Part 23 (1/2)

Yes, sir.

I hope you get knocked out. That will do.

Still perfectly calm, Galsworthy said, Thank you, sir, and withdrew.

Really! said Stute.

You seemed a bit hard on him, I said. He was doing his best.

I daresay. But one really can't have that sort of thing. Beef's bad enough, with his 'theories.'

But after all, I pointed out gently, you say you want relevant facts. And he certainly gave you one.

Stute turned to me with his rather pleasant if bitter smile. All right, let's leave it at that, he said. This case is beginning to fray my nerves. Ridiculous, when you come to think of it, that we can't trace a simple murder. You go and pack your bag. We'll get hold of Mrs. Fairfax, anyway.

And so, half an hour later, I found myself speeding away from Braxham with a grim and serious Detective Stute, who seemed more rigidly concentrated than ever. Perhaps Constable Galsworthy had unconsciously keyed him up to the pursuit.

CHAPTER XVIII.

POST OFFICE FIRST, then Rectory, said Stute, as we approached Long Highbury. From pretty considerable experience I know them, in nine cases out of ten, to be the main gossip-shops. Pubs, postmen, and porters are sometimes useful, but their memories are shorter.

Well, you should know.

Now that we were actually drawing near to the scene of our enquiries I felt rather more interest in them. The long drive across country had made me sleepy in the early afternoon, but as we flashed by the first outlying houses of the village, built of grey Cotswold stone, for Long Highbury was near the Gloucesters.h.i.+re border, I was fully awake again.

The village itself was most attractive, a huddle of houses and farms lying in the folds of a light mist. There was the church, a blunt square tower with a long nave drawn behind it, there was the inn, a large building, the gaily-painted boards of which made a gallant contrast with the grey stone of the place. And here, as Stute drew up, I saw the combined village shop and post office.

The door tinkled happily as Stute opened it, and we found ourselves with just room to stand among the goods displayed. An oil-stove gave out a dry warmth and a faint odour of paraffin, but stronger than this latter was the friendly smell of oranges, cheese, bacon, biscuits, and firewood which permeates all village general stores and is rather appetizing than otherwise.

The shopkeeper (and postmaster) looked up through the thick lenses of his spectacles and said, Yes?

A large Players, please, said Stute.

While he was being served he came straight to the point.

I wonder whether you could help me, he said. I'm looking for a man called Freeman who was here with his wife some years ago.

The shopkeeper looked up. I suddenly perceived that he possessed that irritating quality, extreme caution.

What about him? he asked, non-committally.

I want to trace him, that's all:

'Fraid I can't help you, said the shopkeeper. He was only here a short time.

I know. But any information you can give me about him would be welcome. I'm from Scotland Yard, he added.

Again that wary glance. What has he done? asked the shopkeeper.

Stute seemed to think that in order to get what he wanted he must give a certain amount in return.