‘This afternoon, if I can get hold of him. I don’t think it will be difficult. He lives in our house from about nine-thirty until six these days.’
‘What’s all this about?’ asked Felicity.
Jim told her.
CHAPTER XI
Further Discoveries
I
ANXIOUS to search the Manor Woods now that he had heard Jim Redsey’s story, the inspector, accompanied by Police-Sergeant Walls and Police-Constable Pearce, invited Aubrey Harringay to take them by the most direct path into the centre of the woodland. Pearce, who had come on his bicycle, left it propped against the trunk of a tree, on the outskirts of the wood, and in single file, silent, majestic, and heavy of tread, the police followed Aubrey along the leafy path which led directly to the circle of pines. In the middle of the circle stood the Stone of Sacrifice.
The inspector went up and scanned it closely.
‘Come here, Walls,’ he said abruptly. Aubrey went up also, and the three heads bent over some dark stains on the greyish, glinting stone.
‘Blood,’ said the inspector. ‘Bit of luck for us, I shouldn’t wonder. Seen these marks before?’ he added, turning to Aubrey.
‘No,’ said Aubrey, excited. ‘Is it really blood?’
‘That remains to be seen,’ said the inspector. ‘It looks like it, anyhow. Now, if Redsey spoke the truth – that’s rather funny, because he distinctly said –’ He broke off, cogitating. ‘Pearce,’ he said at last, ‘search about and see whether you can find any bushes that look as though they’ve been broken or disturbed in any way, or –’
‘I say, inspector,’ broke in Aubrey. ‘I’ve got something I ought to tell you! Please tell me first, though; did Jim Redsey – Oh, half a second!’
Before either of the police officers could say a word, he had gone racing off along the narrow woodland path and was lost to sight among the trees. At the edge of the woods, leaning against one of the tree-trunks, was Constable Pearce’s bicycle. Aubrey propelled it hastily over the short grass on to the path and, leaping into the saddle, pedalled swiftly across the park and on to the gravel drive. Arrived at the lodge, he shot through the great gates into the road, turned sharp to the right, and in a few minutes arrived at the Vicarage.
‘I want Felicity! Quick!’ he said to Mary Kate Maloney.
‘Faith, is it a fire?’ enquired Mary Kate, interested.
‘No, no! It’s urgent!’ cried Aubrey, propping up the constable’s bicycle and mopping his brow.
Mary Kate fled into the house, and Aubrey could hear her voice yodelling richly for her mistress.
‘What is it?’ cried Felicity, running down the garden path.
‘I say, what did Jim tell the police when they interviewed him? Do you know?’
‘Yes.’
Felicity reported Jim’s confession.
‘That’s what he told them?’
‘Yes, Aubrey. Why, what’s happened?’
‘Nothing yet. You’re sure that’s all?’
‘That’s what Jimsey told Mrs Bradley and me he was going to say to them.’
‘Righto! Thanks. Tell you everything later!’
He leapt on to Constable Pearce’s purloined and long-suffering bicycle once more, and raced back to the Manor Woods.
‘I say, inspector.’
‘Look here, sir –’
‘Yes, I know. The bike. Awfully sorry, but I had to hurry. Couldn’t stop to ask permission. Police business, you know.’
The inspector grinned tolerantly.
‘Well, sir?’
‘Yes, well, look here. On Monday night – after the Sunday when Jim and Rupert had that row – I scouted after old Jim to this place – these woods – and saw him snooping about in the bushes for the – well, I suppose I’d better say the body. Old Jim thought old Rupert had chucked in the towel, you see, and ought to have a decent burial or something.’
‘We’ve heard all this before, sir.’
‘Yes. Well, I watched him –’
‘Where were you exactly?’
Aubrey considered.
‘About here. Yes, here. You can see where my feet and legs scraped the leaves and things on the ground. And old Jim was over there, just behind the sergeant and a bit to the left – my left, sergeant, and your right. That’s it. He searched those bushes. He had a hurricane lamp. That’s how I could see him.’
The sergeant, who had been conning the ground near the bushes in question, straightened himself.
‘Certainly seems feasible, sir,’ he remarked to the inspector. ‘Come and see for yourself. Twigs broken near the ground, soil and leaves scraped as though something has been dragged along – these ridges and grooves might as well be heel-marks as anything else – and the whole place looks disturbed and trampled.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed the inspector. ‘Well, sir?’
‘Yes, well, he was looking for old Rupert and old Rupert wasn’t there!’
‘Now, sir!’ the inspector’s voice rang out sharply.
‘Well, I didn’t go and look, of course,’ said Aubrey, ‘but it was pretty obvious. Old Jim looked properly flummoxed. Then he had another go.’
‘If there’s anybody – no, of course there isn’t –’ began the inspector.
‘Anybody to corroborate my yarn?’ said Aubrey, guessing the inspector’s thought. ‘Well, as it happens, there is somebody else who – who knows that Jim was in the woods on Monday night.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. Miss Broome. You know, the vicar’s daughter.’
‘The vicar’s daughter?’ repeated the inspector.
‘Yes. She comes here whenever she wants to, of course. Gets in through the wicket gate that opens on to the road. Well, she wanted some fresh air or something, and came for a stroll, and saw me pinch old Jim’s spade, and old Jim thought I was a poacher or something, and hounded me out. He fell down and tore chunks out of his Oxfords on the brambles, you know,’ added Aubrey, circumstantially, ‘and I got clear away while he was picking the thorns out of his eyebrows!’
‘I see, sir.’
At this moment Constable Pearce approached.
‘Oh, I say, Pearce, you know,’ said the boy, ‘awfully sorry I pinched your bike. I don’t think I damaged it.’
‘You’re kindly welcome, sir,’ said the constable handsomely.
‘Pearce,’ said the inspector, ‘you can get back to the station now, and tell the superintendent I’d like a word with him this evening. And I’d be obliged, sir,’ he went on, turning again to Aubrey, ‘if one of the gardeners would lend me a spade.’
‘I’ll go and see about it,’ said Aubrey with alacrity. He grinned wickedly as he walked away, thinking of the trout he had buried.
‘For of course they’ve spotted where the ground has been dug up,’ he said to himself, ‘and are going to have a look-see.’
The inspector seated himself on a fallen log, invited the sergeant to sit beside him, and took out a packet of cigarettes.
‘There’s the hole Redsey dug that night,’ he said, pointing.
‘I suppose you can believe the boy?’ suggested the sergeant laconically.
‘Don’t know. Ought to be able to, at that age! And there’s the young lady’s evidence, you see, although we’ve still got to collect that.’
‘She’s probably been got at,’ said the sergeant dourly.
‘Oh, you can always frighten girls into telling the truth,’ said the inspector easily.
The sergeant, father of three daughters, laughed with sardonic amusement.
‘Frighten them?’ he said bitterly.
‘Besides, she’s the vicar’s daughter,’ the inspector hastily interpolated.
‘Caesar’s wife, in fact,’ said a rich voice just behind them. Both men looked round in time to see Mrs Lestrange Bradley disappearing at a bend in the woodland path.