Part 11 (1/2)

Really, Sergeant. Those should have been your first steps.

The buzzer warned him to lift up the receiver beside him, and in a few moments he was reading out the address of Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax in Hammersmith, and enjoining whoever attended to it to ring him up as soon as the information was through. I liked his brisk and businesslike method of attack.

Now that coat, he said, and the s.h.i.+rt.

Beef pulled them out of a cupboard, and handed them to him. Stute examined them carefully.

Yes, he said, I should say that was blood. Send them off to the research department. And the bottle to the a.n.a.lyst.

Galsworthy! I could see Stute shudder. Pack these up. Send the coat and s.h.i.+rt for research, and the bottle for a.n.a.lysis. See?

Galsworthy repressed a smile, I thought, as he said, Very well, Sergeant.

What about his boots? Examined those?

I did 'ave a look at 'em.

Let me see them, sighed Stute. What's the soil round here?

Very poor, sir. My scarlet runners last year. . . .

Never mind your scarlet runners, Beef. What is it? Loam? Clay? What?

Nasty chalky sort of soil, sir.

Same everywhere about?

Yessir.

Stute had turned the boots over carefully, sc.r.a.ped a little at the sole, and put them down. He picked up each piece of the dead man's clothing in turn and examined it carefully but without remark. Next he demanded to see the black motor-cycling oilskins that Rogers had worn earlier in the day, and Beef had to send for them, swiftly and surrept.i.tiously, from Rogers's shop.

What we've got to do, he said, is first of all to follow as much as we can of young Rogers's movements on the day of the murder. And by that time we may be able to eliminate one or more of the candidates for the role of murderee. We know he left his home at 10.30. Where did he go?

That I can't say, sir.

Well then, come along, we'll take the car, and see what we can find. Soon straighten this up, Beef. Only you need System, Method, Efficiency. Off we go. And he jumped to his feet and led the way to his police car at the door.

Poor old Beef! I couldn't help considering once again that his solution of the Thurston mystery must have been the merest luck. He looked such a floundering old fellow beside this brisk detective. But I did not like to hear him reprimanded quite so brusquely. After all, he had never pretended to be anything but a country policeman, and he had done his best.

We went to the little bootmaking establishment kept by the Rogers. Mrs. Rogers joined her husband behind the counter. She was calmer to-day, but still looked tired and unhappy. No. They were quite sure he hadn't mentioned where he was going. No, they had no idea that he was lunching with Mr. Fairfax. Why wouldn't he have told them?

Well, explained Mrs. Rogers, father never cared much for the Fairfaxes, as I told you. And Alan may have thought he wouldn't have liked it if he had known he was going to see Mr. Fairfax.

What had you against them? Stute asked old Rogers.

Nothing, really. There was a bit of sw.a.n.k with them, I always thought.

Did you know when he was meeting Miss Cutler?

Yes. He had told us that. Seven o'clock.