Part 9 (2/2)

The inspector gave her an appreciative look.

”The most mysterious feature of the whole case!” he exclaimed. ”You're right, Miss Raven! There was another man--asking for the same information. Who was he! Where is he? If only I could clap a hand on him----”

”You think you'd be clapping a hand on Salter Quick's murderer?” I said sharply.

To my surprise he gave me an equally sharp look and shook his head.

”I'm not at all sure of that, Mr. Middlebrook,” he answered quietly.

”Not at all sure! But I think I could get some information out of him that I should be very glad to secure.”

Miss Raven and I rose to leave; the inspector accompanied us to the door of the police-station. And as we were thanking him for his polite attentions, a man came along the street, and paused close by us, looking inquiringly at the building from which we had just emerged and at our companion's smart semi-uniform. Finally, as we were about to turn away, he touched his cap.

”Begging your pardon,” he said; ”is this here the police office?”

There was a suggestion in the man's tone which made me think that he had come there with a particular object, and I looked at him more attentively. He was a shortish, thick-set man, hound-faced, frank of eye and lip; no beauty, for he had a shock of sandy-red hair and three or four days' stubble on his cheeks and chin; yet his apparent frankness and a certain steadiness of gaze set him up as an honest fellow. His clothing was rough; there were bits of straw, hay, wood about it, as if he were well acquainted with farming life; in his right hand he carried a stout ash-plant stick.

”You are right, my friend,” answered the inspector. ”It is! What are you wanting?”

The man looked up the steps at his informant with a glance in which there was a decided sense of humour. Something in the situation seemed to amuse him.

”You'll not know me,” he replied. ”My name's Beeman--James Beeman. I come fro' near York. I'm t' chap 'at were mentioned by one o' t'

witnesses at t' inquest on that strange man 'at were murdered hereabouts. I should ha' called to see you about t' matter before now, but I've n.o.bbut just come back into this part o' t' country; I been away up i' t' Cheviot Hills there.”

”Oh?” said the inspector. ”And--what mention was made of you?”

James Beeman showed a fine set of teeth in a grin that seemed to stretch completely across his homely face.

”I'm t' chap 'at were spoken of as asking about t' graves o' t'

Netherfield family,” he answered. ”You know--on t' roadside one night, off a fellow 'at I chanced to meet wi' outside Lesbury. That's who I am!”

The inspector turned to Miss Raven and myself with a look which meant more than he could express in words.

”Talk about coincidence!” he whispered. ”This is the very man we'd just mentioned. Come back to my office and hear what he's got to tell.

Follow me,” he continued, beckoning the caller. ”I'm much obliged to you for coming. Now,” he continued, when all four of us were within his room. ”What can you tell me about that? What do you know about the grave of the Netherfields?”

Beeman laughed, shaking his round head. Now that his old hat was removed, the fiery hue of his poll was almost alarming in its crudeness of hue.

”Nowt,” he said. ”Nowt at all! I'll tell you all about it--that's what I've comed here for, hearing as you were wondering who I was and what had come o' me. I come up here--yes, it were on t' sixth o' March--to see about some sheep stock for our maister, Mr. Dimbleby, and I put up for t' first night at a temp'rance i' Alnwick yonder. But of course, temp'rances is all right for sleeping and braikfasting, but nowt for owt else, so when I'd tea'd there, I went down t' street for a comfortable public, where I could smoke my pipe and have a gla.s.s or two. And while I was there, a man come in 'at, from his description i' t' papers, 'ud be this here fellow that were murdered. I didn't talk none to him, but, after a bit, I heard him talking to t'

landlord. And, after a deal o' talk about fis.h.i.+ng hereabouts, I heard him asking t' landlord, as seemed to be a gr't fisherman and knew all t' countryside, if he knew any places, churchyards, where there were Netherfields buried? He talked so much about 'em, 'at 't name got right fixed on my mind. T' next day I had business outside Alnwick, at one or two farms, and that night I made further north, to put up at Embleton. Now then, as I were walking that way, after dark I chanced in wi' a man near Lesbury, and walked wi' him a piece, and I asked him, finding he were a native, if he knew owt o' t' Netherfield graves. And that 'ud be t' man 'at tell'd you 'at he'd met such a person. All right!--I'm t' person.'

”Then you merely asked the question out of curiosity?” suggested the inspector.

”Aye--just 'cause I'd heard t' strange man inquire,” a.s.sented Beeman.

”I just wondered if it were some family o' what they call consequence.”

”You never saw the man again whom you speak of as having seen at Alnwick?” the inspector asked. ”And had no direct conversation with him yourself?”

<script>