“Do you mean he was put in the stocks and then stabbed, or what?”
“It's hard to say, sir. Not much bleeding, you see: nothing on the ground. Might have been stabbed first, though why anyone should take the trouble to put the body in the stocks I can't make out. He was in evening dress, no hat or overcoat, and the only thing we've got so far that looks like helping us at all is his hands, which were dirty. Smear of motor-oil on one, inference being he'd had to change a tyre, or do some repair on a car. But his car's not there, and not at the garage either. Of course, he may have walked into the village from Riverside Cottage - it's under a mile away - but it seems a funny thing to do at that hour of night. The Doctor doesn't put the hour of the murder earlier than twelve o'clock, or thereabouts. No, it looks like he was motoring down with someone or other for the week-end. What I thought, sir, was that I should go off to Riverside Cottage first thing after seeing you to find out if he was staying there, or expected down last night. Seems to have been a gentleman with irregular sort of habits.”
“Yes, I believe so,” said the Colonel. “Didn't know him myself, but one hears things. A city man - mining interests, so I was informed. I don't fancy it's much of a case for us, Inspector. What do you feel about it?”
“Well, sir, pretty much what you do. Of course, we don't know that it wasn't a local affair, but on the face of it it doesn't look like it. I've got a man out at Ashleigh Green making inquiries, but I don't expect to get much. You know what it is out in the country, sir. Folks go to bed early, and if there wasn't any noise made, barring the car - assuming there was a car - no one would be likely to wake up - or take any notice if they were awake. The Doctor's of the opinion death must have been pretty well instantaneous. There's no sign of any struggle. Dickenson tells me this Mr Vereker was in the habit of bringing friends down from town over the week-end. What we want is his car. That might tell us something. How I look at it sir, is we'll have to get on to the Yard for information, whatever happens.”
“Quite right. Not our case at all. Still, you should certainly go to this cottage you speak of and see what you can pick up. Does he keep any servants there?”
“No, sir. There's a woman by the name of Beaton who keeps the place tidy, by what I understand, but she lives out. I'll see her of course, but I don't expect to find anyone at the Cottage. It isn't likely. But I might get a line on it.”
The Inspector was wrong. Half an hour later, when he and Constable Dickenson got out of the police car at Riverside Cottage, there were unmistakable signs that the cottage was occupied.
It was a small house of stuccoed brick and jade green shutters, standing in wooded grounds that ran down to the river. The position was what house-agents would describe as picturesque and secluded, no other house being visible in summer from any of its windows.
As the car drew up a dog started barking inside the house, and the Constable said at once: “That's funny. Mr Vereker never had a dog down here to my knowledge.”
The Inspector set his finger on the electric bell, remarking as he did so: “Might be the charwoman's. Who looks after the garden, and the electric light plant?”