The Toff and The Sleepy Cowboy

“Was there an autopsy?”

“Yes — I work with my father and a brother, Mr. Rol —”

“Richard.”

“Thank you, Richard! And my father has been in the profession for a long time. The police respect him and he telephoned the Superintendent of the Hampstead Division where Mr. Clayhanger lived, and said an autopsy might be advisable although a death certificate was signed. One was carried out by Kenneth Soames, and you must know pathologists don’t come any better.”

“I do,” admitted Rollison, becoming more and more intrigued. “What was the cause of death?”

“Cerebral haemorrhage. The old man had had two mild strokes so that wasn’t surprising,”

“And can’t easily be induced,” Rollison remarked. “Did he have a nurse?”

“Yes — a day and a night nurse in his last months. He —” She leaned forward and touched Rollison’s hand with her cool fingers before going on : “My father went to see him first, and took his fears seriously because he had such a lucid mind. He knew there was a nephew in Arizona, who was the only surviving relative, and wanted him traced and wanted to make sure he got the inheritance. Then one day my father was ill and my brother away and I had to go and see old Josh.” She gave a funny little strangled laugh. “You’ll never believe it, but he took a great liking to me.”

“I will try to make myself believe it,” Rollison said drily.

“And I’ve never met a man I liked more, whatever his age,” Pamela Brown went on. “So after that I would take the weekly report now and again; saying that we hadn’t yet traced Thomas George Loman, and found nothing to suggest anyone else had any claim to the inheritance. All he ever said was : ‘You will keep trying, won’t you’.”

“Did you ever find the slightest cause for his fear that there would be a false claimant?” asked Rollison.

“No,” answered Pamela. “No, we didn’t. We found one or two other distant relatives who had no expectations from his will and checked them carefully : there didn’t seem the slightest danger from them, except, possibly, one elderly — or rather middle-aged man. But what we did do was trace Thomas G. Loman.”

“You traced him?” exclaimed Rollison.

“Yes,” she assured him. “We hadn’t much to go on. His mother had left England as a young child and not kept in touch with her father, but we sent her name round to all the detective agencies in the south west —”

“Why the south west?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It was known that she’d married a rancher somewhere in Texas. Anyhow, Richard, we traced the name — Clayhanger isn’t so common — in the records of an old Methodist church in Lubbock, Texas, and then discovered they’d moved from there to Austin and later to New Mexico. I can show you the reports from America showing how Tommy was traced. We’ve a kind of family tree showing name changes and marriages and two divorces — until finally we discovered Thomas G. Loman, whose mother was the daughter of a Mr. and Mrs. Josh Clayhanger. All the rest of the family died out but for two distant cousins by marriage, and Tommy G., who still worked as a cowboy but didn’t own his own spread. That means —”

“I know what a ‘spread’ is,” Rollison assured her.

“I’m sorry. Well — there he was, the only legatee, who would inherit over a million pounds,” said Pamela Brown, simply. “We would just have sent for him, had someone not stolen the reports from America and our final report to old Josh. That was why we involved you. We felt there was something very odd going on, and by bringing you in this way, you would be intrigued. We hadn’t expected such quick action. Thank goodness Josh knew we’d traced Tommy, and —” Pamela broke off and stood up and moved about the room, then stood with her back to the Trophy Wall, facing Rollison. Her face was set, her eyes lacked fire but held their brilliance. “When we told the old man he said: ‘Thank God. You make sure nothing happens to him. Do you hear? You make sure nothing happens to him’ ” Pamela paused and her eyes were misty as if the recollection brought tears very close to the surface. Slowly, she went on : “He was so sure someone would try to get Tommy’s money, it was almost uncanny. As if,” she went on, looking defiantly at Rollison, “as if he had second sight.”

“Perhaps he did,” said Rollison gently.

“You think it’s possible.”

“Any man who doesn’t believe in second sight hasn’t been about much,” Rollison answered. “Yes. I think it’s possible.”

“Well,” went on Pamela, relaxing and going back to her chair, hoisting and smoothing her dress as she sat down, “we felt we had to try something. The police wouldn’t take any notice of such a story — or at least they wouldn’t be likely to take any action — so we thought of you. We wrote to Tommy G., as I’ve explained, and told him it was extremely important that he should come straight to you. We meant to be there when he arrived.” She gave her most charming smile. “You would hardly have refused to help, would you?”

“The devious way is too often wrong,” Rollison said drily. “After a story like this, though, I would have helped on a straight request. Why didn’t you come to see me first?”

Again Pamela leaned towards him and touched his hand, this time pleading with him to believe her. It was some time before she went on, in a husky voice:

“We were going to, but the whole family went down with two-day ‘flu. I went first and recovered first, the others are still not over it. And I’d had a cable from Tommy saying when he would be here only on the morning of his arrival. I did the only thing that seemed sensible, let events speak for themselves. And you must admit they did,” she finished, with mingled triumph and defiance. “Mr. Rollison — Richard — that’s everything I can tell you. I didn’t dream they would try to kill us in the car, I don’t know whether I showed it but I’ve never been so frightened. Have you?” she asked, in a low-pitched voice.

“I don’t know whether Richard has,” said Tommy G. Loman, striding in from the door leading to the spare room and Jolly’s quarters. “I’ve never been so frightened as I am now. No, sir, that’s the simple truth.”

He stood looking down from his great height at Rollison; it was a long time before he turned towards the girl.