“Aye, I know he had trouble that way, and he’s a big weight. Fat’s no good to a man as he ages.”
“You’re not troubled yourself that way,” said Macdonald, studying Mr. Staple’s lean stringy length. “Now Inspector Bord came up over yonder to look into things and Bord said a few hard words about Brough, because the latter had information he’d have done better to give to the police, but he kept quiet about it and he’s suffered for it. Now, Mr. Staple, one of the few facts which Brough told me brought your name into it: he said that you knew Sam Borwick was in trouble with the police in Leverstone, but the Leverstone police know nothing about Sam Borwick, not under that name, anyway.”
“Aye, I see what you’re getting at,” replied Staple, “and I’ll tell you all I know, which isn’t much, and if I seem a long time getting to the point—well, you’re a patient man as I remember you.”
“Yes, I’m patient and I don’t want to hustle you,” said Macdonald.
“Then let’s begin at the beginning,” said Staple. “I always thought there might be trouble with that lad of Borwick’s. Sam was a twister and a liar; not all his fault maybe, for his father was a hard man and life up at High Garth was a hard life. The boy did a man’s work but was never paid a proper wage. Old Nat Borwick did all he could to stop the boy going into the army. He made his wife write to the recruiting people saying that his son was the only labour he’d got on the farm and if the government wanted the farmers to produce food they’d got to have some labour, so the boy’s call up was deferred. The end of that was that Sam made off on his own and joined the army and the old man carried on alone until he couldn’t do it any longer. Well, that’s the background, and some of us were sorry for Nat Borwick. Hard he might have been, but he was a worker and he tilled his land and cared for his beasts till they nearly had to carry him away. And then he said, ‘When Sam comes back, that’s all ready for him. Sam will farm High Garth as me and my dad did, and their dads before them.’ And again we was sorry for the old chap, because we knew Sam would never come back and work up there. We heard Sam had been seen around the cattle market at Leverstone, doing a drover’s job, but he never answered if anybody spoke to him, only to say, ‘I’m not Sam Borwick; never heard of him.’ ”
“Did anybody ever tell Mr. and Mrs. Borwick they’d seen Sam?”
“Nay, what was the good? It’d only have hurt them, had they known their boy was back in England and wouldn’t come near them. It was the same when the story got round that Sam had been sentenced for thieving, with some of his flash friends: Mr. Carter from up the valley, he heard that in the Leverstone cattle market, but Sam never gave his own name, called himself Evans or Davies or Owen or some such —there’s a lot of Welshmen in Leverstone and they’re mostly Evans or Davies or Owen. Well, Mr. Carter said to me: ‘No sort of use going to his parents with that story: only make them ashamed and they’re a sadly pair without making them any sadder.’ ”
Staple paused a moment and looked across at Macdonald, very straight and stem. “That was true enow,” he went on. “I was right sorry for them, still saying, ‘When the boy comes back.’ Well, then there was quite a long while we heard nought and nobody saw Sam. I said, ‘Likely he’s in gaol,’ and he may have been, but ’twas said he’d got a job at the port, cook on a tramp steamer or suchlike. They’ll take on anybody when they’re short of men, for a cook they must have. And then about a year ago, I saw Sam, as Mr. Brough told you. He was driving a lorry behind the cattle market and the police stopped him and took him off. Well, I could have gone to the police and said, ‘I know that chap and I know his real name, which is more than you do.’ And what would have been the use? The police had got the chap and they could charge him. If I’d told his name, it’d have been in the papers all up and down the valley: ‘Son of Lunesdale farmer arrested in Leverstone. Sam Borwick charged with stealing a motor vehicle.’ As I saw it, ’twould bring more grief to the old folks and not a mite o’ help to anybody. Anyway, Sam wasn’t sentenced that time. Later I asked a chap who was beside me when the police took Sam off, ‘Did that fellow the police picked up get a long sentence?’ I asked, and he said, ‘No. They said there was no evidence of intent to steal.’ He was fined thirty shillings and discharged.”
“I may have to go into that later with the Leverstone police,” said Macdonald. “We’ve got to get Sam Borwick identified. Now for a different question. You know old Borwick pretty well, Mr. Staple. Do you think there’s any chance he left anything valuable at High Garth, apart from the furniture, that is?”
2
“I’ve asked myself that question often enow,” said Staple. “Nat Borwick, he’s a rum customer, always has been. He can sign his name and read the headlines in the newspapers, maybe, but that’s as far as his schooling went. He could reckon, of course, tot up a few figures and work out the change due. Now Nat never had a bank account in’s life; paid ready cash and was
