The Dancing Druids

tempered always in his affectionate dealings with Mrs. Bradley, he was smoothness itself to Mr. Cassius, whom, it was plain, he disliked very much indeed. ‘’Now, let’s hear what you have to say for yourselves,‘ he added, looking at the three young men and George.

‘If I might venture, sir?’ said George.

‘Yes, of course, man. You’re the oldest. Carry on,’ said Sir Crimmond, who knew George well, and respected him.

‘Thank you, sir. The matter fell out as follows:’

‘Take a note, Superintendent,’ said the Chief Constable to that officer, who, supported by the sergeant, was burning to get in a word.

‘Oh, we have the whole story, sir,’ said the Superintendent.

‘Naturally.’ (‘What the hell do you think we’ve been doing?’ he added under his breath.)

‘Never mind. You can check it against what they’re going to tell us now,’ observed Sir Crimmond.

‘Take a note, sergeant,’ said the Superintendent angrily. ‘He can write shorthand, sir,’ he added, to cover himself against any act of disobedience.

‘All right. Now, George—er—now you,’ said the Chief Constable.

‘George, sir?’ said the Superintendent disagreeably.

‘Proceeding, as per instructions, to drive Mr. Denis to Slepe Rock, sir,’ George began, ignoring the fact that the Chief Constable had been addressed.

‘What, at that time of night!’ said Cassius.

‘I did not mention that it was at night,’ said George. ‘Might I have leave, sir,’ he added, with earnest dignity, to the Chief Constable, ‘to give my account without any but the official interruptions?’

‘Certainly,’ the Chief Constable replied. ‘Mr. Cassius, you will not improve your case if you do not allow this man to speak. You may question his story afterwards.’

‘I was proceeding according to schedule,’ continued George, ‘when I heard a party or parties by the nine stones they call the Druids. Actuated by curiosity, I became aware that there was something amiss, and, on looking into the matter, I discovered that a person unknown to me had been killed by reason of one of the stones tumbling down on top of him. The removal of the head and hands of the defunct party by some of the interested persons led me to believe that a crime of some magnitude had been in progress…’

‘What!’ shrieked Cassius. ‘You dare to stand there telling the police those lies!’

‘But they’re not lies,’ said the Chief Constable smoothly. ‘I’ve seen the body myself. Somebody didn’t intend that the corpse should be identified. That is abundantly clear. The police have the corpse at the mortuary by now, I imagine. I think, Mr. Cassius, that you had better be very careful.’

Cassius for the first time looked unsure of himself. His eyes glanced towards the door, as though he half- thought of making a dash from the room. The heavy young constable standing near it met his glance with such coldness, however, that he thought better of the impulse, if he had had it, and merely asked :

‘Well, but what’s all this to do with my stolen pictures?’

‘All in good time, sir,’ said George, with a snake-like benevolence worthy of his employer herself. ‘And if I might not be interrupted…?’

‘Look here, Cassius, you’ll have to be taken away to another room if you can’t let the fellow finish,’ observed the Chief Constable. ‘Dash it, we shall be all day at this rate. And you, George—er—get a move on.’

‘Driving Mr. Denis on to Slepe Rock, the occurrences aforementioned being no business of ours, sir, until we were in a position to report them to the police,’ continued George, ‘we decided we had need of a garage. Being loth to knock up the hotel people at so late an hour—for you must understand, sir, that we did not get to Slepe Rock until after midnight—we essayed the garage attached to, and/or erected upon, the yard where the lorries and motor coaches pull in during the daytime.’

‘Yes, yes, man! Get on!’

‘We knocked at the door of the shack and were met by a man with a revolver who chased us towards the garage, the doors of which were unlocked. To escape our assailant—presumably a man non compos mentis—we leapt into the inspection pit and proceeded to descend a flight of steps to a kind of cellar beneath it. In the cellar, which debouches on to a cave with a seaward entrance, we came upon these packing- cases which Mr. Cassius claims to be his property. And if Mr. Cassius will explain how they came to be down there, and why he has gunmen to guard them, then I am willing to be questioned by him as to the truth or otherwise of my story; and if not, not,’ said George with finality; adding, as a courteous afterthought, ‘by your leave, Sir Crimmond, sir.’

‘You mean you haven’t told the truth?’ thundered the Chief Constable.

‘I mean I have told the truth in a slightly camouflaged form, sir,’ George replied. ‘It would hardly do to put all our cards on the table, since it seems likely that Mr. Cassius will be charged with murder before he’s through.’

‘Murder!’ said Cassius, curling his lip. ‘Don’t you dare to use such a word in connection with me!’ But his face had gone greasy and his eyes looked anywhere but at George. ‘What in hell are you talking about?’

‘He is talking about Mr. Allwright,’ said Mrs. Bradley. ‘I think I’d like to take up the story myself.’ And she recounted to the dry-lipped Cassius the things she had seen and heard at the Stone Circle of the Druids.

‘Do you deny that your collection of pictures consists partly of stolen property and partly of clever fakes?’ she concluded.

Cassius had nothing to say for more than a minute.

‘You’ll never pin murder on me,’ he muttered at last. ‘And those pictures are my property. And the fellow’s death was an accident. If you saw it, you know that as well as I do.’

‘You’d better caution this man and arrest him, Superintendent,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘There’s obviously something behind all this, and it won’t do for us to let him slip through our fingers.’

‘You can’t arrest me! What for? I’ll sue you for this!’ shouted Cassius, struggling under the iron hand of the Superintendent which was now upon his shoulder.

‘George,’ said Mrs. Bradley, some hours later, ‘where did you learn the art which conceals art?’

‘At Army courts-martial, madam,’ replied the imperturbable man.

‘You, George? Gourt-martialled? I have never heard anything of this!’

‘Yes, madam. Once. I have also been called as a witness, but only once have I had to play the principal role.’

‘But, George! I’ve never been so much intrigued since Henri was run in at Bow Street for biting an unknown woman on the shoulder on Peace Night! What were you court-martialled for?—or can’t you discuss the subject?’

‘I called my officer a bloody monkey, madam.’

‘You—oh, George, no! Whatever had he done to deserve it?’

‘He had called me a something basket, madam.’

‘And what had you done to deserve that?’

‘I had no-balled him three times running in an inter-Company cricket match, madam, a feat of umpiring which he did not appreciate.’

‘And how many days C.B. did you get for it, George? I can’t imagine you incarcerated for insolence.’

‘I was discharged, madam, without a stain on my character.’

‘Good heavens, George! Discharged! For…’

‘I upheld a son’s right to defend the good name of his mother, and won the day. The presiding officer had just been apprised of the birth of his first child, a boy, madam. I was aware of this fact, and prepared my defence accordingly.’

‘Strategy, George, with a vengeance!’

‘One should always reconnoitre the terrain, madam, before deciding upon one’s tactics.’

‘Well, old Cassius-Concaverty won’t get a chance to reconnoitre much terrain,’ said Laura, who had just come in. ‘How are you going to pin the murder on him, Mrs. Bradley?’

‘Mrs. Croc. to you,’ said the saurian, sunnily. ‘And the answer to that is that I haven’t the faintest idea. Besides, our first task must be to have the two Battles arrested as well. They are sharers in Concaverty’s guilt,