“THE SHOT IN THE DELL”

Manawatu Times, Volume 60, Issue 56, 8 March 1935, Page 9

“THE SHOT IN THE DELL”

noticed that; but then I didn’t go that way to the ferry, I went across the dunes.” “Miss Sanders tells me your boat Was taken during: the evening?” Clegg ■went on to observe. “Yes, and hasn’t turned up yet,” the doctor grumbled. “Do you think the fellow escaped over to Polstow in it?" he asked. “We’ll begin to think when we’ve found the boat," Clegg smiled. “I thought you might have had news of It, that was all." “Til let you know when I do,” said Sanders graviously, and on these amicable terms we parted with this stumbling-block to the progress of our inquiries. Up in Clegg’s room at the inn we found Tonkin awaiting us, and a glance at his face was enough to tell us that the quest of the finger-prints had already been successful. “It was Mrs Andrcwe!” he exclaimed. “Yes,” said .Clegg, without emotion. "I don’t doubt it. You said the prints were small.” “But they might have been a man’s for all that.” * “Some one unknown to us, then. Have you noticed what a set of giants we are here? The Hadleys, Sanders, Ingram, Foster—all sizeable —” “You’ve forgotten Furze," I pointed but. “Furze,remarked Clegg with a ■gleam of a smile, “was born to bo ■forgotten. But yes, you’re right, he’s small. If. wasn’t to fit his grip that those stocks were altered." “You’re not still worrying about •them?” exclaimed Tonkin impatiently. “I confess I’m anxious to hear if any of the gun-smiths can throw light on the ownership of that revolver,” Clegg answered mildly. “But there hasn’t been time, of course, to hear

from them yet.” He crossed to the table by the window and stooped in absorbed contemplation over the chess-board, his eyes .roaming anxiously over the pieces set out on it, to which, he presently added another bishop. I oould feel Tonkin’s impatience rising. “Oh, come,” he protested. “Really, ■sir, there isn’t time for chess now." “Always time to enjoy life,”, murmured Clegg. '-“Besides, what else is there for us to do?” “There’s Mrs Andrewe to interview and question about these prints,” retorted Tonkin ■■shortly. ,“I don’t believe .in'giving her time to think out a story!” Clegg looked up. “But that’s just what we must do," he protested gently. “People’s stories, when they’ve had long enough to think them out, are always so illuminating.” lie ■treated the inspector to his most ingratiating smile. “It’s no good, Tonkin. AVe can’t see Mrs Andrewe. No one can see her. It’s check for the time being.” “No one can see her?” repeated the astounded inspector. - iV But who says so? Who’s to forbid it?” “Her medical attendant.” “Her medical attendant. Do you ; mean that fellow Sanders?” “I do. And as we can afford to wait, I gave in to him with good grace, and agreed that we wouldn’t see her for a few days. You’ve got the lady by the heels. She can’t flit. And the longer she has to meditate on her story the riper will it be. She’s bound to tell a lie, if she’s guilty in any degree; and, believe me, the lie a woman has had time to think out is seldom as useful to her as that she •tells on the spur of the moment. In elaborating it stie gives herself away as often as not.”

CHAPTER VIII. Tonkin had been altogether too much taken up with the importance of hi 3 own news to_ remember that we might have some; but now, after a long, dour stare at -Clegg’s back, he rapped out: “Did you see Du Tilleul?V • -Mr.v Du. Tilleul left home hurriedly some time during Monday night,” answered Clegg. “ His whereabouts are unknown; his return uncertain. And I fancy that getting into touch with him will provide you with plenty of routine work to be getting on with,” Clegg continued slyly. “He may be in France—or he may not.” “ I don’t care Where he is,” the inspector burst out, rising to Cleggs teasing at once. “It’s Mrs. Andrews I want to interview. The case will be simple enough once we get her explanation of those finger-prints.” •Clegg shut his eyes, and folding his arms across his chest, recited in a breath. “ The case will be simple enough, once she tells you why old Andrews left all his money to the son he’d quarrelled with; once you discover where Andrewe and Dan went when they left -here last night; who wrote the letter we found in Andrewe's pocket; who was in the ■garage last night; who took Dr. Sander’s boat, whose revolver was retrieved from the beach; and where the key of the Graddock's tool-box is—” “ That reminds me,” Tonkin broke in. “ Dodson asked me to tell you that he hadn’t been able to find any key In the garage.” “No?” Clegg was interested in this, but Tonkin wasn’t, and he went on: "As for the letter., we know who wrote that—Cecil Hadley.” Clegg slowly shook his head. “Wrong, Tonkin, he didn’t write the letter.” Even I felt safe in disputing this statement. “ But wc know that he wrote a threatening letter,” I protested. “We found Its envelope, and It w'as what brought Andrewe to the inn.” “ But it was not the letter we found in Andrewe’s pocket,” said Clegg. “ Have you got that in your case, Tonkin? Let’s have it out and look through it again.” . .Don’t think that I exaggerate the situation ;-You will have a . dangerous man to face. One who r will stop at nothing. So if you don’t .value your life above yo ■don’t go. You will by the steps. "A warning letter, I should call It,” Clegg remarked. “ There’s not a threat in it. “If you value your life above your—•’ That has a familiar sound about it. What’s the phrase, Foster?” “ If you value your life above your honour,” I suggested.

