He was not nearly as certain as the aunt professed to be that there was not a love-affair at the bottom of the mystery. The fact, that, unknown to her aunt, Miss Faintley had purposed to stay in Cromlech when she was supposed to be staying in Torbury, was very significant, he thought. He glanced at Vardon. Vardon drummed on the table for a moment, and then asked:

  “Did you receive a letter from your niece after she left here?”

  “A postcard, not a letter. I would always like to know she’d arrived safely. Trains are such funny things nowadays, what with accidents and assults and the drivers not stopping at the right stations and not troubling to look at the signal-boxes and always grumbling when they have to spend a night away from their wives. I never did think British Railways would work, and, of course, they don’t. I always used to like the old G.W.R. You could trust the G.W.R., as I always said.”

  “And have you kept the postcard?” asked Vardon, damming the stream, or, possibly, blocking the track.

  “Oh, yes, I’ve got it. I shall always keep it now, of course, it being Lily’s last words. You won’t want to take it away with you, will you?”

  “I should just like to see it.”

  “It’s post-marked Torbury all right, if that’s what you mean. Think of the deceitfulness, if she was really at Cromlech!”

  She brought the card. The postmark was indeed Torbury, so there was not much doubt that Miss Faintley had not intended to allow her aunt to know that she had spent any nights in Cromlech. Still, that was not evidence of any criminal intention.

  “It wouldn’t do if our relatives had to know everything we got up to,” said Vardon soothingly. “We’re all entitled to a bit of private life sometimes. Don’t mean there’s any harm in it, although, in this case, it’s turned out very distressing indeed. You said your niece was living somewhere else in Kindleford before you took over her housekeeping, didn’t you? I’d better have the address of those lodgings.” He took it down. “How long was your niece there?”

  “A matter of three weeks. She didn’t like it there at all. No home comforts, and she had to eat with the family, which didn’t suit her ladyship at all.”

  “Looks like a job for the Yard if the young woman had London connections,” said Vardon when the two officers had returned to Kindleford police station. “I don’t suppose they’ll be able to tell us anything helpful at the school here.”

  “Trouble is that the schools are all on holiday. It’s hard to get hold of anybody, even if they could be of use. What about trying the Education Office?”

  “Better than nothing, but, all the same, a dead end, I expect.”

  The Education Office proved to be an annexe to the Town Hall. The Education Officer was on holiday, but his deputy, an alert woman of about thirty, was able to assure the police that, so far as the Education Office was concerned, they knew nothing about Miss Faintley except the formal matters relating to her employment and could suggest nothing which would help an investigation into the circumstances of her sudden death.

  Vardon went next to the lodgings which Miss Faintley had occupied. They were at a terrace house in one of the better streets of Kindleford, but were drab and depressing. The landlady, a tall female whose appearance was not improved by her dust-cap and overall, was prepared with two observations. She had never liked Miss Faintley from the first, and she had always said that those stuck-up ones came off worst in the end.

  Vardon, disregarding these remarks, which were prejudiced, he felt, by the fact that Miss Faintley had not remained longer in the lodgings, enquired concerning Miss Faintley’s friends and acquaintances.

  “Oh, she’d have one and another in to tea, and sometimes she went on a hike or to the pictures.”

  “Were the “one-and-another” men or women friends?”

  “Well, come to think of it, there has only ever been the one—a Miss Franks from the school. They seemed to be very thick, her and Miss Faintley did, though what they saw in each other—”

  “No men friends, so far as you know, then?”

  “There’s them that can get men friends of the right sort, which is the marrying kind, and them that can get ’em of the wrong sort, which is what I prefer not to name, and there’s some can’t get ’em of any sort, and that was Miss Faintley.”

  The landlady’s contempt was obvious. Vardon thanked her for her information, and returned to the aunt to put the same questions.

  There was a Miss Franks, the aunt agreed. She had been once or twice to visit them, but had seemed rather Red in her ideas, her being the art teacher, so the elder Miss Faintley had warned the younger Miss Faintley that (whether they had the moral right to do so or not) Education Committees were conditioned to take a poor view of such people. The younger Miss Faintley had taken the hint, her aunt thought, and nothing more had been seen of Miss Franks at the flat.

  Consumed by impatience, Vardon longed for the end of the schools’ summer vacation. He decided that if Miss Franks could not help him, probably nobody could. There remained the headmistress. Vardon wondered whether it might be possible to find her at the school engaged in the composition of time-tables for the coming term. He was unlucky. The only people he encountered were the caretaker and a couple of cleaners.

  “Miss Faintley?” said the caretaker, a lean, sardonic man of forty-five. “Yes, I saw the notice in the papers. Ever served in a mixed battery, Inspector? Always the ones nobody ever thought of who pick up all the trouble. The real floozies never cop out. It’s the amateurs buy it, sir…always.”

  “So Miss Faintley was what one might call the typical schoolmistress, eh?”

  “There’s no such thing as a typical schoolmistress. Colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady…that’s what they are. And what they are under their skins only the kids know…and, like God, they won’t let on, not to you they won’t.”

