“THE SHOT I THE DELL”

Manawatu Times, Volume 60, Issue 31, 6 February 1935, Page 9

“THE SHOT I THE DELL”

(By H. L„ Dealm)

Instalment 2.

dark, simple, and lethargically goodnatured. Cecil was fair, and as quick in wits as his brother was slow, and as irritable, secretive, and highlystrung as he was easy-going. I wondered what Josceyln was thinking about it all. If anyone would know what the twins’ plans were it would be she; for she and Dan were engaged.

Clegg, as if the tragedy concerned him, artd him only. Clegg surprisingly accepted it as his especial business. Not for the iirst time I wondered what his job in life was (or had been, seeing that lie must be well on the wrong side of ilfty), for he had never given us any clue to the field in which his knowledge of men and women and their ways had been gained. He answered Mrs Hadley’s question as if it had been the most ordinary in the world. “Why, go over to the dell and have a- look into things," he said, with a sigh, and added grumpily, “Wish I’d had my breakfast. But I don’t think —no, I don’t think I'll wait. You go and get some rest, Mrs Hadley, and I’ll have some breakfast sent to you upstairs. These things are more of a shock than one realises at the time." “It’s a dreadful shock, u she groaned. “I can’t get over last night. There I was, saying how much I’d like to kill him, and he dead already. “Don’t think of that," said Ingram kindly. “We all say such things when we’re annoyed." “Yes, and of course I didn’t mean it,” said Mrs Hadley tearfully, and then, turning her prominent eyes inquiringly on Clegg, she added, “But you’d said you’d seen him already?”

“I’ve heard nothing about it,’’ she now put in quietly, and she exchanged a smile with Ingram, plainly hinting that she disbelieved the story.

At that moment Cecil himself came in. He’d no sooner showed his face than she taokled him.

“What’s this I hear, Ceoil? You’ve surely not cancelled your berths on the Arconia?”

As always, Cecil was smoking. He flicked the ash from his cigarette on to the floor and stared at her, his mouth setting in an angry line. “Well?” said Mrs Hadley with asperity as he made no answer.

"Who told you that fine story?” he asked with a half-smile. • “ I heard it in the village,” said Furze over his shoulder.

Cecil’s smile grew openly contemptuous. “The village 1 What can’t you hear Jn this village? And where did you pick up this precious tit-bit, may I ask?" When Furze had confessed to the source of his information Cecil’s contempt became even more marked.

“Yes," said Clegg briefly, and, without vouchsafing any further exnation, he took her by the arm and began to propel her towards the door. “It’s a dreadful thing, Mrs Hadley, but there’s nothing we can do now except see that his poor widow has the news broken to her sympathetically.” “Oh, poor Marguerite!" Mrs Hadley’s tears began to pour down. "Who dc you think ought to do it? Ought I to?”

"You haven’t answered my question, Cecil,” broke in Mrs Hadley. Cecil’s audible sigh reeked of restraint. “I didn’t think It necessary. Surely Major Furze has told you everything?” "But is it true? Have you cancelled your passages?" “Well, if you must know —yes,” said Cecil, In 'the tone of a man who will say so much, but no more. There was a muffled explanation from Joscelyn; but we looked to Mrs Hadley to deal with her nephew. She chose, however, to express her annoyance by a dignified silence, which she only broke at last to ask what it was I’d just bid. We resumed the game. And then, as Cecil was going out, Clegg called him back. “Did you hear that shot just now?" he asked.

“Certainly not,” said Clegg. "You’ve been through quite enough already. I forbid you to do anything more. You’re going to bed —if you don't want a breakdown."

He stood gazing after her while she slowly climbed upstairs, and then, when she had at last gone, lie turned briskly to me. “You coming, Foster? Bodies are rather in your line, I should imagine.” His words brought back memories of active service, and I felt a sudden stir of curiosity urging me to go out to the dell with him.

I had an impression that Cecil found the question irritating, though he tried not to show it. “Shot?” he frowned. “Oh yes, I heard It. What do you suppose it was?” “We haven’t the least idea. Thought you might he able to tell us. Where do you think it came from?”

It seemed that Ingram shared my curiosity, for he followed Clegg into the hall and asked if he might come with us.

“By all means—only too pleased,” rejoined Clegg courteously.

Cecil pondered while he shook more ash from his cigarette.

The little incident set me wondering again wherein his authority lay, for there seemed no reason why Ingram should ask his permission to come to the dell; yet he did ask, and looked very grateful, too, when he received it. .

“Can’t say. It’s the most difficult thing in the world to tell where a shot comes from, unless you’ve been waiting for it.” “Still, you must have some idea — north, south, east or west?” suggested Ingram. “Oil, well, making a guess, I should say it came from the beach.”

We went out into the cold, bright sunshine, and passing the entrance to Dan’s farmyard and the post office at the end of the row of cottages and a turning on our right that led steeply up to the Andrewe’s bungalow, walked leisurely on towards the wood we were bound for as if we were taking a stroll to improve our appetite for breakfast. To our left by the broad estuary of the Samar with its stretches of yellow sand, for the tide was low and the river itself reduced to a deep, narrow stream running close under the Polstow bank.

