The First R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK ®. R. Austin Freeman
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three hundred yards when a loud hail drew our attention to a man running across a field towards us from the direction of the cliff.
“Why, here is Mr. Draper himself,” exclaimed the sergeant, stopping short and waving his hand. “I expect he has heard the news already.”
Thorndyke and I also halted, and with some curiosity watched the approach of this new party to the tragedy. As the stranger drew near we saw that he was a tall, athletic-looking man of about forty, dressed in a Norfolk knickerbocker suit, and having the appearance of an ordinary country gentleman, excepting that he carried in his hand, in place of a walking-stick, the staff of a butterfly-net, the folding ring and bag of which partly projected from his pocket.
“Is it true, Sergeant?” he exclaimed as he came up to us, panting from his exertions. “About Mr. Hearn, I mean. There is a rumour that he has been found dead on the beach.”
“It’s quite true, sir, I am sorry to say; and, what is worse, he has been murdered.”
“My God! You don’t say so!”
He turned towards us a face that must ordinarily have been jovial enough, but was now white and scared and, after a brief pause, he exclaimed:
“Murdered! Good God! Poor old Hearn! How did it happen, Sergeant? And when? And is there any clue to the murderer?”
“We can’t say for certain when it happened,” replied the sergeant, “and as to the question of clues, I was just coming up to call on you.”
“On me!” exclaimed Draper, with a startled glance at the officer. “What for?”
“Well, we should like to know something about Mr. Hearn—who he was, and whether he had any enemies, and so forth; anything, in fact, that would give as a hint where to look for the murderer. And you are the only person in the place who knew him at all intimately.”
Mr. Draper’s pallid face turned a shade paler, and he glanced about him with an obviously embarrassed air.
“I’m afraid,” he began in a hesitating manner, “I’m afraid I shan’t be able to help you much. I didn’t know much about his affairs. You see he was—well—only a casual acquaintance—”
“Well,” interrupted the sergeant, “you can tell us who and what he was, and where he lived, and so forth. We’ll find out the rest if you give us the start.”
“I see,” said Draper. “Yes, I expect you will.” His eyes glanced restlessly to and fro, and he added presently: “You must come up tomorrow, and have a talk with me about him, and I’ll see what I can remember.”
“I’d rather come this evening,” said the sergeant firmly.
“Not this evening,” pleaded Draper. “I’m feeling rather—this affair, you know, has upset me. I couldn’t give proper attention—”
His sentence petered out into a hesitating mumble, and the officer looked at him in evident surprise at his nervous, embarrassed manner. His own attitude, however, was perfectly firm, though polite.
“I don’t like pressing you, sir,” said he, “but time is precious—we’ll have to go single file here; this pond is a public nuisance. They ought to bank it up at this end. After you, sir.”
The pond to which the sergeant alluded had evidently extended at one time right across the path, but now, thanks to the dry weather, a narrow isthmus of half-dried mud traversed the morass, and along this Mr. Draper proceeded to pick his way. The sergeant was about to follow, when suddenly he stopped short with his eyes riveted upon the muddy track. A single glance showed me the cause of his surprise, for on the stiff, putty-like surface, standing out with the sharp distinctness of a wax mould, were the fresh footprints of the man who had just passed, each footprint displaying on its sole the impression of stud-nails arranged in a diamond-shaped pattern, and on its heel a group of similar nails arranged in a cross.
The sergeant hesitated for only a moment, in which he turned a quick startled glance upon us; then he followed, walking gingerly along the edge of the path as if to avoid treading in his predecessor’s footprints. Instinctively we did the same, following closely, and anxiously awaiting the next development of the tragedy. For a minute or two we all proceeded in silence, the sergeant being evidently at a loss how to act, and Mr. Draper busy with his own thoughts. At length the former spoke.
“You think, Mr. Draper, you would rather that I looked in on you tomorrow about this affair?”
“Much rather, if you wouldn’t mind,” was the eager reply.
“Then, in that case,” said the sergeant, looking at his watch, “as I’ve got a good deal to see to this evening, I’ll leave you here, and make my way to the station.”
With a farewell flourish of his hand he climbed over a stile, and when, a few moments later, I caught a glimpse of him through an opening in the hedge, he was running across the meadow like a hare.
The departure of the police-officer was apparently a great relief to Mr. Draper, who at once fell back and began to talk with us.
“You are Dr. Jervis, I think,” said he. “I saw you coming out of Dr. Cooper’s house yesterday. We know everything that is happening in the village, you see.” He laughed nervously, and added: “But I don’t know your friend.”
I introduced Thorndyke, at the mention of whose name our new acquaintance knitted his brows, and glanced inquisitively at my friend.
“Thorndyke,” he repeated; “the name seems familiar to me. Are you in the Law, sir?”
Thorndyke admitted the impeachment, and our companion, having again bestowed on him a look full of curiosity, continued: “This horrible affair will interest you, no doubt, from a professional point of view. You were present when my poor friend’s body was found, I think?”
“No,” replied Thorndyke; “we came up afterwards, when they were removing it.”
Our companion then proceeded to question us about the murder, but received from Thorndyke only the most general and ambiguous replies. Nor was there time to go into the matter at length, for the footpath presently emerged on to the road close to Mr. Draper’s house.
“You will excuse my not asking you in tonight,” said he, “but you will understand that I am not in much form for visitors just now.”
We assured him that we fully understood, and, having wished him “Good-evening,” pursued our way towards the village.
“The sergeant is off to get a warrant, I suppose,” I observed.
“Yes; and mighty anxious lest his man should be off before he can execute it. But he is fishing in deeper waters than he thinks, Jervis. This is a very singular and complicated case; one of the strangest, in fact, that I have ever met. I shall follow its development with deep interest.”
“The sergeant seems pretty cocksure, all the same,” I said.
“He is not to blame for that,” replied Thorndyke. “He is acting on the obvious appearances, which is the proper thing to do in the first place. Perhaps his notebook contains more than I think it does. But we shall see.”
When we entered the village I stopped to settle some business with the chemist, who acted as Dr. Cooper’s dispenser, suggesting to Thorndyke that he should walk on to the house; but when I emerged from the shop some ten minutes later he was waiting outside, with a smallish brown-paper parcel under each arm. Of one of these parcels I insisted on relieving him, in spite of his protests, but when he at length handed it to me its weight completely took me by surprise.
“I should have let them send this home on a barrow,” I remarked.
“So I should have done,” he replied, “only I did not wish to draw attention to my purchase, or give my address.”
Accepting this hint I refrained from making any inquiries as to the nature of the contents (although I must confess to considerable