The Starvel Hollow tragedy

by Freeman Wills Crofts

“Why not?”

“Why not? Why, because— I don’t know, but the idea seems absolutely absurd. Roper’s dead. If he is not dead, whose was the third body found? Are you really serious?”

“Yes,” French said in a low tone. “I am quite satisfied that Roper escaped from that house and that some poor devil was murdered and buried in his place. And what’s more, I’ll have him in an hour’s time. Come. Let us walk to the station and take up a position before he arrives.”

They moved off, while Philpot clamoured for further details. French, true to his traditions of caution, was not overcommunicative, but he explained some of the reasons which had led him to believe in Roper’s guilt, and told of the purchases of rings which the man had made to get rid of his tainted money. Philpot evinced the keenest interest and plied the other with questions.

French told him as much as his training would allow, which was as little as he conveniently could, and then he switched the conversation on to the coming scene. Did Philpot know the station? If so, where had they best hide so as to see the train arrive while remaining themselves unobserved?

On reaching the platform French introduced himself to the station-master and explained his business. He had arranged for Tanner to travel in the last first-class compartment in the train, and he now found out from the station-master where this coach would stop. Opposite was the window of one of the offices, and on French asking whether they might use it for reconnoitring purposes, the station-master at once gave them the unrestricted use of the room. There, hidden from view by a screen, the two men took up their positions and began to scrutinise those who were assembling on the platform to meet the train.

Philpot was fidgety and nervous, and from one or two remarks that he made, French saw the direction in which his thoughts were running. Evidently he was afraid that if he assisted in Roper’s capture, the man would round on him and try to make trouble for him about Mrs. Philpot’s death. In vain French attempted to reassure him. He was clearly uneasy in his mind, but presently he seemed to master his fears and concentrated his attention on the platform outside.

Time passed slowly until the train was almost due. A large number of persons had collected and were strolling slowly up and down or standing talking in little groups. French and his companion watched the moving throng from behind their screen, but no one resembling Roper put in an appearance. This, however, was not disconcerting. It was not unlikely that the man had also taken cover and was waiting until he saw some one who might be Munce before coming out into the open.

French, as the time dragged slowly away, was conscious of the thrill of the hunter who waits before a clump of jungle for a hidden man-eater. The crisis that was approaching was almost as important to him as the tiger’s exit to the sportsman. This was the last lap of his case, the climax of the work of many weeks. If he carried off his coup all would be well; it would bring the affair to a triumphant conclusion, and to himself possibly the reward he coveted. But if any slip took place it would be a bad look-out for him. There was his and Tanner’s time besides the expense of these journeys to Scotland, not to speak of his own loss of prestige. No, French felt he could not afford to miss this chance, and insensibly his brows contracted and his lips tightened as he stood waiting for what was coming.

Presently a movement amongst the passengers on the platform and a heavy rumble announced the advent of the express. The huge engine with its high-pitched boiler and stumpy funnel rolled slowly past, followed by coach after coach, brightly lighted, luxurious, gliding smoothly by. A first-class coach stopped opposite the window and French, gazing eagerly out, presently saw Tanner descend and glance up and down the platform.