didn’t like the idea of going right down to the bottom end of the garden by herself in the dark. The chap obliged, taking a poker with him in case of any rough stuff, and he also had a lantern. The hens started up another panic as the pair reached the chicken run, but there was no sign of Potts there. They didn’t like to call out his name for fear of waking the other neighbours, but they found him at last lying unconscious on the ground outside the back-door earth-closet. They got the doctor to him and the doctor himself drove Potts to the hospital, but he died this morning without ever recovering consciousness, so, even if I’d got to him sooner, it still wouldn’t have been any good, even if he’d been willing this time to answer my questions.”
“But what caused the injury?”
“The roof of the earth-closet was of slates and one of them was lying near the body.”
“But we have had no winds high enough to bring down slates, Inspector.”
“Oh, the roof was in a very bad state. I’ve seen Potts’s wife and she says they were going to repair the roof before the winter set in, but Potts wasn’t keen on doing jobs around the house and always put them off as long as possible. ‘And now he’s paid for it,’ she said. There will be an inquest, of course, but I think the verdict will have to be death by accident.”
“Do you think it was?”
“Chickens don’t suddenly start panicking at dead of night, ma’am, unless there’s a reason for it.”
“But it could have been that a fox was in the neighbourhood, I suppose.”
“My guess would be that the fox had only two legs, ma’am, but I doubt whether I’ll ever be able to prove it. It’s too much of a coincidence that, out of all the village, the chap who could recognize a murderer should die.”
chapter
15
The Finishing Straight
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Kirk’s step-father was a grim-faced man in his late forties.
“But I don’t understand it,” he said. “Granted the lad wasn’t everybody’s money—he wasn’t mine—but why should anybody want to kill him?”
“Because he was blackmailing a murderer,” said Dame Beatrice.
“Blackmailing? He had no need to do that. Much against my advice and, I understand, against the rules of the College, my wife was always sending him money addressed to a Mr. Jones.”
“He did not blackmail for money.”
“What other reason is there for blackmail?”
“In this case,” said the inspector, “we have reason to believe that your step-son knew the identity of Mr. Jones’s murderer, and blackmailed him into bringing into the College drinks and cigarettes which your wife’s money provided. Jones, we suppose, acted on a commission basis with the connivance of the landlord of the village pub. When Jones was killed, his murderer was persuaded to take over.”
“I knew no good would come of supplying Kirk with money, but my wife wouldn’t listen to me. A fine kettle of fish has come of it!”
“Now, sir,” went on the inspector, “when your boy wrote home, did he ever give you any hint, even the slightest, that he knew who had killed Mr. Jones?”
“I’ve no idea. He wrote to my wife, not to me.”
“And she never showed you his letters?”
“No. I never suggested that she should, and she certainly never offered that I should read them. She doesn’t forgive me that I ever got Kirk sent here. She wanted to have him at home with a tutor when he was expelled from school, but I knew better, or thought I did. I didn’t hit it off with the lad or he with me. To my mind he was a psychopath, foul-tongued and cruel and dirty-minded. Got it from his father, I imagine. Asked for trouble and was expelled from school, but naturally I never thought he’d be in any danger in a place like this.”
“I’m afraid he ran into danger of his own accord, sir. He ought to have had more sense than to think he could boss a man who’d already committed murder. I’m afraid I shall have to accompany you to your home, sir, and ask your wife to produce your step-son’s letters or, if she hasn’t kept them, to tell me what was in them.”
“I’ve no objection, but I doubt whether she’ll be able, or even willing, to help you.”
“Surely she’ll be willing to help us lay our hands on her son’s murderer, sir.”
“Oh, well, if you put it like that…”
“Are you going to attend the inquest, sir? We shall need evidence of identification. There’s no doubt about it, but the formalities will have to be observed.”
“There will be an adjournment, I suppose?”
“Unless we can name the murderer in two days’ time, sir.”
The inspector returned on the following noon and reported to Gascoigne, Henry and Dame Beatrice that he had drawn a blank at Kirk’s home. The mother had not kept the boy’s letters, but she stated that Kirk had referred only once to Jones’s death. Since it occurred, her son had asked her to direct any of her own letters which contained money to a poste restante at the village post-office, and to address the envelopes to a Mr. Harper.
“None of the staff is called Harper,” said Gascoigne quickly.
“No, but the woman at the post-office will be able to give me a description of the man who called for the