  “You don’t know, of course, where I could get in touch with the headmistress?”

  “I do not, sir. Caravannin’ on the Continent is Miss Golightly, with a couple of lady friends. They’re on the move every day. She’ll be in school a couple of days before the openin’ day of term, according to her usual custom, but, apart from that, she can’t be got at nohow.”

  He sounded extremely well satisfied with this fact and repeated it, adding that if Vardon knew the Education Office as Butters knew it, he would not be surprised at nothing, and Miss Golightly, she was one with her head screwed on, was Miss Golightly.

  Vardon, disgruntled, returned to the police station. Suddenly he said to Darling:

  “You mentioned a young chap told you that Miss Faintley had had some dealings with a fellow you think may be a fence. That sounds an unlikely sort of game for a schoolmistress. Was the chap sure?”

  “Quite sure. Tell you what; I’ll send for him and you can talk to him for yourself. I think he’ll convince you. I’ll stake my reputation he’s telling the truth.”

  Mandsell, brought to the police station in a car which had a plain-clothes driver, was briefly introduced by Darling. He saw a big man with a genial appearance and lips which indicated a sense of humour. Darling saw a medium-sized, rather shabby, likeable young man whose accent betrayed his place of learning.

  “What can I do for you, Inspector? I’ve already told all I know to Mr. Darling.”

  “Quite so, sir.” The West Country voice was soothing. “It’s just that I’d like your story at first-hand. Can I have your full name and address for my records?”

  “George Geoffrey Madeston Mandsell. I lodge with a Mr. and Mrs. Deaks at 31 Upper Bridge Street. I’m a writer.”

  “Very good, sir. And now…”

  “I decided to go out for a walk at about half-past eight on the evening of July 25th. I was going to the library. I’d forgotten it was closed on Thursdays. On my way home I went into a telephone-box half-way along Park Road. I only went in to look up a number, but the telephone buzzed and I picked up the receiver.”

  “Why did you do that, sir?”

  “I don’t know. It was subconscious, just a natural reaction. The voice at the other end was Miss Faintley’s, or so it said. It seems as if somebody had made an arrangement that she was to ring up that box at that particular time. People do that sometimes, I believe, if they don’t want to be overheard or if one of them isn’t on the ’phone. I tried to explain who I was, and that I’d seen a man leave the box a minute before I got there, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Oh? You think you saw the man who was to have been her correspondent?”

  “Well, I can’t be sure of that, of course, but it seemed rather likely.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t. He was about my height, I should say, and youngish…that is to say, probably in his thirties. He had his back to me as he left the box. His hat was pulled down and his coat-collar was right up. I guessed he was youngish because of the rate at which he walked.”

  “What did Miss Faintley have to say? It must have seemed to her very important if she would not let you explain who you were.”

  “I don’t know how important it was, really. The only thing I do know is that she seemed in the deuce of a hurry to get the conversation over because there were people about who might come in and overhear her end of it.”

  “And what was her end of it?”

  “She wanted this man, whoever he was, to get a parcel from Hagford railway station and take it to a man called Tomson.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Well, the next bit may sound rather silly, but, not having much to do next day, I walked over to Hagford, picked up the parcel and bunged it in.”

  “Why?”

  “Same reason as that for which I took the telephone call, I suppose. I can’t really explain it. It just seemed fun at the time and something to do.”

  “Very well, sir. Thank you for your information. You won’t be changing your lodgings at present, sir, I take it?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Just that we should like to have you around, sir. Your evidence may be very important indeed. Which way was the man going?”

  “Oh, away from the direction of the High Street, but, of course, he’d disappeared by the time I came out of the box.”

  “What do you make of him?” asked Vardon, when Mandsell had gone.

  “Quite as innocent as he sounds. I wonder what made him go and fetch that parcel, though? It’s a ten-mile tramp there and back.”

  “Curiosity, I expect. He’s a writer. They’re usually a bit romantic in their outlook and do things other people wouldn’t think of doing.”

  “Maybe that’s it. What interests me most is that the parcel had to be delivered to old man Tomson. I told you we’d had our eye on him for receiving. I’ve already looked him up, of course, but come along and see what you make of him. First-hand impressions are always best.”

  The shop was not very clean. That was the first thing which struck Vardon when the two inspectors walked in. The proprietor was alternately obsequious and insolent, but Darling had been prepared for that. He had met Tomson before.

  “Take in parcels? Why, no, sir, not with the post office so close. The only thing I do in that line is Small Ads.”

  “Quite so,” said Vardon. “What about a Small Ad from a lady named Faintley?”

  The proprietor appeared to reflect. Then his face brightened.

  “Miss Faintley? Well, yes, but that was not a Small Ad. That was a cry from the heart.”

  “Love letters?”

  “I couldn’t say, but I took in a matter of a dozen letters or more in the past three months, all addressed in the same writing.”

  “When did the last one come?”

  “Let me see, now. Yes, the last of them came on July 23rd. But that’s easy understandable. She went on holiday after that.”

  “I see. And no doubt presents were delivered as well as letters?”

  “Not so far as I know. I’ve told you I don’t take parcels.”

