“I don’t, sir, and that’s a fact. The colonel’s a very quiet man and peculiar in some ways, but he’s well respected in the district.”
“So was many a murderer.”
The sergeant was clearly sceptical, though anxious to be polite. He said he was sure Mr. French would not speak without good reason, but his own view was evident.
“Well, tell me all you know about him, anyway.”
Domlio, it appeared, was a man of about forty-five, short, thickset, and dark. (Not the man who called for the crate, thought French.) He was very well off, and since his wife had died some six years earlier, had lived alone with his servants in his house on the moor. He held sufficient Veda stock to give him a controlling interest in the firm, acted as consulting engineer, and was usually referred to as the senior partner. Entomology was his pet hobby and it was believed that he was writing a book on the insect life of the moor.
He had four servants. Inside was John Burt, valet, butler, and general factotum, and his wife, Sarah Burt, who combined the offices of cook and general servant. Outside was an ex-service man named Coombe, who acted as chauffeur and general handy man, and an old gardener called Mee. Mee lived with his wife and daughter in the gate lodge and Coombe boarded with them. All, so far as the sergeant knew, were reliable people of good character.
“I’ll go out and see the colonel after lunch,” French announced. “Could you lend me a push bicycle? I don’t want all my movements reported on by the driver of a car.”
“I can borrow one for you, but it’ll not be much use on these hilly roads.”
“It’ll do all I want.”
A couple of hours later French set out. When near Colonel Domlio’s gate he hid the bicycle in the brushwood and approached the house on foot. It was a smallish, creeper-covered building, L-shaped, with thick walls and heavy overhanging eaves. At least a hundred years old, French thought. It stood some two hundred yards back from the road and was approached by a drive which wound between clumps of stunted trees and shrubs. In front was a small lawn of mown grass, while between the trees to the right French glimpsed the roofs of outbuildings. The place had a cared-for appearance. The woodwork of the house had been freshly painted, the flower beds were tidy, and the grass edges had recently been cut.