“Now, Sergeant, there’s another thing. Could the murderer not have used some sort of apparatus, a ladder or plank to lay on the soft ground, over which he could have carried the body and escaped himself? Same as you do on ice.”
“I thought of that too, but I don’t believe it would be possible. A ladder wouldn’t do at all. With its sharp edges it would go down under the weight. And I don’t think a man could handle a big enough plank. It would have to be pretty wide to support the weight of two men and it would have to be long to get beyond the edge of the mire. You see, Mr. French, it’s only well out into the big mires that a flat body will sink. Near the edges it would have to be kept upright with the weight on the feet. That couldn’t be done off the end of a plank which would itself be sinking; in fact, I don’t think it could be done at all.”
French nodded. This was certainly very satisfactory.
“Besides, sir,” Daw went on, “think of a plank laid as you’ve suggested and with the end of it partly sunk. It’ll not be easy to pull out, particularly when the ground you’re pulling from is not very firm. You won’t do it without leaving pretty deep footmarks, and the plank will leave a sort of trough where it was slid out. If that had been done that night the marks would have been there next morning, and if they had been there I should have seen them. No, sir, I think you may give up that idea. You couldn’t get rid of a body by hiding it in a mire.”
“I’m uncommonly glad to hear you say so,” French repeated. “If the thing had been possible it would have knocked my case into a cocked hat. Well, Sergeant, I’ve bothered you enough for one morning. I’ll go along and have a word with Mrs. Berlyn’s maid.”
Lizzie Johnston lived with her mother in a little cottage on the hill behind the railway station. She proved to be a dark, good-looking girl of about five and twenty, and when French talked with her he soon discovered she was observant and intelligent also.
She had lived, she said, with Mrs. Berlyn for about two years, and French, in his skilful, pleasant way drew her out on the subject of the household. It consisted of the two Berlyns, herself, and cook, unless Peter Swann, the gardener, might be included.
Mr. Berlyn she had not greatly liked. He was quiet in the house, but was rather exacting. He was not socially inclined and preferred an evening’s reading over the fire to any dinner party or dance. He had been civil enough to her, though she had really come very little in contact with him.
About Mrs. Berlyn the girl was not enthusiastic, either, though she said nothing directly against her. Mrs. Berlyn, it appeared, was also hard to please, and no matter what was done for her, she always wanted something more. She was never content to be alone and was continually running over to Torquay to amusements. After their marriage Mr. Berlyn had gone with her, but he had gradually given up doing so and had allowed her to find some other escort. This she had had no difficulty in doing, and Mr. Pyke, Mr. Cowls and others were constantly in attendance.
No, the girl did not think there had been anything between Mrs. Berlyn and any of these men, though for a time Mr. Pyke’s attentions had been rather pronounced. But some four months before the tragedy they appeared to have had a disagreement, for his visits had suddenly fallen off. But it could not have been very serious, for he still had occasionally come to dinner and to play bridge. She remembered one time in particular when Mr. Pyke had brought a relative; she heard it was a cousin. There were just the four, the two Pykes and the two Berlyns, and they all seemed very friendly. But there was a coolness all the same, and since it had developed, Colonel Domlio had to some extent taken Mr. Pyke’s place.