(By H. L. Deabin)

Instalment 15.

“ That's It. A situation, and honour, and a warning, and a dangerous man who stops at nothing. I wonder If there was such a man at all? I’m beginning to doubt it. t Perhaps the writer wanted Andrewe to be ‘by the steps’ at a certain time, and took this means to ensure his being there. Heigh-ho, I quite dislike the writer of this masterpiece—but believe that it w r as Cecil? No! Typed on his machine, perhaps, but never by him. There’s internal evidence, if nothing else, to prove that.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “ Cecil’s a skilled typist.” Tonkin drew a long breath. “Ah! That dont, you mean? Without the apostrophe?" “ And the space loft between face and the comma following It, and no space allowed at all between the full stops and the first words of the new. sentences.” “ Typists always allow three spaces, don't they?” ■Clegg nodded. “ It’s second nature to a trained typist. And then again he hasn’t spaced his lines evenly; which shows that he’s turned the platen by the knob instead of using the lever to space the lines. If he’d used that, as any one in the least acoustomed to use a typewriter would have done, the lines would have been spaced exaotly evenly. That alone fixes him as a novice, don't you think? And so we can say that the letter wasn’t written by Cecil." “ Then it was written by Dan,” said Tonkin quickly. “Then why did Andrewe want to fece Ceoil about it? And that envelope we found addressed in Cecil's hand—what about that? What letter had that contained?" “ It’s a proper puzzle,” grumbled Tonkin. “ perhaps Andrewe had this letter in his hand when he was shot?” I suggested. “And the murderer, after loosening his grip to get at it, decided to leave it on him for us to

This theory earned an approving glance from Clegg and a generous “That’s the ticket.” “You’ve got it, sir,” from Tonkin. “ But the question is,” he added, “ Who wrote it if young Hadley didn’t?” Clegg shook his head. “ There’s no answer to that at (present.” “ Whatever the answer, we shall find the Hadleys had a part in the affair,” declared Tonkin. “It was between them and Mrs. Andrewe; and when I can question her— ’’ _ “ If you don’t get all the help you expect from her explanation of those finger-prints,” Clegg put in, “ask her what happened in the garage when she went there to get some petrol for ’lier dress.” Tonkin’s surprised. “ What d’you mean?" was drowned by the clanging of the luncheon gong, and we went downstairs to a depressing meal, over which, I think, we all felt Inclined to hurry. In 15 minutes or so we were ■in the lounge waiting, for coffee. I was just preparing to read through young Pearce’s account of the suicide when I was disturbed by hearing Joscelyn’s voice at the door. “ Mr. Clegg, can I speak to you about something?” “ You can, my dear Miss Joscelyn,” Clegg responded. “ And I’ll listen with all the pleasure in the world.” “It’s about-Dan, He’s told me all about where he was on Monday night, and he says I may tell you. He doesnH mind any one knowing. He just lost his temper yesterday." “What did I say?" murmured Clegg, apparently to his waistcoat,’ and then to Joscelyn he added, “But I’d rather hear the story from Dan

himself.” “ I’ll fetch him,” said Joscelyn,without hesitation. I half expected that Dan would refuse to come, but in a moment or two she returned with him. Hs looked sheepish, and in an even blacker mood than he had shown the previous evening. But there was something so thoroughly likeable about the lad that I was ready to make any excuses for him no matter how he might choose to play the fool. Even now when he was showing at his w r orst, I felt It. And I knew Clegg felt it too. I wondered how Clegg would tackle Dan. But, as I might have expected, he went to work in the right way. “Among the many things we want to know about Andrewe is how he spent Monday evening,” he said. “We know that he had an appointment in Penarrow, but that’s about all we do know. It would help us a great deal if you could throw any light on his movements that evening.” “I can’t tell you who he was going to meet,” Dan answered slowly, as if feeling his way; hut the cloud had lifted a little from his face. “As you know, he looked in here to see me, and when he left took me along with him; but if he was bound for Penarrow, then all I can say is he took a queer way to get there. He was in a hurry to get somewhere, though; so much so that he couldn’t wait for us to finish our business —” “What time was this?” Clegg broke in. “About six o’clock.” “Ah, and his appointment in Penarrow was for six.” “If you ask me, he never went there at all. He drove me as far as Hlngie crossroads —on the way to Penarrow, you know —and there we parted. I went on Into Penarrow, and he took the Trebarthen turning—” “Wait," commanded Clegg softly. He took Joscelyn’s sketch-map from the pocket in his diary, and, sitting down at the table, spread it out before j him. “He took the Trebarthen turning, you say; but that would take him to—” “Trebarthen House,” burst out Tonkin. “Furze’s place.” “Nowhere else?” Clegg took him up sharply. “Or back to Hingie bridge, past the church, if he turned to the left,” said Dan. "But that would bring him to.Trescobeas again,” Tonkin objected. “He might have.gone on to Pen'carrow after all,” Tonkin added. Clegg was studying his map. “There seem to he four possibilities,” he observed. “When he left you at Hingie crossroads he might have been on his way to Trebarthen House, or he might have been going to Penarrow, or to Trebarthen church, or simply ■straight' back to Trescobeas. Two of those 'possibilities seem to me unlikely, and I think we’ll dismiss them for the pre-