to the basin by Webster’s well. That would be about—let’s see!—ten o’clock or soon after, wouldn’t it?”
“About that, I suppose.”
“You didn’t see anyone hanging around there? There’s a place where the ground dips from the high paths, and you can see down into the basin behind the well. Nothing out of the way to be seen there then?”
“Not that I remember. I can’t say I do remember even glancing toward the well, really. But in the wooded part, just past the dip, there was somebody moving around. Nothing for you, though, I’m afraid. The preserve fence begins about there, and not being a gamekeeper I find it etiquette not to look in the direction of poachers when I hear ’em at work. I took it for granted that was what he was up to, but he was rather a noise of footsteps than anything I saw. Just somebody running lightly in the underbrush, away from me to get deeper in shadow. It was pretty dark; he didn’t have to go far to be lost. But it was a man, all right. Just a blur with a face and hands, and then gone, but a man. It’s happened before on occasions; and as I say, I was tactful, and went right ahead without another look.”
“That’s helpful!” said George glumly. “Nothing else to report at all?”
“No, I think not. Sorry about that, but I couldn’t know it was going to be important. And as a matter of fact, I still think pheasants were all he was after. I know the kind of running, and the place and time were right for it. Still, it’s your manhunt.”
There was no more to be had from him, either directly or by observation. They parted at the junction of the field-paths, and in a few minutes a high hedge hid them from each other. George went very thoughtfully back into Comerford’s deserted green, let himself into the station, and telephoned Inspector Logan at Comerbourne. There was something about Helmut’s tunic that he wanted to confirm; and he thought, after all, he would go over and make certain now, and not risk leaving it until the morning.
V—Second Thoughts
One
« ^ »
Well,” said Selwyn Blunden, settling his considerable bulk well back in the big chair, “that was an experiment that didn’t last long. Poor young devil!—but he was a devil! Pity, it seemed to be beginning rather well, so I heard from the manager fellow down on the site there.” He nodded toward the window which lay nearest to the ravaged valleys of the coal-site, still out of sight and sound, still held at bay from the Blunden fences, but creeping steadily nearer. “Said he was an excellent worker, excellent! Well, nobody’s going to get any more work out of him now—or have any trouble with him, either.”
“Except us,” said George. “My troubles with him seem to be only beginning.”
“Yes, in that way I suppose you’re right. Bad business altogether, bad for the village, unsettles everybody—bad for the boy himself, who after all might have made a decent fellow in the end—bad for your lad, and that young thing with the plaits, too, by God! How did your young man take it?”
“Oh, Dom’s all right. Stood up to it like a professional, but it’s had its effect, all the same, I wish it hadn’t. He’s taking far too proprietary an interest in the case for my liking.”
The big old man looked up under his bushy eyebrows and smiled through the thin clouds of smoke from his cigar. “What, enjoying the sensation, is he? You never can tell with children. These things simply don’t frighten them until some fool of a grown-up goes to the trouble to explain to them that they ought to be frightened.”
“Oh, not that, exactly. Dom’s rather past the stage of having to have these things explained to him. Consequently he’s quite capable of frightening himself, without any help from anyone. No, I wouldn’t say he’s enjoying it. But it happened to him, and he doesn’t want to let go of it until it’s all cleared up. Feels committed to it. Neither soft words nor fleas in his ear discourage him.”
“I see! Bound to admire his spirit, I must say, but damned inconvenient for you, I quite see that. One likes to have one’s family kept rather separate from things like murder.” He sighed deeply, and exhaled smoke like some wholesome old dragon in an unorthodox fairy tale. “Difficult times all round, Sergeant. I do appreciate your troubles. Got some of my own, but nothing to speak of by comparison. Result of that appeal should be through almost any day, and between you and me, win or lose, I’ll be glad to see it. Can’t carry this sort of war of attrition as well as I used to.”
“How do you think it’s going to turn out?” asked George with interest.
“Oh, it’s anybody’s guess—but I think the appeal will be allowed. Yes, I really expect it to go through. Site’s almost an uneconomic proposition as it is, after the run of bad luck they’ve had down there. Well, bad luck!—more likely over-confidence and over-haste, I’d hazard, if the truth be told. Put any amount of machinery out of action in a very short time, crashed one grab clean over and damned nearly killed the lad driving it—too much of it to be simply bad luck. It’s my opinion they were trying to rush this last stretch to make a good case for moving into my ground before the winter closed in, and were in such a hurry they took too many chances, and made a botch of it. But
George allowed that it would be rather a lot to expect. He suppressed a grin which would have done no discredit to Dominic, and asked demurely: “How’s the shooting this year? Client of mine tells me the pheasants have done rather well.”
The white moustache bristled for a moment, the bold blue eyes flashed, but he relaxed into laughter before their blueness had quite grown spearlike. “Ah, well, haven’t had too many taken yet, all things considered. And your job’s a bit like the confessional, isn’t it? So I won’t ask you for his name. Yes, they’ve done quite well. With only half a keeper, so to speak, one couldn’t ask more. Briggs is a complete anarchist, of course, won’t be ruled by owner, expert or predecessor, but he does rear the birds, heaven knows how. I’ve stopped interfering.”
“I heard the guns out for the first time yesterday evening. Sounded like autumn!”
“Oh, that would be Charles and a couple of friends he had down. I haven’t been out yet myself, haven’t had time. Perhaps this weekend we may get out together for a few hours—can’t let a whole week of October slip away without a single bird. But there won’t be any big parties this year. I can’t do with the social life, Sergeant Felse, it takes too much out of a man, and I’m not so young as I once was. And then, it needs a woman to take charge of the house, or there’s no heart in it—”
For a fleeting moment his blue eyes glanced upward at the wide, creamy expanse of wall opposite, where the best light in the room gathered and seemed to cluster upon a large, framed photograph. A woman, young but not very young, pretty but not very pretty, somehow too undecided to be
