Crossword Mystery Read online

  “Miles still giving us a miss?” he remarked with a slightly malicious grin as he took his seat.

  Neither Mr. Winterton nor Miss Raby answered him, though Mr. Winterton frowned and Miss Raby went red, and Colin switched off to tell them the solution to a clue in a crossword puzzle that had apparently been too much for both of them. It had something to do with a technical racing expression that neither Mr. Winterton nor Miss Raby had ever heard of. But the proffered solution was ingenious, Mr. Winterton was almost childishly pleased, and Miss Raby sighed and expressed a sad opinion that never, never would she be able to compose a puzzle so ingenious as those in this particular series. It seemed she had met the author of them, and she declared that he always made them up in bed, just before going to sleep, and apparently with very little trouble.

  “They just come,” she said. “I have to work and work, and then it’s never anything like so good.”

  “I’ve been trying my hand myself,” Mr. Winterton remarked. He took a paper from his pocket-book and looked at it. “It’s interesting to try,” he said. “I don’t say this one I’ve been doing is technically very good, but I do think anyone who solved it would find it interesting – I might even say extremely interesting.”

  He spoke with a certain emphasis that caught the attention of all of them. But he said no more – did not offer to show it – and, putting the paper back in his pocket, devoted all his attention to the meal. It was a very good one, too, quite worthy of undivided attention, doing equal credit to Mrs. Cooper’s cooking and to Cooper’s serving, while the procession of wines placed before them was worthy of greater appreciation than it received – for Colin cared only for whisky, Miss Raby drank only water, Mr. Winterton had sunk again into his own thoughts, and for Bobby wine was a thing to be avoided as an interference with a clear head and clear thinking. But Cooper, where wine was concerned, had something in him of the pure artist, and was content to know how right the port, the sherry, the hock, and the rest of them had been.

  Afterwards they all went into a smaller room and played bridge; and Bobby disgraced himself by displaying a perfect ignorance of the fact that bidding four in clubs is a clear indication that the bidder holds not one card of that suit, as well as of other peculiarities of what once was a good game till the convention fiends fell upon it.

  The bridge-party broke up rather early, for Mrs. Cooper appeared to say that Jane was waiting. Jane was apparently a young woman from the village, engaged to help Mrs. Cooper in the evenings, and, as Miss Raby lodged in the village, though she had all her meals in her employer’s house, it was usual for Jane to escort her back to the village.

  After that Colin became immersed in the racing news, and obscure calculations of weights and ages and distances, and Mr. Winterton, after asking Bobby to help him with a crossword puzzle in that morning’s paper, suggested that, as it was a fine warm night, with moon and stars shining, a stroll along the shore might be agreeable.

  Bobby accepted with alacrity; it was indeed what he wanted, for there were questions he had to ask he did not care to utter in the house. But Colin looked up with something between a sneer and a smile.

  “I thought you had given that up, uncle – taking strolls in the dark.”

  Mr. Winterton did not answer, though he looked vexed. When they got outside, he said:

  “We’ll take Towser.”

  He whistled once or twice, but there was no reply. Bobby asked:

  “Is that the Airedale I noticed? Fine-looking dog.”

  “Yes, it belonged to poor Archibald,” Mr. Winterton replied. “When my sister-in-law moved, I took it over.”

  He whistled again, but still there was no response, and Mrs. Cooper appeared.

  “Are you wanting Towser, sir?” she asked. “We can’t find him anywhere. I’ve been looking for him to give him his supper. Cooper’s been all round the house, but he can’t see him anywhere.”

  “Oh, well, I expect he’ll turn up,” Mr. Winterton said, and began to walk down the drive Bobby noticed was lighted, and well lighted, by hanging electric lamps. The road to the village was lighted in the same way, and now Bobby could see lights in the cottages that seemed much more brilliant than those of the lamps or candles he would have expected to be in use there. He made some remark to that effect, and Mr. Winterton laughed.

  “Mrs. Cooper’s doing,” he said. “When I bought this house, it was pretty old-fashioned – it was built a hundred and fifty years ago or more. I had a hot-water system put in and a bathroom – there ought to have been two, but that wasn’t thought of at the time – and an electric light plant to supply the house. Mrs. Cooper suggested that at very little extra expense we could generate enough to supply the village and light the road – most of the cottages belong to me; I had to buy them with the house. I said all right, I thought it a good idea; make me popular with the villagers and so on. But she had a battle royal with them before they would agree to have it put in; they thought it was a deep-laid plan to raise their rents or turn them out or something else equally villainous. I should have said, “All right, if you don’t want it, do without,” but she fairly bullied them into taking it, and in the end she got her own way. A remarkable woman in her own fashion, even if she is a little too fond of arranging everything for everybody. I think I told you I had to threaten to get rid of her once, she and her husband, but I was glad enough to keep them on all the same, once I had made them understand they couldn’t have everything quite their own way.”

  They had passed out of the drive now, and turned by an old wooden post standing in the shingle near a boat that was lying upside down. As they were passing it, Bobby was conscious that Winterton started suddenly and then stiffened. Bobby said:

  “There’s something there, isn’t there?”

