The Greatest Murder Mysteries - Dorothy Fielding Collection. Dorothy Fielding

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СКАЧАТЬ as his own green-and-white feathered coat. A cuckoo called from far away—melancholy, mysterious. Such sounds might have been the last that Rose Charteris's ears had ever heard.

      Suddenly Bond pounced on something lying just beneath the singer. Something that glittered like a drop of belated dew. It was an amethyst bead of a beautiful full purple. Cockburn picked up a second. As he turned his find over on his palm it left a red stain.

      A little thing, this bead, he thought, to possibly hang a man.

      "Blood," Bond nodded to himself. "Yes—well, I felt sure that something was wrong. And here again on this little clover patch, here's blood again."

      No one spoke for a tense second, then he went on.

      "I don't think we ought to track up the place any more, or paw things over. I think we ought to go at once to the police."

      "Surely to Colonel Scarlett first, and let him call in the police," Thornton objected.

      "Every moment's of value," Bond pointed out briefly. "I don't think this is a time to stay for mere politeness."

      "It's a question of common decency," Thornton spoke with warmth. "We ought to go to him first, and tell him about the beads. Not spring the police on him before the stretcher carrying his niece has more than reached the house."

      Cockburn looked as though there were something to be said for this point of view. But Bond thrust out that slight, rather retreating jaw of his.

      "Sorry, I don't see it that way. We might waste half the morning in talk. Look here, the superintendent seems a decent chap; let's lay the affair before him, and he can see to it that no one's feelings are unnecessarily shocked. Or why not you go back to Stillwater, and let the colonel know, while Co. and I go on to the police station?"

      Thornton did not seem to care for this suggestion.

      "No. I'll go on with you, since you insist on doing it this way."

      The three walked to the nearby police station. And, a moment later, to the accompaniment of whiffs of kippers, the police officer they had met at the sand pit hurried into the room. He was a stout, florid man, who owed his position to the pluck with which he had stopped three bank robbers after they had killed the manager.

      Now he himself was due to retire very shortly. He had done very well. He was an honest, fair-minded, kindly man. Popular, in spite of his strictness, even with the tramps that passed that way.

      He listened attentively to what his three visitors had to say, looking, thoughtfully at the two beads and the tuft of clover laid in front of him. Then he turned to the telephone and rang up the doctor. There followed a quick interchange of questions and answers. Then the receiver was laid down, and Superintendent Harris turned with a smile.

      "You heard, gentlemen? Doctor's perfectly satisfied that death was due to a fall from the path above into that sand-pit. I must say I share that opinion. Very likely the beads broke as she was walking along. She may have stopped to knot the string together in that copse. As for the blood, just the remains of a bunny-and-stoat tragedy, I fancy, such as you can find a-plenty among the lanes. Were the beads valuable?"

      All three looked to Thornton.

      "Not compared with the crown jewels, but the amethysts were of a rare colour. And the pendant, besides being an unusually fine piece of Persian lapis lazuli, well veined with gold and silver, had belonged to Cosimo de Medici. That, of course, might enormously increase its value to a collector."

      "I see"—the superintendent, at any rate, tried to—"but it's not like—say, a fine diamond brooch, I mean the whole lot?"

      Thornton agreed that that was so.

      "Well, gentlemen," Superintendent Harris said after another pause, "I really don't see any need to distress the family. Though I'm sure I'm much obliged to you for coming to me so promptly." And he bowed them out.

      Each of the three was very distrait as they parted at the garage of Stillwater House, where "Bond and Co." got out their car. As for Thornton, he went on up the drive and rang the bell.

      It was Paul, the general man-servant, who opened the door. Paul was a gentle, garrulous soul. He looked very subdued and mournful.

      "Come in, Mr. Thornton, sir. I see you've heard the news. Oh, sir, what a tragedy. What a blow for the family, and especially for the professor, he being away on his holiday so to speak." Paul shut the door as though it were a coffin lid. "The colonel's not in, sir. He's just gone up to town with Mrs. Lane to see about getting into touch with the poor gentleman I'm sure I don't realise our loss yet, sir. None of us do. But having been born on the estate"—Paul always referred to Stillwater's few acres as though it were Balmoral—"finds it doubly hard."

      He could not say when the colonel would be back, nor where he could be reached, and Thornton was let out again with the same solemnity. He walked slowly to his cottage, looking like a man weighing something very important, and by no means certain on which side the scales will ultimately dip. Yet evidently extremely unwilling to do—whatever he thought of doing—until he had reasoned out where the most weight should ultimately lie.

      Finally he picked up a telephone book and hunted up a number. It was the number of New Scotland Yard. He asked for Detective Chief Inspector Carman. Now, as it happened, that police officer was out on a case. But scribbling a note for him in his room was a tall man in worn tweeds, with a spare, athletic figure, and a certain look of quiet competency on his sunburnt, good-looking face. A very resolute face it was, only saved from being a hard face by the kindly, wide-apart, well-opened, gray eyes. It was he who took down the receiver.

      "Detective Chief-Inspector Carman? I'm afraid he's out. Friend of his, may I ask? Oh, just read of him in the morning paper; I see."

      "Hullo, Pointer!" a brisk voice hailed him from another room, "I thought your leave wasn't up till day after tomorrow!"

      "Busman's holiday. I had to come up for a visit to the dentist." The man at the telephone turned to the tube again.

      "Are you there? Can I give Chief-Inspector Carman a message? I can't say... he may he out all day... it's Detective Chief-Inspector Pointer speaking."

      There was a pause at the other end, then he heard Thornton say very slowly:

      "A young lady has been found dead. I was one of those who found her. The doctor says it's an accident; the superintendent at the police station says the same; but—" Here followed an account of the beads and the tuft of grass. Then he continued, "And since thinking it over, I have an impression that there may be something wrong, and that's not a pleasant impression to have in such a case."

      "Certainly not. Who is speaking? The name will be quite confidential. Thornton? Mr. Thornton of the 'Athenaum' and the 'Saville'? Quite so. And the young lady? I see. Well..." There followed a pause. "Of course, as you're no doubt aware, sir, New Scotland Yard can't take a hand in any investigation unless asked by the chief constable of the county. But there are ways, of course..." Followed another pause. "Are you there, sir? I'll tell you what I'll do. Have you a car? Good! Drive it yourself? Excellent! If you'll meet me half-an-hour from now, that's nine-thirty exactly, at—" Pointer had opened an ordnance map of Hertfordshire. He indicated a spot very close to Stillwater House. "I'll come down myself unofficially. I'm on leave and, of course, where I choose to spend it is my own affair. You write, I believe, Sir?"

      The clubs mentioned made this a likely shot. Thornton СКАЧАТЬ