Another Man's Shoes

by Victor Bridges

CHAPTER XVI

I don't think I shall ever forget Maurice's face! His cheeks went the colour of grey ash, and for several seconds he stared at me with a sort of incredulous horror. If I had any remaining doubt as to his guilt, it was certainly settled in that dramatic interval.

At last, with a great effort, he recovered himself sufficiently to give a sickly laugh.

"By Jove, you gave us a start, Stuart!" he said. "We were just wondering whether you'd fallen into the creek."

"No," I replied cheerfully, "it was only my hat that went in." And taking off the article in question, I held it up to the light so that they could all see the bullet-hole.

"Great Scott!" cried York, "what's the meaning of that?" He seized the hat, and began examining the damage with vast interest, Sir George peering over his shoulder.

"It means," I retorted, "at least twenty-five shillings. That's one of Lincoln & Bennett's best." Then, with a kindly eye on Maurice, I proceeded to relate my spirited and entertaining experiences.

When I had finished there was a short silence. It was broken by Sir George, who, with his usual intelligence, went straight to the heart of the matter.

"B—b—but that was murder," he stammered, "cold-blooded murder!"

"I should describe it rather as hat slaughter," I said coolly, "but the intention seems to have been pretty obvious."

Maurice, whose face had not regained its colour, broke in with an oath. "It's those infernal marshmen!" he cried. "I've had trouble with them before, but never anything of this kind."

"What do you mean?" asked York, looking up from the hat.

"Why, there's a gang of scoundrels round the coast who make their living shooting duck. I was cautioned about them when I took the place. They think they own the marsh, and that no one else has a right to shoot there. I've heard lots of stories about their blackguardly tricks, but of course I never imagined for a moment they'd go as far as this." He turned to me. "My dear chap," he added, "I can't tell you how sorry I am."

I thought I could tell him very accurately, but I contented myself with shaking the hand that he thrust impulsively out.

"Don't worry about it, Maurice," I said. "These little accidents will happen."

"You take it uncommonly coolly, Northcote," broke in Sir George. "If it had happened to me, I'd have had the whole damned countryside arrested by now—by Gad, I would!"

"I shall put it in the hands of the police at once," said Maurice. "Do you think you could recognise the two men?"

I should love to have said yes, just for the pleasure of watching his face; but I thought it might be a bit awkward to make such a statement in view of a subsequent visit from the police.

"I couldn't swear to them," I said, "but I dare say the obliging stranger at the Plough could. He got a better sight of them than I did."

This, without committing Billy, could, I thought, at least give Maurice an unpleasant quarter of an hour.

"Well, it's disgraceful!" burst out Vane; "that's what it is—disgraceful! It's all this confounded Government—setting class against class—that leads to this kind of thing. If I had my way, I'd shoot them down—every man Jack of them."

I was a little in the dark as to who Sir George's imaginary victims might be, but, in any case, the sentiment struck me as being a fairly sound one.

"Perhaps we'd better not say anything further about it to-night," I suggested. "I don't want the loss of a hat to disturb the whole house."

There was a look of relief on Maurice's face. "You're right, Stuart," he said. "It would only upset the women. We'll go over to Woodford first thing in the morning and see the Inspector. I'll have these brutes run to earth: you may be sure of that."

With this comforting assurance, we separated to dress for dinner.

The latter meal, and indeed all the rest of the evening, passed off cheerfully enough. Lady Baradell and Miss York both seemed to be in excellent spirits, chaffing us unmercifully over the very minute bag of duck (one and a half couple) which we had managed to bring back from our expedition. I could not help wondering what they would have said if they had known as much about the sporting possibilities of the Suffolk coast as I did.

I went to bed early, and just for a change passed a quite uneventful night. I had become so used to entertaining beautiful ladies or grappling with would-be assassins that for a time I felt positively neglected. However, if the night was dull, the next day promised to be exciting enough, so I consoled myself with this reflection and went peacefully off to sleep.

The topic of our visit to the police was broached tactfully at breakfast next morning by Maurice.

"I am afraid Stuart and I will have to run over to Woodford on business," he announced.

There was an immediate chorus of protest from the ladies. "Oh, but we've promised to give them their revenge at tennis," said Miss York.

"I didn't know there was any business at Woodford," remarked Lady Baradell. "I thought the entire population spent their time talking politics at the street corners."