  “No, nothing, no,” Mr. Winterton answered, but all the same Bobby was sure he had seen a form rise from behind the boat and slip swiftly away into the darkness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Question and Answer

  For a moment Bobby was tempted to follow, so sure was he that the gliding shadow he could make out in the distance was that of someone who had been startled by their approach. But there seemed no object to be served by such pursuit; Mr. Winterton was already walking on in another direction, and it came somehow into Bobby’s mind that to leave him alone might not be wise or prudent. He hurried after him accordingly, and as he joined him said:

  “I am sure that there was someone there.”

  “Are you?” Winterton said indifferently. After a pause he added: “How dark the night is.”

  This was hardly accurate, for in fact the night was very calm and clear, and, though there was no moon, the stars were shining brightly, their light reflected from the still water of the almost landlocked cove by which the two men were walking. Nor did Mr. Winterton seem to find it dark enough in fact to trouble him, for he was walking briskly and steadily, putting down his feet without hesitation. All the same, he said again:

  “How dark the night is.”

  They had come now to a spot where the ground was higher as the shore sloped upwards to the cliffs that guarded the entrance to the Cove. It was bare and open here, too, with no shelter near for any eavesdroppers, and, as Winterton paused to look out across the Cove where the innumerable stars above shone in multiplied reflection, Bobby said to him:

  “Mr. Winterton, now we are alone, I want you to switch your mind over and begin to think of me again as an officer of police, investigating an extremely serious matter.”

  “Oh, yes, there’s that,” Winterton agreed, turning and looking at him. “Yes, of course.” He added: “I can’t think what’s happened to that dog. I’ve never known him go off like this before.”

  “There are some questions I want to ask you,” Bobby said, slightly impatient, for that the Airedale was missing for the time did not strike him as a detail of importance. “Do you mind telling me exactly what makes you think that the inquest verdict was wrong, and that Mr. Archib
ald Winterton’s death was not accidental?”

  “I don’t think; I know,” the other answered moodily. “Do you never know things without knowing why you know them?”

  “In the police,” Bobby answered with some emphasis, “we are expected to know just exactly why we know what we know – no good talking about Bergsonian intuition to Treasury Counsel. I understand there was something about a dream...”

  “Oh, that,” Winterton answered, more briskly, rather as if rousing himself from the mood of abstraction into which he had fallen. “Oh, yes, I had to satisfy Markham somehow. Yes, I had a dream all right, but I don’t feel as I do because I had a dream: most likely I had a dream because of what I was feeling. But I had to shut Markham up somehow.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he made me tired, talking so much, worrying for reasons. Reasons are all very well. I’ve seen men on the Stock Exchange act on fool-proof reasons and drop a fortune, and others act without the shadow of a reason and romp home millionaires.”

  “All the same,” Bobby said quietly, “reason’s our profession, and if you would tell me yours for thinking what you do, it would be a help.”

  Winterton turned again and laid a hand heavily on Bobby’s arm.

  “Why should Archy have drowned?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse and shaken with a strong emotion that seemed half anger and half fear. “I tell you he was as likely to drown as water is to burn or lead to swim. It was a warm spell just then; the night had been so hot I hadn’t been able to sleep till I dropped off towards morning. It was perfectly calm; the tide didn’t turn till later on. He left the house soon after six – there’s proof of that; he would be in the water by half past six. The tide didn’t begin to turn, to make the down coast current run with any strength, till half past seven – all that’s on record. And Archy knew it all; it was to avoid the full strength of the current that he went down to the shore half an hour earlier than usual. He wasn’t an ordinary swimmer; he was an expert – and as careful as he could be, too. The expert’s always careful; it’s only the amateur who takes risks.”

  “You didn’t give evidence at the inquest?”

  “Yes, I did. I told them he was as likely to drown as a fish would have been. They wouldn’t listen; talked about facts. I know better than their fool facts; cramp and heart failure and so on was what they babbled about, especially so on.”

  “But couldn’t cramp account for it?”

  “No. Any doctor will tell you cramp is nothing for anyone to be afraid of; all you do is turn on your back and float till it’s over. As for heart failure, Archy’s heart was as sound as a bell. His doctor had to admit that; so had the other doctor fellow who examined the body after it was found.”

  “I understand both doctors declared the injuries the body showed had been inflicted after death.”

  “They admitted they couldn’t be sure.”

  “Had your brother any enemies?”

  “No; no more than most people.”

  “But if there was no motive...” Bobby said patiently.

  He was quite sure now that there was something his companion knew but did not wish to tell. Well, he supposed it was his business to get it out of him, but he had a feeling the process would be long and difficult. “Information received” was always according to the maxims of Superintendent Mitchell, what a detective had chiefly to rely upon, but here it seemed all information would be withheld as far as that could be done. “Information extracted,” it was going to be this time, he told himself. Winterton was still silent and Bobby repeated:

  “You can give me no idea of any possible motive...”

  “That’s what I want you to find out,” Winterton said then.

  “Of course,” Bobby pointed out quickly. “That means there is something you know – that you have suspicions...”

