Saltmarsh Murders

“Ducky, they might be. He might get them as they come in. Oh, my Lawks, whatever shall I do! I’m so terrified of that there Gatty, revengeful little toad!”

She picked up the poker.

“I’ll have that,” said William. “You won’t hit hard enough. You have the shovel, and whack them round the chops with it. I can’t be hanged if I kill anybody, that’s another thing. You can.”

They advanced to the hall door. The light was burning in the hall. Bending double, William tiptoed to the front door. Cora followed. At this moment they heard the quavering voice of Foster Washington Yorke singing a negro spiritual to guard and cheer him and his master on their lonely road home.

“Keep clear of the door, Cora,” said William, in whom the fear born of inaction had given place to the thrill of battle. “I’ll open it and let them in quick.”

He waited until he judged the negro and Burt were almost at the door, then he flung the door open and shouted, “Quick! Quick!”

Washington was badly startled, but he responded immediately, and he and his load of books came hurtling into the house like rain, while William slammed the door.

“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, Mis’ Cora!” gasped the negro, rolling his eyes rapidly. “What’s de mattah?”

“There’s something on the roof,” said William. “There it is again!” They clutched one another wildly. At the same instant a loud knock at the door heralded Burt. They besought him to enter quickly, and William told him the news. Cora, William supposed, was too scared to explain anything.

“Something on the roof?” said Burt. “Oh, rot!”

Nevertheless, somewhat shaken by their obvious fears, he walked to his desk, took out a revolver and walked to the door. He had a powerful electric torch in his left hand. Cora shrieked and rushing forward, clung to his arm. Burt shook her off.

“Stay where you are,” he said. William and the negro had to hold Cora back, while Burt went outside the house. He returned in a moment or two.

“Nothing there,” he said curtly.

“Well, there was, ” said Cora, weakly, sitting down.

“Yes,” said Burt, slowly and thoughtfully, and William noticed that he did not replace the gun in his desk, but left it lying on the blotting pad, “there has been something up there. You’d better have a couple of aspirins, Cora. There’s nothing to worry about now.” He looked at her and smiled grimly. (William’s words, not mine.)

“I’d better go home,” said William.

“Not alone,” said Cora. “You’ll have to take him, Dave.”

“And leave you?” said William.

“Nothing doing,” said Burt. “I couldn’t do that. The kid will have to stay here. Nothing else for it.”

He smiled nastily again, William said. He supposed Burt was angry with Cora for getting scared.

“His uncle might come,” said Cora. “I telephoned.”

It was just about then that I rolled up, of course. They admitted me.

“What’s the trouble?” I said, gazing at Burt’s revolver.

“Come and have a drink,” said Burt, “and I’ll tell you. All right, Cora, I’m not going outside the house.”

I accepted a small whisky.

“The trouble is that some unauthorised person climbed on my roof this evening and loosened a couple of tiles, damn him!” said Burt. “Incidentally, he scared my wife. She thought young Coutts ought not to walk home unaccompanied. I was out when the thing happened.”

“Loosened a couple of tiles?” I said. “Are you sure? I mean, rather pointless.” Then I told them about the cat I thought I had heard on their roof as I approached the place.

“Come and look for yourself, when you’ve finished your drink. Of course, I was only using my electric torch, but it’s very powerful,” said Burt, “and the roof of this bungalow is low. Nobody to be seen now, of course. Want to come and see the damage?”

“Take your word for it,” I said, “especially as you promised you would not leave the house. Oh, by the way! It wasn’t young Taylor, I suppose?” I added. “Bad hat of the village just at the moment. I’ve had to relieve him of the job of helping us to manage the cocoanut shy at the fete on August Monday.”

“I’ll take that on, then,” said Burt, impelled by the hypnotic pause which followed my last remark. I am rather an artist in hypnotic pauses. You have to be, in our job, of course.

“Good man,” I said. “Report at nine-thirty on Saturday night at the Mornington Arms for details, will you? Sorry it’s a pub, but Lowry gets the cocoanuts cheap for us.”

“Right you are,” said Burt. “I’ll come and give you a light as far as the gate.”

“Don’t bother, thanks,” I said, for really the whole thing seemed rather hot air, of course! “Come on, Bill.”

We made our adieux and had just come into the broad path of light which streamed from the study through the thin curtains out on to the gravel, when something whizzed past William’s head and crashed to pieces on the path. It was rather startling, and I was sufficiently taken off my guard to seize William’s arm and leap into the shadows, dragging the boy with me. At the same instant, the front door was flung open and a pistol cracked twice.

“Missed him. He’s off,” said Burt’s cool voice. “Hurt, either of you?”

“No,” I said. “Who’s the maniac, I wonder?”