“Small result, I fear!” said the Professor. “My own opinion is that the whole thing was too carefully engineered. Nothing would come out here.”
“You never know,” replied Blick. “All sorts of things help.”
They walked on to the entrance to the village. There, at the first blank wall he had come across, the bill-poster was already busy—a group of open-mouthed women and children around him.
The two men stopped, as the bill, a big square sheet, in heavy black lettering, was pasted, wet and shining, on the wall. The Professor, adjusting his monocle, read it aloud:
ONE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD
Whereas Guy Markenmore, Esquire, late of Markenmore Court, near Selcaster, was found shot dead on the Downs near Markenmore Hollow on the morning of Tuesday, April 24th last, and is believed to have been murdered: Take notice that the above-mentioned sum, one hundred pounds sterling, will be paid to any person giving information which will lead to the arrest and conviction of the murderer. Such information may be given to the police, or direct to
GILBERT CREWE,
Solicitor, Selcaster.
“Um!” remarked the Professor, turning away with something of a sardonic smile. “Your Mrs.—What’s-her-name?—Braxfield doesn’t err on the side of generosity! Now, if she’d said five hundred!—eh?”
“Mrs. Braxfield,” said Blick, with a glance at the folk who were eagerly spelling out the contents of the poster, “observed cynically to the Chief Constable and me that there wasn’t a man or woman in Markenmore who wouldn’t give his or her own mother away for a five-pound note! Now there are twenty fives in a hundred, so——”