“That’s what we thought,” said Clegg. “That, or the wood just above it. Where did you happen to be when you heard it—nowhere near, I take it?"

It didn’t strike me as queer at the time, but afterwards I remembered how Cecil had considered this question too before he answered it. “I was in my room working,” he said. “That was why I didn’t particularly notice it. But why? There's nothing wrong, is there?” “No,” Clegg smiled. “No, there’s nothing wrong. Ingram went along to the wood to investigate and failed to find any corpse." As soon as Cecil had gone, Mrs Hadley turned to Joscelyn to ask if she really hadn’t known anything about the cancelled berths.

A few yards beyond the turning to the bungalow we entered the wood. The trees extended for about a couple of hundred yards, and the wood was then bounded by a wall of stone, beyond which the group dipped down to a cup-like hollow. This was really a part of the garden of Millefleurs, as Andrewe had rather extravagantly named his place. Clegg was questioning Ingram. “You say you didn’t see anything iast night when you made your tour of inspection,” he remarked. “But I suppose the faot is you didn’t get as far as the dell?”

“Nothing,” . said Joscelyn, her cheeks showing a little pinker than usual. “They've not taken me into their confidence any more than you. They seem very secretive ail of a sudden, but 1 we shall hear about it in the morning.”

But though the next day brought the most astounding revelations in its train, the reason for the cancelling of the boys’ passages to South Africa was not among them. It was Mrs Hadley who brought us the news of the tragedy that was the explanation of the shot we’d heard over-night. The accident of its being the morning of Saint’s Day had taken her out early, and by the first ferry to run across the Samar estuary to the fishing town of Polstow. For Trescobeas was-no more than a single straggling street of cottages, and when she wished to attend mass she had to cross the water to church. She would get back from these expeditions when we were coming down to breakfast, and this morning, as I was following Clegg downstairs, I saw her enter the hall below us and sink down upon the settee there as if the last ounce of her strength had hardly sufficed to get her so far. “Tired, Mrs Hadley?” Clegg made sympathetic inquiry in his soft voice. She looked slowly up and stared at him without speaking. And now, as I came closer, I saw that she was startlingly while and trembling from head to foot. “Anything the matter?” I asked.

Ingram explained how he had got as far as the gate in the wall between the.wood and the dell, and had a good look over it. “I’m sorry I didn’t spot him,” he went on. “I might have saved Mrs Hadley a shock if I had. 1 hope he isn’t a very ghastly sight.”

By this time we had ourselves reached the wicket-gate in the wall, and could look down into the dell as Ingram had done; but no more than he could we see signs of anything wrong.

“No, you wouldn’t have seen him.” observed Clegg. “Those laurustinus bushes hide the seat from us.”

A narrow path wound down the dell, to turn a right angle, and climb out of it again, and meander on past lawns and (lower-beds to the bungalow. We followed this, and had come nearly to the turn in it ■ before we came into view of the seat; and there, sitting hunched up with his head sunk upon his chest, in an attitude of deep contemplation, we saw Andrewe. There was nothing shocking about him; indeed, he looked as if he might at any moment glance up and give us a hail.

We walked right up to him, and still the illusion of life remained. There wasn’t even, at that first glance, any sign of violence about him, unless a triangular tear low down in the front of his overcoat could be taken for such. “Where did he shoot, himself?” said Ingram. “Not through the head, that’s evident. Ah. I see ”

“Yes. Something terrible has happened. I’ve just come through the dell, and I thought I’d sit down on the seat there for a few minutes. Walking across the sands always tires me. So I thought I’d sit down for a few minutes ”

lie leant forward to point, to the waistcoat, in which, half-hidden by the left arm, was another tear. Round it the cloth was disfigured by a dark stain.

“Yes?” prompted Clegg patiently. “But there was someone on the seat?"

Mrs Hadley twisted round in her chair lo gaze at Clegg. “But how did you know?” she gasped. Clegg laid a hand on her arm. “I went through the wood myself and into the dell ” “Then you saw!” she cried. “Graeme Andrewe 1 There's a revolver by him. He’s killed himself 1”

“Through the tummy," said Clegg thoughtfully. “And out at the back, I suppose?” I added. Ingram walked slowly round the seat and took a long look at the dead man's back. “No, no exit wound,” he said. “The bullet must be si ill in him. I don’t quite understand it.” “Stopped by a vertebra possibly,” said Clegg. “But there’s been very little bleeding, so it must have missed the great vessels. The doctors will let us know just what happened. Bullet wounds are freakish things.”

Ingram had drawn near, and the first comment on her news came from hinr, “When we heard that shot last night.,” he said gravely.

“Was death instantaneous, do vou think?" I asked. “Yes, and lie stiffened at once, too.” Clegg answered, “and that's all we can say now.”

CHAPTER 11. In the relief of -having told her news Mrs Hadley recovered some of her usual brusqueness. “What- are you going to do about it?" she asked

“How do you know about Lhe- stiffening?" Ingram asked, bending to look more closely at the huddled