“Just here, I think,” said Leyland. “It was immediately off this part of the island that Burgess found the notecase. By his description it must originally have been lying quite close in to the shore—as if somebody or something had disembarked just here. There’s no sign of any disturbance on the bank, though, is there?”
But this impression proved only skin-deep. They had scarcely landed, when they found an unmistakable path through the bracken; a path, as they noticed with excitement, such as would be made by the dragging of a weight through the tangled fronds, not the mere casual wake left by a foot-passenger. For a few yards it diverged only a little from the shore, then, behind a screen of overhanging bushes, it climbed up the slope towards the centre of the island, through the thickest of the fern. Here and there was a bare patch of clayey soil, and always the clay was seamed as if by the jutting extremities of some heavy weight dragged over it. Yet the direction was uncertain, as if the man who had made this path had been doubtful of his objective; it had purposeless (or were they purposeful?) windings. It came to a standstill, you might say, close to the summit of the island, where the trees grew thickly, but there was an interval in the carpet of the fern; a bare patch of clay, still wet under the protecting shadow of the branches. And here, it seemed, the burden must have been laid down, for there was a firm though indistinct impress on the clay. Bredon and Leyland drew nearer, scanning the surface for any trace of a more definite outline. “Look!” said Leyland suddenly. About halfway down the area of the disturbance was a tiny depression which only one object could have caused. It was the imprint of a button; to judge by its size, a coat-button.
“M’m!” said Bredon; “those are hardly the tracks of a living man.”
“He’d be a fool, wouldn’t he, if he wanted to rest or sleep, to rest or sleep on a rheumaticky spot like this? He had plenty of bracken to make his bed if he wanted to. No, the body that lay there was dead, or at least drugged.”
“Not much difference, either, if Derek Burtell was in question. He hadn’t the sort of constitution that would stand a clay bath.”
“And what happened then?” asked Leyland. “Did they take it back the same way or—no, the track goes on further. But it wasn’t dragged any further; it must have been carried. Though I’m bound to say there’s no clear mark of two men here: they must have been careful to keep the same track. Let’s see the thing through.”
This time, the path made no divagations except where they were imposed on it by the steepness of the ground. It led straight down to the water of the weir stream, and came out on to a patch of open grass by the waterside. The bank itself was of hardish clay, and here, just opposite the end of their track, they found the unmistakable indentation that is made by the sharp bows of a boat run suddenly in to land.
“And then?” asked Leyland.
“No need to ask what they did then. They didn’t take the body downstream again, to be found by the first fool who searched for it. They didn’t put it ashore on the other side and give themselves the trouble of lugging it across country. They took it up to the weir, dragged the canoe and the body across the bank, then paddled upstream a bit, and lowered the body, weighted, of course, into the stream. They left it exactly where no living man was ever likely to look for it—in the wrong stretch of the river, on the wrong side of a Thames Conservancy lock.”
“By Gad, yes, that was the thing to do. What about looking for traces by the side of the weir?”
“No good; it’s hard ground and smooth grass; you wouldn’t get any traces. Besides, anybody drags his boat over there if he wants to avoid the lock fee. I’ve done it once myself, I’m sorry to say, in the course of the last week. But that’s what they did; that’s what they did, unless they were fools. The question is, can we start dragging the river above Shipcote Lock without looking like madmen?”
XIII
Pursued
Leyland had determined to devote the next day to making inquiries about the man in the punt. Bredon, who had decided to take things easily, contented himself with looking through Leyland’s notes of his preliminary information about the case; some of which may as well be here transcribed for the reader’s benefit.
Relations living.—(1) Mrs. Charles Burtell, now Haverford; has m. Julius Haverford, 513, 24th Street West, Idaho, an American lawyer. Has lived in U.S. ever since her marriage; Nigel B. used to go over there during summer holidays and vacations. Is now travelling on the Continent of Europe, address not known.
(2) Mrs. Coolman, sister of John Burtell (grandfather), widow of James Coolman, Lancashire business man who left her v. well off. Address, Brimley House, Wallingford. No will known to exist; she was childless, so that D. and N. Burtell are nearest relatives. Has not seen them since infancy, but takes an interest in them. Unfortunately is now v. ill, and Dr. will not hear of her being interviewed.
No other surviving relatives of any importance.
Motives of disappearance.—(1) By death of D., N. stands to gain £50,000 free of encumbrance, + expectations from “Aunt Alma,” i.e. Mrs. Coolman.
(2) D. might evade creditors by successful disappearance; but this only possible by secret arrangement with N., who would be treated as heir. This v. improbable, since D. notoriously on bad terms with N.
(3) Origin of this bad feeling not exactly traceable, but certainly increased
