And that was nothing compared to the curious circumstances of the murder. Back at "The Larches" in Valley Road, a man sat dead of strychnine poisoning. The centre of the puzzle was clear enough — obviously he had mixed the dose himself, mistaking it for bromide, in a glass of particularly nauseous mineral-water — but the edges were clouded. We had a series of events like this:
This morning, at breakfast, Hogenauer told Bowers he was going to Bristol, that he had made certain Keppel would be out, and that he meant to pay a secret visit to Keppel's hotel. He also warned Bowers to expect a visitor at "The Larches" that night, presumably Keppel himself. During the morning, Hogenauer wrote a letter to someone he addressed as "Your Excellency," beginning at one fragment with a reference to "fast planes," mentioning that he would "make the attempt to-night" on an envelope in Keppel's desk, and breaking off with a remark about valuable knowledge. Keppel was now believed to be in Moreton Abbot. On the same morning, he came to see Hogenauer, and when he left — according to Bowers — Hogenauer gave him something which locked like "an envelope folded in half." Hogenauer was last seen alive by Bowers at six o'clock, when Bowers left the house. At this time Hogenauer warned Bowers of a prospective visitor that night, adding that Bowers would probably not see him. Hogenauer drank the poison about a quarter to nine o'clock. His body was discovered, a little over a half an hour afterwards, by Mrs. Antrim. The door of the room was locked on the inside. Inside the room (a) a number of articles of furniture had been changed round, (b) a light placed on the mantelshelf indicated a gap in the shelves from which two books on aeronautics were missing, and (c) on Hogenauer's desk were four pairs of cuff-links.
At this point I realized that I must stop puzzling and get to business. It would not do to delay too long in getting to the station. I unwrapped my bundle. I put on waistcoat and tie again, and commenced buttoning up the policeman's tunic for the second stage of my adventures. My watch, still safe in the waistcoat pocket, said that it was now fifteen minutes past eleven. Over the top of a rise appeared the
head-lamps of a car, crawling leisurely, and it was now time to act. I tossed away the newspaper — which had served several purposes that night since Mrs. Antrim said she had found it in the scullery-and, as it flopped wide in the hedge, it served its last purpose. Something white fluttered
out of the now loose pages, and fell on the pavement.
I picked it up. It was a £ 100 bank-note.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Devil in the Bag
"To the railway-station?" said the man in the car. "Yes, certainly: glad to take you. Jump in. As a matter of fact, I'm going there myself."
He was a fat, comfortable, chuckling sort of fellow in a brown tweed cap, peering out from an ancient touring-car which had dusty side-curtains flopping at the back. He hospitably held open the door of the front seat, but I got into the back instead.
"If you don't mind," I said. "This crook I told you about will be on the watch. If he sees a policeman, it'll be all up. I'd better keep back here out of sight. You said you were going to the station. Er — are you taking the 11.20 train?"
"Me? Oh, no; no, no, no, no, no," declared the other, with a broad wave of his hand. The car moved away, taking a direction well opposite to Valley Road. "I'm meeting it. My wife gets back from the States to-night. It's a boat-train; at least, it meets the Queen Victoria at Plymouth. Probably won't be on time. Those boat-trains seldom are."
This was good news, although hanging about the station in the open was not a part I cared for My companion took a great deal of interest in the villain who had robbed the Chief Constable, questioning me closely about it, and working himself up into a towering rage over the state of British justice. I was well protected by the dusty side-curtains, and did not fear observation when we passed through the central part of the town. But the station was much further off than I had expected. We dawdled along, while my companion talked genially, and I could almost hear the watch ticking under the Law's coat. Meantime, I was puzzling and stumbling over the question of that £I00 note, thrust away in the leaves of a discarded newspaper. Mrs. Antrim bad said she found it in the scullery — apparently this tallied, for it was a Daily Telegraph dated four days back-but you seldom find people treating £100 notes in this fashion. Therefore Mrs. Antrim had not found the paper in the place she said, or the note had not been in it when she found it, and therefore what?
"By George, she's on time!" said my companion.
We had swung round into the open space before the long, low, dun-roofed station, and the hands of a clock in a low tower pointed to half a minute before 11.20. From some distance away we could hear the whistle of a train, that flying sound which is torn away in the next instant, and the roar behind it. Along the front of the station a few taxicabs — but no Evelyn. Between the two wings of the building, a folding iron gate to the station platform was being rattled open, and a ticket-porter stood in the entrance. - I had not even a penny which would get the ticket entitling me to go out on the platform: still, that did not matter if Evelyn failed to arrive. The great danger was that there might be a real policeman prowling round the station. What I wanted to do was remain in the shelter of the car until I could reconnoitre. But my companion gave me no chance.'
"Is he here?" he whispered hoarsely.
"No. I think"
"Then he's probably out on the platform," said the other. His stout legs, in plus-fours and brown stockings, seemed to twinkle as he hopped out of the car. "I say, this is something to tell the wife and kids!" He threw open the door of the tonneau, showing me up to the eyes of the taxi-drivers and a dispirited porter or two. "Hadn't you better hurry up, old man? I've got to meet the missus in a minute or two, and I'd like to see the end of this before "
There was nothing to do but get out. The faces of the onlookers wavered and changed with interest as I walked across towards the ticket-barrier; several of the curious closed in behind. My companion had hurried ahead, putting his penny into the ticket-machine, giving it a resounding clank, and waddling to join me with an air which roused even more curiosity among the onlookers. Through the barrier I took a quick survey of the platform outside. There were about half a dozen people on it — but no Evelyn. The noise of the approaching train now seemed to make the whole station vibrate; round a curve its headlight crept, broadened, and ran silver along the rails.
"Go on through!" urged my companion. "You don't need a ticket: does he?" He appealed to the guard at the barrier. "There's a big criminal trying to get away by this train — robbery — robbed the Chief Constable-"
The guard opened and shut his ticket-punch. Behind me an excited voice spoke. A hand, with a square grimy fingernail in wrinkled flesh, was poked past my shoulder and pointed through the barrier at the platform outside.
"Yes," said the voice, "and there he is now."
The train burst in, drowning the words, but we had all heard them. Full in the glare of the headlight, as though its reflection from the rails caught him up, a man stood by himself at the edge of the platform above the tracks. He was a tallish, weedy, limp man, a trifle stooped; his neck was craned round, and he was staring at us over his shoulder. He wore large spectacles, and had a long limp blue-chinned face. But if ever I saw an expression of fear on a human face, it was glazed there. He did not move, he only stared. For one bad moment I thought he was going to topple forward straight under the wheels of the train. But he recovered himself. The train went past with a slamming roar and a flashing of windows, slowing down with a dull kind of sigh; and, in a backwash of grit the man turned round and began to walk swiftly away.