"Oh, it's only a little matter," said Maurice. "It won't take us long. We'll drive over in the trap, and I'll be back here by eleven."

"Well, if you must go," put in Aunt Mary, "you might tell Cooper to send some marmalade. You remember, Stuart; Maurice is sure to forget."

I pledged my word that the marmalade should be faithfully dispatched; and with these two somewhat incongruous errands before us, we set forth after breakfast in a dogcart. Maurice, who was handling the reins, seemed to be a little depressed.

"I hope the police will be able to find the scoundrels without making too much fuss about it," he said, flicking the steed viciously with his whip. "One doesn't want the papers to get hold of a thing like this."

I quite believed that nothing would annoy him more. "We must hope for the best," I said cheerfully. "I don't mind a little trouble, if I can help you clear the neighbourhood of a gang like that."

I have no doubt that he was grateful for this magnanimous sentiment, but he didn't trouble to express it in words. We tooled on down the road in silence, and passing through the outskirts of Woodford, drew up at the police station, where a polite gentleman in corduroy trousers shambled forward from a side-walk and took the horse's head. On the steps stood a depressed-looking constable, who touched his helmet when he recognised Maurice.

"Is the Inspector in?" asked the latter.

The constable at once brisked up. "Yes, sir; just come along 'arf a minute ago. D'ye want to see him, sir?"

Maurice nodded, and clambering out of the trap, we followed Robert up the steps and into the office.

The Inspector, a large, solid-looking person, was seated at a desk laboriously writing. As we entered he laid down his pen with a sigh and wiped his fingers on his trousers.

"Good morning, Mr. Furnivall," he said. "What can I have the pleasure of doing for you this morning?" Then, seeing me, he added politely: "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Inspector," said Maurice. "We have come on rather a serious business."

The Inspector assumed what I can only imagine he meant for an official expression. Placing his hands on his knees and turning his toes in, he leaned forward and scowled at us.

"How's that, sir?" he inquired.

I felt a wild desire to retort, "Not a bit like it!" but fortunately Maurice took up the dialogue. In curt and apparently indignant phrases he described the gross outrage of the previous day, turning every now and then to me to confirm his statements.

"Poaching and robbery," he finished, "I can put up with, but when it comes to a cold-blooded and deliberate attempt to murder one of my guests, I think it is time that the police interfered."

A more dumbfounded man than that poor police inspector I have seldom seen. He listened to the story with an amazement that bordered on the pathetic, and when Maurice had finished, produced a red cotton handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

"Lord bless us, Mr. Furnivall!" he observed. "Who'd have thought it?"

Then his professional instincts got the better of him. "I'll make a note or two of your statement while it's fresh in me mind," he added, pulling out a large notebook. "What time might the incident have occurred?"

"The incident," I replied, "occurred as nearly as possible at a quarter to six."

"Ah!" said he, jotting down the fact; "and maybe, sir, you'd be able to recognise the men?"

I shook my head. "I doubt it," I said. "It was getting a bit dusk, and I wasn't exactly in a position to stare at them. You'd better try the gentleman at the Plough who came to my rescue. He had a much better sight of them."

"Ah!" said the Inspector, "his name being——?"

"Oh, Loman," said I, "or something like that."

The Inspector wrote it down, and then shut his notebook with a determined air.

"I'll look into the matter at once, gentlemen," he said. "I don't want to make no promises, but I reckon that by to-morrow we ought to know something about it. They're a rough lot, them marshmen, but this'll be a lesson to 'em. I'll teach them they can't go shooting at gents promiscuous like—not while I'm Inspector."

This little personal touch rather appealed to me.

"Thank you," I said. "I'm sure the case couldn't be in more efficient hands. I'm going over to the Plough now, so I'll tell Mr. Loman, or whatever his name is, that you'd like to see him."

We went outside, where the gentleman in corduroy trousers was still affectionately clutching the horse's bridle under the critical eye of the constable.

"Are you coming with me?" I asked Maurice. "I should like to introduce you to my rescuer—he seems rather a decent sort of chap."

Maurice shook his head, I thought a trifle sullenly. "I must get back for the tennis," he said. "Ask your friend over to Ashton to-morrow—he might like to see the cricket."

Considering that he believed Billy to be responsible for spoiling his admirable arrangements, this seemed to me really handsome.

