was dead when he entered the house, and he never changed his story. Still, whatever happened he was going to spend a spell in prison.'
'I see he was a gypsy.' Madden had opened the file.
'A full-blooded Romany. They do say you can't lock them up for any length of time. They won't abide it.'
Derry reached behind him and brought in the watering-can from the ledge outside. 'Caddo lost his wife a couple of years back. He was alone. A man can come to the end of himself, don't you think?'
Madden didn't look up from the file.
'He owned a horse and caravan.' Derry brushed off his hands. 'He used to visit the district regularly — it's near a village called Bentham, about ten miles east of here. He had an arrangement with a local farmer, a tenant of the Bentham Court estate, and used to camp on his land for a few weeks in return for mending his pots and pans and doing other odd jobs.'
'Any past history with the police?' Madden was paging through the folder.
'Nothing serious. There was an allegation of sheep stealing a few years ago, but nothing came of it. A case of grab the nearest gypsy, if you ask me. The trouble started when the man he dealt with left the region and a new tenant took over the farm. Chap called Reynolds. He didn't care for gypsies, it seems, and he told Caddo when he turned up at the end of March that he'd give him a week to find a new site and then he wanted him off his land. They had a blazing row in front of witnesses. Caddo was heard to make threats. Next thing, Reynolds went to the bobby at Bentham and accused Caddo of having poisoned his dogs.'
Madden looked up sharply.
'What?' Derry raised a ginger eyebrow.
'That was something we left out of the Gazette item, sir. The dog at Melling Lodge was poisoned a few weeks earlier. Do you remember what was used on Reynolds's animals?'
Derry nodded. 'Strychnine,' he said. 'How about the other?'
'The same.' Madden weighed the file in his hand.
The two men looked at each other. Derry clicked his tongue in chagrin.
'Damn it!' he said. He looked away.
'Did they search his caravan?' Madden wondered.
'The bobby did. Nothing turned up. Of course, he could have got rid of the stuff. Anyway, the constable spoke to him sharpish. Told him Reynolds wanted him off his land within twenty-four hours. It was a Saturday. The murder happened the same evening.'
'Caddo admitted going over there, to Reynolds's farm.' Madden was back in the file. 'He said he didn't have anything special in mind.'
'That was his first statement.' Derry pointed at the folder. 'He made another later and he was more forthcoming. Admitted he meant to do Reynolds harm. Said he thought of setting fire to his barn.'
'That would have been what time?'
'After six, Caddo said. It was starting to get dark.
His story — his second version — was that he approached the house and saw lights on and the back door standing open. He waited a few minutes and then went closer. He didn't see anyone about. He'd lost his nerve about firing the barn — so he said — but he thought he might slip inside and help himself to whatever he could find. When he got to the door he noticed the lock had been smashed, but he couldn't hear anything so he went inside. He took a bag from the kitchen and started putting things in it — a clock from the mantelpiece, some knives and forks from a canteen of cutlery. He found his way to Reynolds's study, opened his desk and pocketed twenty quid and a gold watch.'
'Where was Reynolds all this time?'
'Less than a mile away, looking for some sheep.
With his dogs dead he was having a hell of a time running his flock and a number of them had strayed.
He had a neighbour with him, fellow called Tompkins, who'd come over to lend a hand. Tompkins saw Mrs Reynolds before they went off, so that put the husband in the clear. Both men were out of sight of the house for an hour — that could well have been a factor.'
'Might have saved their lives,' Madden remarked.
Derry cocked his head. 'You think it was your man?'
'It could be, sir.' Madden scowled in frustration. 'So what did Caddo do then?'
'He went upstairs, just to take a look, he said, to see if there was anything worth lifting. His story is he found Mrs Reynolds's body in the bedroom and got out of the house as fast as he could and ran all the way back to his camp-site. They picked him up in his caravan on the Ashford road next morning.'
Madden was wondering. 'Since you didn't know about the poisoned dog, what made you think there might be a connection with Melling Lodge?'
'The murder itself,' Derry replied. 'The woman having her throat cut that way and her body thrown across the bed. And… well, this is a strange thing to say, you'll think… but the fact that she wasn't raped.
Just like your Mrs Fletcher.'
'That struck you as strange?'
Derry nodded. 'He dragged her out of her bath and threw her on the bed. Why? She was naked, a good looking woman, too. I mean, why didn't he rape her?'
He looked uncomfortable. 'Hell of a thing to find yourself wondering,' he muttered.
'If it's any consolation, sir, Mr Sinclair had the same reaction.' Madden returned to the file. 'What about the murder weapon?' he asked.
'According to our pathologist, probably a cut-throat razor. Caddo had one. It was tested, but nothing came up.'
'Prints?'
'None.' Derry got to his feet. 'I dare say you'd like to have a look at the place, Inspector.'
'I would, sir.' Madden ordered the papers in the file. 'What would be the best way of getting there?'
'I'll take you myself,' Derry said. 'This business is like a bone in my throat. I have to know one way or the other.'
It turned out Derry had his own motor-car — one of the new 20 h.p. Ford five-seaters. The cars were being offered on the market at only 205 pounds and Billy had a secret yearning to possess one, though he hadn't learned to drive yet.
They left Maidstone by the Sheerness road, but soon turned off it and drove through the rolling chalk uplands of the North Downs. The August sun was hot on their faces and the breeze in the open car was welcome. At Bentham, a village nestling in the fold of a green valley, Derry stopped outside a set of wrought iron gates. He pointed up a long, straight drive, treeless but flanked at its furthest point by a pair of ornamental ponds. In the background, a handsome Palladian facade was visible.
'Bentham Court,' he said. 'The guidebooks call it an architectural gem. A family named Garfield own it now. Reynolds is one of their tenants.'
They drove on for another mile, then branched off the road on to a narrow rutted track that ended at a patch of bare earth beside a chalky stream.
'This was Caddo's camp-site. Reynolds's farm is a mile or two away.' Although he hadn't handled the case, the chief inspector seemed to have taken the trouble to familiarize himself with the details. 'There's a path that runs along the stream.'
They returned to the road and continued on the winding paved surface until they came to another dirt track, which Derry took, steering the car down a gentle gradient to the stream bed, which he crossed slowly, the water creaming about the wheels, and then ascending the grassy slope on the other side. A slate roofed farmhouse with a whitewashed barn behind it came into view. Sheep dotted the green contoured landscape on either side of the roadway. As Derry pulled up near the house, a man in rough clothes came out of the barn. He stopped some distance from the car and stared at them. There was no hint of greeting in his manner.
'Mr Reynolds?' Derry got out of the car. 'We haven't met. I'm Chief Inspector Derry, from Maidstone.
This is Inspector Madden, and Detective Constable Styles. They're from London.' When the man didn't respond, he asked, 'Would you like to see our warrant cards?'
Reynolds shook his head. 'I thought I'd done with you lot.' He came closer, but didn't offer to shake hands.