  “I think there were parcels, Tomson. And one of them came to Hagford just before Miss Faintley went on holiday. A young fellow delivered it to you under Miss Faintley’s instructions and you refused to give him a receipt.”

  “All right! Have it your own way! There was a parcel, then! But he didn’t ask for a receipt. He asked for five pounds.”

  “And you gave it him?”

  “At the point of a gun, what would you do?”

  “So he had a gun?”

  “He put his hand in his jacket pocket and threatened me. That’s all I know. I didn’t resist. I don’t pretend to be a blinking hero.”

  “You’d probably pretend very badly,” put in Darling excusably. “All right, Tomson. Watch your step, that’s all. Not that you need the advice. I’ve had two independent bits of information about you and the things you get up to.”

  “You’ll be a long time putting salt on that bird’s tail,” said Vardon, grinning, when they left.

  “You wait and see,” retorted Darling. “Now I know he’s up to something fishy I’ll soon be able to pull him in, and when I do he’d better come clean. I’ll bet he’s got no alibi for Miss Faintley’s murder.”

  “What was the other information you told him you had?”

  “Oh, merely corroborative evidence that Miss Faintley did have some connection with him. Came from a chap I know pretty well—one of the masters at the school. Doesn’t give any clue to the murder, worse luck, but it makes Mandsell’s story quite credible. She did have some connection with Tomson, and a fishy connection, too. She’d taken parcels to him from Hagford before, and got a smack across the chops for her pains!”

  “Sounds as if she was married to him!”

  “The aunt would have known that, I should think! But it argues a queer situation between shopkeeper and customer, all the same!”

  * * *

  * Buck, roe.

  * Lascaux: A commentary—Allan Houghton Broderick.

  CHAPTER 5

  Detective-Inspector Darling

  “…and now let us take a walk a little way out of the town.”

  The Brothers Grimm—The Dog and the Sparrow

  But, in spite of these words, Detective-Inspector Darling was dissatisfied. Crime, in Kindleford, was of the dull, unrewarding kind. Offensive parking of cars on the wrong side of the High Street on Wednesdays and Fridays—Fridays was market day in Kindleford—petty larceny in which the culprit (boneheaded, in the detective-inspector’s opinion) was only too easily distinguishable; an occasional misinterpretation of the licensing laws, were all the grist which had ever come to his mill until the extraordinary death, on holiday, of this obscure, inoffensive, (so far as he knew or was concerned), little-known, unattractive school-marm.

  He was not an unduly ambitious officer, but he had often longed for a case which would make headlines in the big newspapers. He had often longed for a case of murder. It had come his way, but for all the good it did him it might as well never have happened, he considered. The murder, although it was the murder of one of Kindleford’s residents, had had the tactlessness to take place in another county. His co-operation was vital to the police of that county, but instead of being in a position to take fingerprints, photograph the body, make brilliant deductions from the medical evidence and arrest the wrongdoer in a flood of limelight, the only thing he could do was to badger, respectively, a rather elderly lady, aunt to the deceased Miss Faintley, a young, impecunious, obviously innocent author and a miserable little rat of a shopkeeper who had probably told him already everything he knew. He decided to leave the aunt alone and to concentrate first on Mandsell.

  The author seemed pleased with life and welcomed him cordially, although a fountain-pen in his hand and an ink-smudge on his nose indicated that he was busy with composition.

  “I’ve sold a short story,” he said, “and do you know what I’ve based it on?”

  “I couldn’t begin to guess, sir, unless on the tale of Miss Faintley’s mysterious parcel. And that being so—”

  “I’ve told you all I know,” said Mandsell hastily, “so I didn’t see why I shouldn’t make use of the idea. It couldn’t possibly matter to anyone else.”

  “I’m not so sure of that, sir. After all, the fact remains that you accepted this parcel from Hagford, delivered it to Tomson in Miss Faintley’s name, did not get a receipt, and then we learn of the death of Miss Faintley, to whom the parcel was addressed.”

  “You can’t say it was the result of what I did…her death, you know. She was killed on holiday. There’s nothing on earth to connect her death with the parcel.”

  “Not necessarily. Sir, I agree, but, so far as we can see, these parcels were a bit of a mystery. You wouldn’t care to hazard a guess what was in the one you carried?”

  “I haven’t a clue. I wish I had. I’m pretty sure it was wooden—it was very firm, you know, not just brown paper and string—and I know it was rather like a photograph, but that’s as much as I can tell you.”

  “You acted very rashly, sir, in deciding to undertake this little commission. Tomson is by way of being a marked man.”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t know that. What I did was more or less a joke.”

  “Very likely, sir. We are quite prepared to accept that explanation. But now, sir, this walk you took on a very wet, unpleasant evening.”

  “Yes, I was worried. I was rather exercised in my mind about my royalties.”

  “In other words, you were on the rocks, sir. That’s what we understand from your landlady. Then, suddenly, on the following day, you found yourself in a position to pay her four pounds.”

  Mandsell, who had not thought fit to disclose this fact, looked apprehensive.

  “Well, that wasn’t very much, was it?” he said belligerently.

 

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