakis, one or two old-established Jewish families, and now and again the gypsies who camp on the riverside verges and have to be moved on. I think the directory is your only hope unless — yes, there
Again Routh drew a blank.
‘Well, I’m not going to try the post office,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to start up a lot of gossip, especially if these Greeks don’t exist. I haven’t nearly enough to go on to take any action at present, but I agree with you that Mrs Buxton and her husband can bear watching. I have to keep in mind that Buxton is a van driver and could get here very easily to post an envelope.’
‘I doubt whether he’s his own master to any great extent,’ said Bellairs. ‘Wouldn’t his employers keep him to a pretty strict timetable? You will have seen by the postmark when those cheques were sent to the bank. Can’t you check up with the furniture people?’
‘And find out whether Buxton had an assignment to deliver or collect furniture in Springdale at about the right time? Yes, of course I could, but I don’t believe it would help much. What’s forty miles in a van which can bucket along at fifty on open roads? There’s very little congestion on the roads around here until you actually get into the town.’
‘The firm probably checks his mileage and his fuel consumption, don’t you think?’
‘He probably pays for any extra journeys himself. You know, I’m beginning to like the look of things less and less. If Buxton posted those cheques, it means he’s got the rest of the money. If he’s got the money, it can only mean that Pythias is dead. If Pythias is dead, either he was murdered or else he succumbed to a heart attack or something. If he did, and the Buxtons took the banknotes and the cheques, he must have died in the Buxtons’ house and the Buxtons have concealed the death. I’ll try the firm and see what comes of that. Of course, Buxton and his van may not have come into the matter at all. Springdale has a railway station. Pythias himself may have posted the cheques and hung on to the rest of the money. I don’t suppose he could have hit upon any way of converting the cheques to his own use. They were not made payable to him, but were entered in a special school fund.’
The firm gave Routh no help. They had nothing against Buxton and they had not sent him to deliver any orders in Springdale for nearly a year. They did their best, looked up their order books and all the rest of their delivery records, but came up with no information from which the Detective-Inspector could obtain a clue to Buxton’s involvement or any other kind of a lead.
Meanwhile, Mr Ronsonby had been turning over in his mind the matter of the postmark.
‘Whatever is still in the dark about Pythias,’ he said to Mr Burke, ‘one thing is absolutely clear. Those cheques were posted in Springdale, so whoever posted them was in Springdale at the time of posting. It seems to me that this person was most likely to have been Pythias himself. I think I ought to go over there and take a look round. If it was not Pythias, it could have been those Greeks who are said to have called at his lodgings to collect his effects and, if it were not they, it was probably Buxton. He, as we know, has a means of transport which people are so much accustomed to seeing all over the county that it seems hardly noticeable. It is like Poe’s letter and Chesterton’s postman.’
‘Springdale is a biggish town,’ said Mr Burke. ‘How do you propose to make a start? Do you know anybody there?’
‘Yes, of course I do. I propose to enlist the help of Miss Edmunds. She has the big mixed school there and I have met her a number of times at educational gatherings. If there are Greeks living in Springdale, she will know of them.’
‘Only if they have children of senior-school age, I would have thought.’
‘Well, even if
Miss Edmunds’s school was aptly named Hillmoor, for it was on top of the hill which led out of the town on the south side. Several acres of moorland had been cleared of heather and gorse, and then levelled and grassed to form playing fields. Sharp bends on a dangerous road which ran down the other side of the hill had been ironed out to make a safe approach to the school, not only for children on bicycles, but for the staff cars and the fleet of school buses. The school buildings were larger than those of the Sir George Etherege would be, and, in fact (thought Mr Ronsonby, driving carefully in at the school gates), Miss Edmunds had gathered for herself an educational plum.
Miss Edmunds, who had been apprised of the visit, although she had not been told its purpose, was waiting to
