The Dancing Druids

‘Of course you do. I have a fatal habit of recapitulation due to having to lecture to people who won’t read books but have been brought up on a diet of films and the wireless. Well, all that I was going to suggest is this: at Cottam’s there is an old man, very simple, employed on odd jobs in the garden. Why don’t you get him to describe Allwright and Battle? Then, when you arrest Battle, the old man could be brought along to identify him.’

‘That won’t help. It isn’t getting Battle identified that’s going to be the trouble. It’s getting young O’Hara to swear to him. O’Hara is our only reliable witness to what happened at the farm, and— ’

‘I know. But what you don’t know is that— ’

‘Nobody is going to believe—no juryman at any rate—that O’Hara can identify with certainty a man he saw only at night by the light of an electric torch.’

‘He heard his voice, remember. Oh, I agree about the jury, but I was just going to tell you— ’

Before the Chief Constable could hear the rest of the sentence, the telephone rang.

‘It’s Inspector Fielding, dear,’ said his wife, who had taken the call. ‘Will you take it in here?’

‘No, no. I’ll come into the lounge. You stay here and look after Adela. I daresay she’d like a cup of tea. I expect Beauchamp to ring up about a foursome to-morrow. He said, when I put him off to-day, that he’d try to fix something for to-morrow.’

‘Well, how are the patients?’ enquired the hostess, when she and Mrs. Bradley were left alone. ‘I hear you’ve been spending your summer holiday getting my poor old Crimmie’s goat?’

Sir Crimmond’s wife was a bright-eyed woman of thirty; his second wife, in fact, and the apple of his choleric eye. Mrs. Bradley denied indignantly, first, that she had had a summer holiday, since coming to see one’s grandchild christened could scarcely be called that; she added, that, until the birth of the baby, she had been lecturing in Denmark; secondly, she denied that she would ever be wicked enough to get Sir Crimmond’s goat under any circumstances whatsoever unless he turned into a wife-beater.

At this point Sir Crimmond reappeared. He was red in the face and very angry.

‘Damn it, Adela! Do you know what’s happened now?’ he demanded. ‘Those confounded nit-wits have allowed another murder—another murder!—to be committed within my boundaries! A man called Firman has been found shot through the right eye—death instantaneous—in a wood about three miles from Beauchamp’s own place, the Towers, at Little Beddlehampton! The county’s becoming a shambles! Really it is! I’ve got to go and see to it, of course. You’d better come with me. You can give me your views as we go.’

‘I haven’t any views until we have seen the body, and until I am sure those two boys are safe,’ said Mrs. Bradley. ‘Mr. O’Hara and his cousin, Mr. Gascoigne, were out with this man Firman in an endeavour to extract information with regard to the other murder.’

‘Upon my soul! So the two things are connected! You’d better—Oh, no, I remember. Yes, of course. Oh, Lord! I hope young O’Hara’s all right. An intelligent boy. His great grandfather was the young Tim O’Hara who said to Queen Victoria— ’

A long reminiscence followed to which Mrs. Bradley, accustomed to improbable stories about Queen Victoria, scarcely listened. At the end of the narrative, she said :

‘I was going to tell you, just before the telephone rang, that I don’t think Michael O’Hara is in any more danger now than his cousin or Laura or myself or even Denis, and, possibly, George.’

‘Why not? I thought you said— ’

‘Yes, but, you see, when we were pretending to begin some archaeological excavations at the circle of the Dancing Druids, a man came up to O’Hara and asked him why he had left the car on the night when he helped to carry the body.’

‘He did? Point-blank, like that?’

‘Apparently.’

‘So all of you could swear to this man?’

‘Yes, but it wouldn’t help very much with a jury, any more than— ’

‘No,’ said Sir Crimmond, thoughtfully, ‘I can see that. There are no other material witnesses except the body, which isn’t proved to be Allwright’s. It would be young O’Hara’s story against this fellow’s denials.’

‘He might not even deny it.’

‘Eh?’

‘O’Hara may be able to recognize Battle—I call him Battle because that is who it must be—but he could not possibly identify the body he helped to carry.’

‘Oh!’

‘It was wrapped and swathed in such a way that no features were distinguishable.’

‘So?’

‘So all that Battle, who is nothing if not a resourceful and desperate man, would need to do is to provide himself with an accident case—not difficult; the gang he and Cassius have had to employ is fairly large, and one or two of them that I myself have seen must be heavy men—and take you to hospital to see it. The “case” will have been primed with a tale— ’

‘But a hospital would see through a malingerer in half a minute!’

‘The man wouldn’t be a malingerer,’ Mrs. Bradley pointed out in gentle tones. ‘He would be a genuinely wounded man. Battle and Cassius would certainly see to that. In fact, I should say that such a “case” has existed since the day that Firman saw Gascoigne and O’Hara at that farm on the Sunday morning.’

‘Then wouldn’t he give the game away through sheer annoyance at having been victimized? This fellow they crocked, I mean.’

‘Not if he has been told that his life depends upon his compliance, do you think? And, of course, he’s been very well paid. The only thing is that he was not at a local hospital. Still, they will have thought of the time-factor. He will be in a hospital outside the county boundaries.’

‘Then how are we going to get them?’

‘I want you to arrest Battle’s wife and his son David.’

‘I can’t do that!’

‘It’s our only chance, and you must do it at once, and not bother about a warrant.’

‘I won’t do it! Good Lord, what next? Gangster methods, nothing less! I’m surprised at you for suggesting such a way out!’

‘Very well. It’s the only solution, so far as I can see at present.’

She was silent. The Chief Constable glanced at her once or twice, but her witch-like countenance was as calm as the face of a Chinese, and her brilliant eyes were closed, displaying long black lashes against cheeks the colour of old ivory. Her ungloved, claw-like hands were gently clasped in her lap, and the September sun glinted suddenly on the jewels in her rings, giving the Chief Constable a start, as though a dagger had been flashed before his eyes.

‘Well, suppose I did do it?’ he said presently.

‘I think that the birds might fly,’ said Mrs. Bradley, opening her eyes. ‘You can, I imagine, find some reason for arresting Battle and Cassius for trying to leave the country?’

‘Ah,’ said the Chief Constable, looking happier. ‘And you think the wife and son will give us all the evidence we want?’

‘Yes, and you will obtain more from the death of Firman. There is nothing very secret about that. But— ’

‘Don’t you think that as a result of that—if they did it! We’ve no evidence, mind!—they will cut and run before we arrest the wife and son?’

‘I don’t know whether they can.’

‘We can have the ports watched, just in case— ’

‘They won’t leave from a port,’ said Mrs. Bradley. ‘They will leave from their smugglers’ hole. They’ve got their own ship, remember! The one which they used to carry the pictures. But they will have to get in touch with her, and, if you act quickly, they won’t have very much time.’

‘Which of them did kill Firman, do you suppose?’

‘Cassius, I should say.’

‘But Battle—if that’s who it is!—is surely the killer, from what you’ve told me.’

‘Yes, but I expect he wanted to have Cassius as deeply implicated as he is himself. Besides, although we’ve no evidence that Cassius is a killer, there’s not much doubt that his son is a murderous little brute.’