French nodded. This was certainly very satisfactory.
“Besides, sir,” Daw went on, “think of a plank laid as you’ve suggested and with the end of it partly sunk. It’ll not be easy to pull out, particularly when the ground you’re pulling from is not very firm. You won’t do it without leaving pretty deep footmarks, and the plank will leave a sort of trough where it was slid out. If that had been done that night the marks would have been there next morning, and if they had been there I should have seen them. No, sir, I think you may give up that idea. You couldn’t get rid of a body by hiding it in a mire.”
“I’m uncommonly glad to hear you say so,” French repeated. “If the thing had been possible it would have knocked my case into a cocked hat. Well, Sergeant, I’ve bothered you enough for one morning. I’ll go along and have a word with Mrs. Berlyn’s maid.”
Lizzie Johnston lived with her mother in a little cottage on the hill behind the railway station. She proved to be a dark, good-looking girl of about five and twenty, and when French talked with her he soon discovered she was observant and intelligent also.
She had lived, she said, with Mrs. Berlyn for about two years, and French, in his skilful, pleasant way drew her out on the subject of the household. It consisted of the two Berlyns, herself, and cook, unless Peter Swann, the gardener, might be included.
Mr. Berlyn she had not greatly liked. He was quiet in the house, but was rather exacting. He was not socially inclined and preferred an evening’s reading over the fire to any dinner party or dance. He had been civil enough to her, though she had really come very little in contact with him.
About Mrs. Berlyn the girl was not enthusiastic, either, though she said nothing directly against her. Mrs. Berlyn, it appeared, was also hard to please, and no matter what was done for her, she always wanted something more. She was never content to be alone and was continually running over to Torquay to amusements. After their marriage Mr. Berlyn had gone with her, but he had gradually given up doing so and had allowed her to find some other escort. This she had had no difficulty in doing, and Mr. Pyke, Mr. Cowls and others were constantly in attendance.
No, the girl did not think there had been anything between Mrs. Berlyn and any of these men, though for a time Mr. Pyke’s attentions had been rather pronounced. But some four months before the tragedy they appeared to have had a disagreement, for his visits had suddenly fallen off. But it could not have been very serious, for he still had occasionally come to dinner and to play bridge. She remembered one time in particular when Mr. Pyke had brought a relative; she heard it was a cousin. There were just the four, the two Pykes and the two Berlyns, and they all seemed very friendly. But there was a coolness all the same, and since it had developed, Colonel Domlio had to some extent taken Mr. Pyke’s place.
About the Berlyns’ history she could not tell much. Mr. Berlyn had lived in the town for several years before his marriage. He seemed to have plenty of money. He had bought the house on the Buckland road just before the wedding and had had it done up from top to bottom. It was not a large house, but beautifully fitted up. At the same time he had bought the car. Peter Swann, the gardener, washed the car, but he did not drive it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Berlyn were expert drivers and good mechanics. Mrs. Berlyn also used her push bicycle a good deal.
French then came to the evening of the tragedy. On that evening dinner had been early to allow Mr. Berlyn to get away in the car at . It had been her, Lizzie Johnston’s, evening out, but Mrs. Berlyn had told her she would have to take the next evening instead, as some friends were coming in and she would be wanted to bring up supper. About Mr. Fogden, Mr. Cowls, a Dr. and Mrs. Lancaster, and three or four other people had arrived. She had brought them up coffee and sandwiches about . They had left about . She had got to bed almost at once, and a few minutes later she had heard Mrs. Berlyn go up to her room.
The next thing she remembered was being wakened in the middle of the night by Mrs. Berlyn. The lady was partly dressed and seemed agitated. “Lizzie,” she had said, “it’s nearly and there’s no sign of Mr. Berlyn. I’m frightened. I’ve just been out to the garage to see if the car has come back, but it’s not there. What do you think can be wrong?”
They hurriedly discussed the matter. Mr. Berlyn was the last man to alter his plans, and both were afraid of an accident on that dangerous Tavistock road.
In the end they decided that Mrs. Berlyn should knock up Sergeant Daw, who lived near. This she did, while Lizzie dressed. Presently Mrs. Berlyn came back to say that the sergeant was going out to investigate. They had some tea and lay down without taking off their clothes. In the early morning a policeman brought the news of the tragedy.
Mrs. Berlyn was terribly upset. But she grew calmer in time, and the arrangements for the auction and for her removal to London taking her out of herself, in a week she was almost normal.
She had been very nice to Lizzie at the last, giving her an excellent testimonial and an extra month’s wages.
French thanked the girl for her information and rose as if to take his leave.
“I suppose Mrs. Berlyn was something of a needlewoman?”