"Right you are," I said cheerfully. "I shall have a look at the car afterwards, so don't expect me till you see me. By the way, isn't there a tea-fight or something on this afternoon?"

Maurice nodded. "The Cuthberts are giving a garden-party, and I believe Aunt Mary said some of us might stroll over. But don't you bother about it, if you've made other arrangements." He brought out the latter remark with a kind of suggestive leer, that told me plainly he was thinking of Lady Baradell.

"Thanks," I said coolly. "You're an ideal host, Maurice." And leaving him to chew over this compliment at his leisure, I strolled across the street in the direction of the Plough.

I found Billy sitting alone in the bar parlour reading the morning paper, and taking an occasional pull at a large tankard of ale.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your breakfast, Billy," I said.

He jumped up smiling, and flung down the paper on the seat.

"I guessed you'd be over early," he said.

"Then you guessed more than I did," I retorted. "Why this confidence?"

He walked round behind the bar, and taking down an envelope which was sitting up among the bottles, tossed it across to me.

"Here's your love letter, my son," he said. "I told the barmaid you'd be in for it this morning."

I picked it up, remembering with a sudden thrill of pleasure my message to Mercia.

"When did this come, Billy?" I asked.

"A boy brought it last night about half-past nine. I happened to be in here, so I told them you were staying at Ashton, and would no doubt be calling round after breakfast. Not a bad shot—eh? Who is it? The lady with the gun?"

I tore open the envelope and quickly read the contents—

"I will be in the old windmill just beyond Barham Bridge at four o'clock."

There was no signature, but I didn't need one.

"Since you took up detective work, Billy," I said, "your powers of deduction are improving."

He chuckled, and coming back from behind the bar flung open the French window.

"Let's go out into the garden," he said. "I've tons to tell you, and the barmaid will be back here in a minute."

We went down the steps which led to the square patch of lawn behind the house, and seated ourselves on an old wooden bench in the sunshine.

"Things are moving," I said, taking out a pipe and beginning to fill it with some care. "Maurice and I have just been interviewing the local inspector. The attempted murder of Mr. Stuart Northcote is now a problem for the police."

Billy whistled. "That's good," he observed. "Did Maurice give 'em any tips?"

"No," I returned; "they're looking to you for those. I've explained how an obliging tripper, residing at the Plough, sailed in and rescued me. You're quite a hero, Billy. The police want to see you as soon as possible, and Maurice has asked me to invite you over to Ashton to-morrow to watch the cricket match."

Billy slapped his knee. "That's good travelling," he observed, "precious good. But don't think you're the only one who's making history. I've got a little shock to spring on you that knocks spots off any of your news." He paused, and then tapped the note which I was still holding in my hand. "Do you know where your fair assassin's hanging out?"

I shook my head.

"Miss Mercia Solano," said Billy, leaning back and folding his arms, "is, at the present moment, the honoured guest of M. Baretti."

I jumped up off the bench. "Good Lord, Billy!" I said, "is that a fact?"

He nodded. "And what's more," he added, "I've seen her. Last night, after that note came, I slipped out and went up to the Hollies. First of all I had a good look at the place from the road. All the blinds were down and the shutters closed in front, so I made a bit of a circle and got in through the plantation at the back. There was a window open there on the second floor, with a light in the room. Well, to cut the yarn short, I climbed up one of the trees nearest the house and had a squint in."

"And you actually saw Mercia?" I demanded.

"I saw the whole charming bunch of 'em," said Billy. "There was Dot-and-carry-one; and the gentleman who put a bullet through your hat; and a frowsy-looking sort of female; and last, but not least, your own particular bit of trouble. At least, I suppose it was. A well-built sort of girl, with stunning eyes?"

I looked at him with pity. "You have your points, Billy," I said, "but don't try to describe a beautiful woman. What were they doing?"

"Jawing at her, as far as I could make out," he answered, with a grin. "Of course, I couldn't hear anything—I was too far away; but I could see them waggling their hands and shrugging their shoulders in the best Dago fashion. Looked to me as if they were trying to persuade her to do something she didn't want to—stick a knife into you, I expect."

"I shouldn't wonder," I said, "but I'll find out this afternoon. She's going to meet me at four o'clock."

Billy frowned. "Isn't that rather running your head into it unnecessarily?" he asked. "She's staying with them in the house, and, after all, you know precious little about her."

