Mark’s London apartment was now on the market and was creating interest but so far there was no firm buyer. It seemed that everybody had a property to sell before they could invest in a new home.
Breakfast was finished and he was contemplating a day of leisure, maybe a visit to the British Museum, when the telephone shrilled.
‘Hello, Sabat,’ a familiar voice on the other end which he recognised as that of Inspector McCaulay of Scotland Yard, a long-time associate whom he had worked with on several occasions over the years.
Sabat groaned inwardly, the last thing he wanted at this stage of his career with retirement in prospect was a call from the Yard.
‘McCaulay,’ he lowered himself into a chair. ‘Much as I enjoy talking to you I’m on the verge of retirement. The last thing I need is an investigation.’
‘Well, I’d appreciate your opinion, anyway, Sabat. You know how much I value it.’ Flattery was always a good starting point.
‘I’d be happy to oblige but I really don’t want another case. As you know, retirement beckons and I’m really looking forward to it.’
‘Sure, I appreciate that. However I have had a phone call from a colleague of mine, Superintendent Jackson, of the Powys police force in Wales. We once worked together. Now he’s got a mystery on his hands and he’s heard of you and asked if I could have a chat with you. On the face of it occult forces are at large in Montgomery.’
Oh, Christ, here we go! Sabat suppressed a groan.
‘There’s been a murder up in Wales. The body was found in Montgomery churchyard. The victim, a guy in his late fifties, had been strangled. What he was doing wandering around a rural graveyard after dark is something of a mystery. The force used was so great that his neck had been completely snapped!’
‘These days there’s usually more than one murder every day,’ Sabat replied. ‘So why should you be interested in one up in rural Wales?’
‘There’s more to it than that, Sabat. Back in the mid-nineteenth century a local guy was apprehended in that same churchyard by a couple of chaps who claimed he had stolen a watch from them. The evidence was weak but he was found guilty and hanged publicly. On the gallows he swore his innocence and announced that to support his claim no grass or undergrowth would grow on his grave. And oddly that was the case, proof enough for superstitious locals until fairly recently weeds began to sprout there. Folks avoided the grave on the grounds that Davies was no longer down there and he was out and about. Nobody would venture near the site except curious holidaymakers who had read about the legend. Now we come to the weird bit and I wouldn’t even mention it except to yourself.’
‘Go on,’ Sabat was curious.
‘The guy who was murdered was a descendant of William Jones whom it is believed produced two false witnesses to ensure that Davies was found guilty. Now there’s rumours that Davies has risen from his grave to seek revenge. Of course the police dismiss this theory as rubbish. Some of the locals have applied to the Church for permission to exhume Davies’s remains, or, at least, find out if they are still down there. Needless to say their request has been refused.’
Sabat pursed his lips. His past experience of his investigations had him keeping an open mind at this stage.
And then somewhere deep within himself he heard a sneer. Quentin was stirring again after a lengthy absence. Because he knew something about this strange business far from here. Mark tensed. The silence returned.
‘What d’you want me to do about the Robber’s Grave, then McCaulay?’
‘I was wondering,’ the other’s hesitancy was unmistakable, ‘if you would fancy a trip up to Montgomery. Incognito, of course. If anybody can find out what’s going on up there, it’s you. Maybe a break from the metropolis would do you good.’
Sabat sighed. Maybe it would lead to a final encounter with Quentin, allow him to see out his final years in peace.
‘All right,’ he added after a pause. ‘I’ll take a trip up there and have a mooch around. I can’t promise more than that.’
‘Thanks,’ there was a note of relief in the other’s voice. ‘It’s out of my area but you and I have conducted numerous weird investigations. I could ignore it but Superintendent Jackson feels there’s more to this business than meets the eye. Anyway, I owe him a personal favour. So I’ll leave it all up to you and hope to hear from you in due course.’
Sabat arrived in Montgomery a few days later and booked into an hotel. Such a charming town, was his first impression. There was nothing in the way of nocturnal rowdiness here at night, mostly the younger generation travelled to either Newtown or Welshpool for their drinking, so the hotel receptionist informed him. ‘You will enjoy a really peaceful few days here, sir.’
Dusk was creeping in on a calm, late autumn evening when he set out for the churchyard. The streets were empty, the town itself was deserted apart from a couple of locals returning from the late-opening shop. It couldn’t be better for his purpose, he reflected, as he entered the churchyard. There was a full moon, its wan light penetrating the overhanging branches of the tall trees. He had no need of his torch for which he was grateful. The last thing he wanted was to advertise his presence in these holy grounds.
Suspended from his neck was the silver
