Part 2 (1/2)

Good Lord!

I was pleased to see that I had made an impression at last. Yes. And Sergeant Beef is finding out whom he has murdered. As soon as he's done so, I suppose they'll call on you again.

Yes. Blast them. I suppose they will. Unless by any luck it wasn't in Braxham.

But ...

He was on that motor-bike to-day, remember.

I had not thought of that. The doctor smiled, nodded, and went out.

Seems to know his way about, I remarked to Mr. Simmons.

Yes. He thinks a bit of himself. But he's a fine doctor. He saved young Harold's life last year. Treats everyone the same panel or not. And he always comes when you need him.

Mr. Simmons left me, for it was ten o'clock, and he had to close his doors. Murder or no murder, that was a matter which could not be neglected. If half the inhabitants of Braxham had taken cyanide of pota.s.sium it would have made no difference. Closing hour was the most respected rite in all England. So I reflected somewhat bitterly as I heard his bolts go home.

I was conscious of feeling very tired. The events of the last hour had been startling and gruesome enough to take all the life out of me. I wanted to get to bed, and forget the white face of young Rogers as he had stood in front of us, waiting to make an end of himself before our very eyes. I wanted to get the recollection of that knife out of my brain. I decided that to-morrow I would leave Braxham and return to London, where, if such things happened, one was not made aware of them.

I went into the sitting-room of the inn, where Mrs. Simmons brought my supper. But the sight of the underdone beef was revolting to me, and I could not eat. I lit a cigarette, and waited. I felt that I could not very well go to bed till Sergeant Beef returned. But I did not encourage Mrs. Simmons, a short, trim, respectable person with gla.s.ses, to discuss the matter with me as she cleared away.

At last, about eleven o'clock, there was a knocking on the side-door, and Sergeant Beef was with us.

Most extraordinary thing, he said. No one's missing, that I can hear of. I've telephoned everywhere. Sent round to every house he's known at. Not a sign of nothink. The police all round think I'm barmy, ringing up and arsking for a corpse.

He was out of breath and out of temper.

I don't know, he said. I always supposed a murder case started with a corpse, and then you had to find out 'oo done it. This time we know oo's done it, but we can't find the corpse. Wot d'you say to that?

I think it's early to say anything, Sergeant. The corpse may be out in the woods, or anywhere.

But no one's been missed, grumbled the Sergeant.

Nor was there in the Brighton Trunk Murder, till they found the body, then there were hundreds. You wait till the morning. You'll soon find out whom he killed.

D'you know, returned Sergeant Beef, unexpectedly. This 'ere's too much for me. This 'ere's a case for Scotland Yard. And what's more I'm going to ring 'em up.

CHAPTER III.

I WAS frankly disappointed. I remembered how Sergeant Beef had loftily dismissed the suggestion that he should call in the Yard in the Thurston mystery, and it seemed like pusillanimity on his part now. And it was surely premature. The murder, it appeared, had been committed only a few hours ago, and the fact that his telephone calls had failed to reveal anyone as missing, or to give him information of a discovered corpse, meant nothing at all.

Well, I said, you know your business best, but I really can't understand you giving up already.

Sergeant Beef eyed me somewhat beerily. I 'aven't give up, he said, I don't say I shan't get to the bottom of this, like I 'ave of other myst'ries. Only last week there was a bit of a 'ow-d'ye-do at the Church 'ere. Someone 'ad been after the alms-boxes. I got 'er, though. It turned out to be the woman wot swep' up on Mondays, 'oo 'ad said she'd seen a tall man walking mysterious down the aisle. I got 'er already. And I don't say I shan't get at the truf of this. But I know my duty. When there's feachers in a case wot seems extraordinary, it's my job to inform Scotland Yard. Well? Aren't there 'ere? 'Ave you ever 'eard of a murder where you know 'oo the murderer is and can't find out 'oo 'e's murdered? Corse you 'aven't. I don't believe it's ever 'appened before. And if that's not extraordinary feachers I don't know wot is. So I shall ring 'em up first thing.

But there was one more interruption that night before we could go to bed. While Sergeant Beef was fumbling with the b.u.t.tons of his overcoat there was a knock at the door, not very loud, but distinctly audible in the back room where we stood.

Simmons turned to the Sergeant. He was angry now. I don't see why this house should be turned into a police-station. I want to get to bed.