"That's just the reason why I want to find out some more," I retorted. Then, laying my hand on his shoulder, I added more seriously: "I've got to see her Billy; I can't get on without her any longer."

He grunted. "Well, it's no good saying anything if you've made up your mind: I know that. All the same, I think you're an ass, my son. What are your plans?"

"Well," said I, "I thought I'd hang about here and look at the car and do a bit of shopping while you went across and interviewed the police. Then we might have some lunch, and after that I'll go off and meet Mercia."

"Where's the trysting tree?" inquired Billy.

I gave him the note.

He read it through, grunted again, and then handed it back to me. "You know your own business best," he said, "but, if you take my tip, you'll shove a gun of some sort in your pocket. Where is this blessed windmill?"

"I don't know," I said, "but I'll find out while you're making love to the Inspector."

"What am I to say to him?" demanded Billy.

"Oh, just tell him that you were out duck-shooting, and spotted two sportsmen blowing holes through my hat. If he asks you whether you could recognise them, you'd better say they were a couple of rough-looking blackguards something like police constables. We don't want him to get on to the Hollies yet awhile."

Billy laughed. "All right," he said, getting up; "I'll handle him with gloves on. I may as well be off now. Don't get into any more mischief while I'm away."

We parted company outside the hotel, Billy going off to the police station, and I strolling up the street in search of Aunt Mary's marmalade. Having secured this, and given instructions that it was to be sent to Ashton at once, I proceeded to make a further inspection of the old town. My wanderings brought me eventually to the bar parlour of the Bull, the second principal hotel, which struck me as a very suitable place for making inquiries as to the whereabouts of Barham Bridge.

I was enlightened on this point by a genial, clean-shaven gentleman in sporting get-up, who was engaged in shifting a morning sherry-and-bitters.

"Barham Bridge!" he said. "Oh yes; it's about two miles up the road to the left. You can't mistake it, because there's an old ruined mill standing back in the field just beyond."

I thanked him, and we chatted away cheerfully for about a quarter of an hour, in the course of which I discovered that his name was Cumming, that he lived in the neighbourhood, was a keen yachtsman, and by profession a well-known writer of bloodthirsty adventure-stories for the popular weekly papers. I only regretted that circumstances prevented me from being equally confidential. But for my promise to Northcote, I felt that I could have given him a plot which would have made him my friend for life!

Returning to the Plough, I received the key of the garage and indulged in a brief inspection of the car. My knowledge of motors is decidedly limited, but as she started up all right, it seemed to me that there couldn't be much the matter with her. So I contented myself with filling up the petrol tank and pumping in some oil. It was while I was engaged in the latter operation that Billy reappeared.

"They told me you were out here," he said. "Nothing the matter with the car, is there?"

"No," I said, "she's all right. I was only filling her up, because I'm thinking of using her this afternoon. How did you get on with the Inspector?"

Billy smiled wickedly. "We've made great friends," he said. "I'm going down on the marsh with him this afternoon to help hunt out the criminals. He says it's a dangerous job."

"It will be a pretty thirsty one," I returned, "if you stick to it long enough. I'm afraid you've been stuffing the poor man up shamelessly, Billy."

"He didn't want it," chuckled Billy, thrusting his arm through mine. "I do, though. Come inside and have some grub. The chase starts at half-past two."

We entered the long dining-room, where an elderly waiter brought us an excellent lunch of cold partridge and Stilton cheese, which we assisted in its progress with a couple of bottles of Jacob's Pilsener. As Billy said, "You can't hunt murderers on air," a remark which I considered applied with equal force to the nice conduct of a somewhat complicated love scene.

"Besides, that's not all my day's work," he added. "When I get back, I'm going to pay another call at the Hollies. There's a drain pipe under that window which looks as if it would bear my weight all right."

"Look here, Billy," I protested, "it's my show and you're doing all the dangerous part of it."

"That's a matter of opinion," he laughed. "Anyhow, I'm quite satisfied. If you'll tackle Miss Mercia Solano, I'll take on Humpty Dumpty and the others with the greatest pleasure."

He got up, glancing at his watch. "I must be off," he added. "I promised to call for Sherlock at a quarter-past, and one mustn't keep the Law waiting. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. What time does the cricket match start?"

"Oh, Goodness knows," said I: "about eleven, I suppose."

"Well, I'll be around some time in the morning. So long, old son, and don't forget that all women are born liars."

"Except Mercia," I added.