pounds. If the will were altered in accordance with a rough draft which Mr Sethleigh drew up less than three weeks ago, and which I have in my possession, Mr Redsey would find himself completely disinherited, as the result of a serious quarrel between the cousins.’
‘They did quarrel then?’ cried the inspector. ‘What was the cause, sir? Do you know that?’
‘Money. Mr Redsey wanted Mr Sethleigh to make him an advance – a loan, of course, not a gift – to enable him to buy a share in a Mexican ranch instead of going out there as a paid servant of the owner, a friend of his.’
‘And Mr Sethleigh refused?’
‘In the roundest terms, inspector. Rather a pity, I think, as he could so easily have afforded the money.’
‘Redsey was angry, of course, sir?’
‘Very angry. According to Sethleigh, he said, at the conclusion of one of the several acrimonious arguments which took place, “Very well, you mingy devil! I suppose the stuff will be mine some day! Perhaps that day will come sooner than you think!”’
‘And after that Mr Sethleigh decided to alter his will and leave Redsey out of it?’
‘That’s it. But, you see, he hasn’t had the chance, apparently. I came down on Monday last and interviewed Mr Redsey, as Sethleigh was not there. A most unsatisfactory interview in every way. Oh, and a curious feature of the afternoon was Redsey’s determination that Mrs Bryce Harringay and I should on no account approach the Vicarage by way of the Manor Woods. He went through the most extraordinary manoeuvres to prevent it.’
‘The Manor Woods?’ said the inspector thoughtfully. ‘I wonder – ? We’ve exhausted the clues in Bossbury, I think, and in this house. In fact, I don’t really know that there were any in Bossbury except fingerprints. Plenty of those! But who to fix ’em on to beats me, sir, blowed if it doesn’t! But the Manor Woods! Tried to prevent your going in, did he? Did it come off?’
‘I humoured him,’ confessed the lawyer. ‘I am sorry now that I gave way.’
‘Well, he won’t prevent
‘A pleasure,’ said the lawyer. ‘Well, I might as well return to Town. You are the person I came to see, and I would just as soon not encounter Mrs Bryce Harringay,’ he added, as he saw the stately matron approaching them across the lawn, ‘as I am in haste to return to the station.’
‘There’s just one thing,’ said the inspector, ‘and that is – could you give me any idea of a birthmark or other marks Mr Sethleigh might have had on his body, by which he could be identified?’
‘No idea! No idea!’ cried the lawyer, observing with dismay that Mrs Bryce Harringay was hastening towards them, and obviously had recognized him. ‘No idea at all! So sorry! I must really get that train!’
So saying, he gripped his neat attache-case a trifle more firmly, snatched his silk hat from his head, and sprinted rapidly down the drive.
‘Mr Grayling! Mr Gray-ling!’ called Mrs Bryce Harringay behind him. The lawyer clenched his teeth and put a spurt on.
Mrs Bryce Harringay approached the inspector.
‘Most unfortunate,’ she said, raising lorgnettes and glaring after the flying figure of the lawyer with an expression of intense annoyance upon her florid countenance. She objected strongly to calling loudly after people who took no notice of her cries.
‘He was trying to catch a train, I believe, madam,’ said the inspector soothingly. ‘I suppose you can’t offer any suggestion as to what became of that skull, madam, can you?’
‘What information, exactly, are you attempting to extract from me, inspector?’ enquired Mrs Bryce Harringay haughtily. ‘Pray ask your questions in a proper manner. I object to your attitude and your tone.’
‘Have you any reason for supposing that in a fit of absent-mindedness the bishop might have taken the skull away from Mr Wright’s house?’ enquired the inspector bluntly.
‘The bishop is neither absent-minded nor mad,’ responded Mrs Bryce Harringay. ‘I do not know whether that is sufficient answer to what I can only hope and trust is not a fair sample of –’
‘Oh, come now, madam,’ remonstrated the inspector. ‘I’ll withdraw the question, if you like. The only point is this: if the bishop, who, in a sense, we might say, it belonged to, didn’t move it from Mr Wright’s house, who did?’
‘I don’t know why you are worrying about that skull at all,’ said Mrs Bryce Harringay petulantly. ‘You said yourself that you knew it couldn’t be Rupert’s skull, poor boy! If only the police would take a straight line to get to the heart of the mystery of my nephew’s disappearance, instead of going off into these ridiculous side-tracks, it would be far more profitable, I consider. You should tackle James Redsey. He knows more than anybody! He must do! He was with him when he disappeared! Why don’t you make him tell you what he knows?’
‘All in good time, madam,’ said the inspector, more soothing than ever. ‘I don’t want to make unpleasantness. There’s no need at present. I know where Mr Redsey is, and I can get him when I want him.’
‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ said Mrs Bryce Harringay aggrievedly. ‘And meanwhile poor Rupert is not being traced – no effort is being made to trace him – and James will slip through your fingers and go off to South America or somewhere before you know where you are!’
‘That, madam, is certainly something to guard against,’ said the inspector, taking out his note-book. ‘And, talking of America, there is just one more point. Why didn’t anybody in the house worry about Mr Sethleigh’s disappearance until Mr Redsey gave out that he had gone to America? See what I’m after, madam, don’t you? None of you saw Mr Sethleigh after he walked into those woods over yonder with his cousin at about eight o’clock on Sunday night, but, so far as I can make out, nobody seems to have asked anything about him until nearly tea-time on Monday. A bit queer, that, to my way of thinking.’
‘Well, no, inspector,’ replied Mrs Bryce Harringay, opening her large protruding eyes very widely, ‘it was not in the least queer. Of course, when James was brought home on the Sunday night in such a horrible, hopeless, repulsive state of intoxication that I was obliged to have him carried up to bed and then to lock the door on him, I concluded that Rupert had returned to the house much earlier. I am a Slave to my Nerves, and I had retired to rest very early that evening. In fact, it was from my bedroom window that I perceived the two boys strolling towards the woods; it was not improbable, therefore, that Rupert should have returned to the house without my knowledge. As for our not being concerned about him the next day – well, the explanation is very simple. Rupert suffered from some kind of heart trouble – his doctor could tell you more about it – and often rested in his room all the morning. Sometimes he would appear at lunch, sometimes not. Therefore no one passed any comment that I can remember when we saw nothing of him on Monday, unless James’s ridiculous behaviour in driving us out of the Manor Woods was a comment! As for Rupert’s going to America, the very idea was the height of absurdity. Rupert hated the sea too much ever to go to America.’
‘Didn’t the servants inform you, madam, that their master was not in his room and could not be found? After all, they could not even supply him with his meals. Didn’t they ask about that?’
‘The servants,’ said Mrs Bryce Harringay majestically, ‘know better than to worry me with Trivialities!’
CHAPTER X
I
‘IT all boils down to this,’ said Inspector Grindy to Superintendent Bidwell. ‘If the skull was an old affair which had lain buried for years and years, why did somebody think it worth while to steal it from Wright and stick some of his modelling clay on to that coconut to pretend it hadn’t been pinched?’
‘Well, we know Wright of old,’ grinned the superintendent.
‘As a matter of fact, we don’t, sir,’ observed the inspector. ‘He’s lived in that house about three years, that’s all.’
‘Long enough to make a name for himself as a practical joker, anyway,’ argued the superintendent. ‘Personally, I think he’s pulling our legs about the skull. I propose we shelve the question of the skull for a bit, and go through the serious part of the business. What about young Redsey? To be frank, inspector, I’m assuming that the Bossbury body is that of Rupert Sethleigh. After all, we must get some sort of a starting-point, and that’s a very
