“Yes. I remember it,” said Sanderson. “What’s the trouble?”
“I want a good chain and padlock, sir, and maybe a hasp and staple so that I can bolt ’em through from the inside. It’s been broken into again.”
“Why, it’s not so long since I had a new lock put on it for you,” said Sanderson.
“That’s right, sir. The old one was rusted rotten. But locking it be’n’t good enow. There’s too much play on that old door, and you can lever it open.”
“Who’s been doing it?” asked Sanderson. “Have you missed anything?”
“My sharpening stone’s gone, carborundum that be, and maybe some other gear. As to who, I reckoned it was some o’ them dratted boys, after their birds’ nesting, the last time. Nothing was took, just devilment, I reckoned. But this time I’m not so sure. That’s been forced open with a bar, that door has. I reckon it was that old varmint of a tramp. Hale, the keeper, warned he off the woods last month, but ’tis a lonely ride that, through Coombe Wood, and one keeper be’n’t enough to keep an eye on it. In the old days twas a different story. Four keepers Sir James had.”
“I don’t much like the sound of this, Greave. Gamekeeping isn’t my business, but your hut and gear are. I think I’ll come along and see it, and if the place has been forced open as you say, and gear stolen, the police had better be told.”
Greave looked unhappy. “Surely now, you wouldn’t make a police matter of it, sir? We’ve had our bellyful of police, begging your pardon. I’d rather pay for the stone and padlock an’ all than have that Milham Prior sergeant poking his nose where it’s not wanted. We’ve had enough of he and to spare. And what can he do like? If so be that old varmint broke into my shed and stole my stone, him won’t be sitting in a hedgerow awaiting for Sergeant Peel to search he.”
“I don’t suppose he will be, but thefts should be reported to the police,” said Sanderson. “Look here, you come along into the yard and hunt out your padlock and staple and bolts—I know we’ve got some in store—and I’ll get my car out and drive you as near as the ride will allow. Then I’ll have a look at the damage, and you can get your hasp and staple fixed. You can borrow a brace from the joiner’s shop.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll be right glad to get that fixed. I’ll make a proper job of that this time. But don’t you go bringing that Milham Prior sergeant here again. We be fair sick of he.”
2
Thus it was that John Sanderson, having of necessity taken a roundabout route to get his car to the woodland ride which approached Coombe Wood, saw the two C.I.D. men strolling along the ride ahead of him. Sanderson pulled up and called to them:
“Would you like to come and exert your talents on a case of breaking and entering? Greave here says his hut’s been forced open and some of his gear stolen, right away in the woods yonder.”
“We should be most happy to assist,” replied Macdonald cheerfully. “We shall be poaching, of course, but I expect I can square Sergeant Peel.”
“Splendid. Get in behind, will you? Greave suspects a tramp. We get an occasional hobo, generally after eggs, but not very many. We’re too far away from a highroad.”
Macdonald and Reeves jumped in at the back, and as Sanderson proceeded slowly over the unmetalled track, Macdonald asked: “Where does this lead to?”
“If you keep to the ride you come out at Hazeldown, just on the edge of the moor. There’s a small mining hamlet there. The mine was disused between the wars, but they opened the workings up again in 1940, and the cottages are still lived in. But we shall turn off from the main ride, and leave the car. There’ll be a bit of scrambling—rather rough ground, I’m afraid. There was some felling done a while back. The foresters shifted the valuable timber, but there’s a lot of small stuff left, and we shift it ourselves as best we can. Timber’s the devil to come by these days and we don’t leave any to rot.”
They jogged along in the car for about twenty minutes before Sanderson pulled up, saying, “The hut is up on the rise yonder. You can see where they felled the big stuff, on the scarp beyond. It was a difficult job getting it moved, but what some of those modern lumberjacks can do with a caterpillar tractor and cable is worthy of the Royal Armoured Corps—and looks nearly as hazardous to me. That’s the hut.”
It was a commonplace little wooden shack, having no windows, but a stovepipe projected from the roof at one end. The door had evidently been levered open, and the catch of the lock wrenched away.
“I reckon that was done with a bar,” said Greave.
“A tyre lever would have done it,” said Macdonald; “it’s very much on the same principle as a jemmy.”
“That’s about it,” said Reeves. He pushed the door open and looked inside. There was a rough bench along one side, an iron stove at the far end, and some sacks stuffed with bracken lying against one wall.
“I gets the lads to take them sacks along when they’ve got a tractor near enough to be handy like,” explained Greave. “Bracken, that makes good bedding for my ducks when straw’s hard to come by.”
“That’d make good bedding for a tramp, too,” said Sanderson, “and I’ll bet that’s what it’s been used for. You can see that somebody’s been lying on the sacks from the way they’re flattened.”
“Aye, that’s true enow,” agreed Greave. “The old varmint’s been using my hut to doss down in, drat he, and made free with the sticks and logs I left for the stove, too.”
“Oh well, I’m afraid I haven’t provided you with much of a