  “Not suspicions,” Winterton corrected him. “There are certain facts. I don’t know what relation they have, if any. I want to see if they strike you, and what you think.”

  “Mr. Winterton,” Bobby said gravely, “if you deliberately withhold information in a case of this kind, you are interfering with the course of justice. You know as well as I do that that is a serious matter.”

  “My good young man,” Winterton said irritably, “I’ve been all over this with Markham and I don’t want to go over it again with you. I’m not going to make what are possibly entirely unfounded accusations against other people, and I’m not going to betray third persons either. Other people’s interests I’m bound to protect. I’m expecting a letter in a day or two that may alter things perhaps, but until then there’s nothing I can say beyond what I’ve told you already. Meanwhile I want you to form your own opinion.” Bobby felt profoundly dissatisfied, and yet felt it would be only waste of time to press Mr. Winterton further at the moment. Later on perhaps. Or Mr. Mitchell, or even Major Markham, might be more successful, with their greater weight of authority and standing. But, all the same, he made one more effort.

  “Mr. Winterton, if you really believe you are in danger from whatever destroyed your brother,” he said, “you are making the risk much worse if you won’t tell us what it is.

  “We can’t undertake to protect you from some threat we know nothing about – either its nature or what direction it may come from.”

  “I don’t know that myself,” Winterton answered, “only I know – just know, that’s all – that Archibald was murdered, and I suppose it may be my turn next. But it mayn’t. What happened to Archibald may have nothing to do with me – or it may. Sleeping dogs may lie still; they say it’s best to leave them sleeping, but sometimes they won’t stay that way themselves. What I told Markham I wanted was someone to try to find out all he could about my brother’s death and at the same time to do what he could to see that nothing happened to me. That was what we agreed was to be your duty here.”

  “That’s all very well,” Bobby grumbled, “but it’s like asking me to make bricks and refusing me not only straw, but clay as well. I shall have to report to my superiors that I can’t possibly accept responsibility for guarding against a danger when all information about it is flatly refused.”

  Winterton made no reply to this. Bobby, after waiting a moment or two to let his remarks sink in, continued:

  “Going back to Mr. Archibald’s death, have you any idea how murder could have been carried out? I don’t quite see at present how murder was possible in the circumstances. It is agreed, I suppose, that his wife and the servants are above suspicion, besides there being the evidence of all of them that none of them left the house that morning. And the children are all quite young, and there were no visitors. It did strike me there might just possibly have been something wrong with the coffee in the thermos flask he took down to the beach with him, but that’s hardly likely in the first place, and, in the second I think the evidence showed it hadn’t been touched. It was there unopened with the clothing and dry towels, according to the evidence at the inquest, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s so,” Winterton agreed.

  “Also the dog was there – it’s the same one I saw, isn’t it? Towser, you call him.”

  “Yes, I told you I took him when my sister-in-law moved.”

  “He would have been heard barking if any stranger had approached?”

  “He would have barked the place down,” Winterton agreed. “No, I don’t know how a murder could have been carried out. But I am sure it was, all the same.”

  “I believe a strange motor-launch has been seen in the Cove...?”

  “Oh, that was weeks before,” Winterton answered. “Careful inquiries were made; it was one of the first things thought about. It was fairly well proved that no strange boat of any kind was anywhere near at the time. It was very fine, calm weather; full moon, too; any strange craft would have been seen.”

  “There was an assault on the local constable at the same time, wasn’t there?”

  Winterton did not answer for a moment, and Bobby was conscio
us that he was smiling faintly to himself. When he spoke, there was a touch of amusement in his voice:

  “Oh, yes,” he said; “poor Jennings, our wireless expert; yes, he had a sack thrown over his head and was tied up to a tree. Beastly shame. But I daresay he bears no malice.”

  Bobby found himself wondering what amused Mr. Winterton. Was it merely the idea of an officer of the law having been treated in so undignified a fashion, or was there some local joke behind – some jest that Winterton knew of but did not care to repeat? Or some not-jest, perhaps? Anyhow, apparently, it could not be connected with any foul play that might have taken place, since Archibald Winterton’s death had occurred some time later.

  Bobby tucked it away in his mind as a point possibly worth consideration later on, but for the moment he felt it would be useless to question his companion more closely. It would be better to wait a little; he might another time be in a more communicative mood, and Bobby, too, might presently have more facts to go on. He tried another line of inquiry.

  “You have three nephews, Mr. Winterton. There are Mr. Colin Ross I met to-night, Mr. Miles Winterton, and Mr. James Matthews, I think?”

  “Yes. What about them?”

  “You are on good terms with them all?”

  “I caught young Miles flirting with my typist the other day – Miss Raby,” Winterton answered. “I told him to get out; I wasn’t going to have that sort of thing going on. I didn’t want him to play the fool with her or go marrying a girl whose father’s a railway porter or something like that. She’s a clever girl and all that, excellent typist and a great help, and a really remarkable flair for crosswords. But I don’t want her for a niece.”

  “I see,” said Bobby, deciding that it might be worth while to look up Mr. Miles’s record and recent movements. “There was no ill feeling between him and Mr. Archibald, I suppose?”