“Burnt to death!” replied the landlord, impressively. “Burnt till there wasn’t nothing but a heap of charred bones left, sir. Terrible thing it was, and him all alone out on the heath there. Quiet enough chap he seemed too. Why, I couldn’t believe my ears when the constable told me about him afterwards. You wouldn’t have guessed what the chap was really, not if you was to try for a twelvemonth.”
“I daresay not,” remarked the Professor dryly. “I never was good at guessing. What was he?”
“Ticket o’ leave man!” exclaimed the landlord, leaning over the counter confidentially. “If you’ll believe me, that man had just served fourteen years hard on Dartmoor for murdering a Duke, when he walked into my bar as cool as a cucumber. Oh, he was a deep one, was that Mr. Morlandson! And not a soul bar the super knew a word about it!”
“Burnt to death, was he!” remarked the Professor. “Dear me, what a terrible end. How did it happen?”
“No one knows rightly,” replied the landlord. “He lived all alone on the heath, over yonder towards Goathorn. Built himself a concrete place, I can’t remember what the super said he called it. Word something like lavatory?”
“Laboratory, perhaps?” suggested the Professor.
“Aye, that’s it, sir. You can see the ruins of it still, they tell me. I haven’t been out that way since it happened. Used to lock himself up in this place of his, and fiddle about with all sorts of inflammable stuff. Bound to go up it was, and sure enough it did. Just after closing time one evening, Old George what lives way out towards Studland, comes knocking at my door and says the heath’s on fire. ‘Heath on fire!’ I say, ‘Why, it’s been raining for a week. What are you talking about?’ ‘ ’Tis that for sure!’ says old George. ‘You can see the flames up along my way.’ ‘Flames!’ I says, ‘It’s the stuff they gives you at the Red Bull over yonder that makes you see flames, and I don’t wonder at it!’ Well, he keeps on, and at last I goes half a mile or so up the road with him. Sure enough, there was a great pillar of flame coming up from the middle of the heath.
“We hadn’t been there more than a minute when the constable comes along. ‘What’s up yonder?’ I says. ‘Morlandson’s place on fire,’ says he. ‘Super he’s gone off on his bike. You chaps best come along and see what you can do.’
“Well, sir, it weren’t no manner of good to take the engine. She’s only one of them hand concerns, and last time we’d had her out to practice, she pumped back’ards like into the river instead of out of it. Joe Stiggs, him what looks after her, said he found he’d put the valves in the wrong way. Besides, it would have taken us best part of an hour to push her out there, there ain’t no regular road. And, what’s more, all the water out at Morlandson’s place was a well what ran dry every summer.”
“Then there was nothing to be done?” commented the Professor.