The Case of the Late Pig

CHAPTER 14. THE MAN THEY KNEW

He had a wound in his neck, a strong deep thrust over the collar-bone which had severed the jugular, and when we found him he was not pretty to look at.

Pussey and Leo and I stood round the terrible thing hoisted on a piece of broken paling, and the green corn whispered around us.

After the usual preliminaries, the police brought Hayhoe down on a tumbril to the little mortuary behind the Station, and yet another trestle table was prepared there to receive him.

Leo looked pale and shaken, and Pussey, who had been turned up physically by the first sight of my discovery, presented a mottled ghost of his former cherubic self.

When we were alone together in the mortuary shed, standing between the two white-covered things which had come to upset so violently the time-honoured peace of Kepesake, Leo turned to me.

'This is what you were afraid of?' he said, accusingly.

I looked at him helplessly. 'It did go through my mind that something like this might happen. He conveyed that he had definite information, you see.'

He passed his hand over his sparse grey hair.

'But who? Who's done it, Campion?' he exploded. 'Don't you see, my boy, a terrible thing is happening. It's the strangers who are getting killed off. The field's narrowing down to our own people. Good God! What's to be done now?'

'There's not much to go on,' I pointed out. 'The cornfield was bordered by the road, so the murderer would not have far to carry him even if he had to, although of course there's a chance he was killed on the spot. There was a great deal of blood about.'

Leo avoided my eyes. 'I know,' he murmured. 'I know. But what was the feller doing out in the middle of a cornfield with a murderer?'

'Having a very quiet private interview,' I said. 'I should like an opinion on this wound.'

'You shall have it, my boy, you shall have it. The best in the world. Professor Farringdon will be along this morning to see the — ah — other body. This is frightful, Campion — I'm sorry I couldn't get someone at work on him yesterday, but Farringdon was unobtainable, and I didn't want to drag the Home Office into it if I could help it. This makes all the difference, though. 'Pon my soul, I don't know what I ought to do.'

Any helpful suggestion I might have made was cut short by the return of Pussey, who had Kingston in tow. The doctor was excited and ashamed of himself for showing it. My opinion of him as a medical man went down a little as he made a cursory examination of Hayhoe. He was anxious to help and yet loth to commit himself by giving a definite opinion.

'I don't know what it was done with,' he said at last. 'Something narrow and sharp. A dagger, perhaps. One of those old-fashioned things — a trophy.'

I glanced at Leo, and from the expression on his face I knew he was thinking of the fearsome array of native weapons on the walls of the billiard-room at Halt Knights. All the same, I didn't see Poppy in the middle of the night in a cornfield with a dagger; that idea seemed to me far-fetched and absurd.

Pussey seemed to find Kingston's guesses unsatisfactory, and he got rid of him in the end, but with considerable tact.

'It seems like we'd better leave that to the Professor,' he murmured to me. 'Wonderful clever old man, the Professor. I reckon he'll be over in half an hour or so. I don't know what he'll think on us — two on 'em instead of one,' he added naïvely.

Leo turned away, his hands thrust deep into his pockets and his chin on his breast. We followed him into the station and Pussey made all the necessary arrangements for taking statements, making a search of the place where the body was found, and the important inquiries into Mr Hayhoe's past history.

The routine work seemed to soothe Leo.

'I suppose we ought not to have moved him from the spot,' he said, 'until Farringdon arrived. But there seemed no point in leavin' the feller out in the sun hitched up on a spike like that. It was indecent. There's a brutal obviousness about these crimes, Campion. 'Pon my soul, I can't conceive the mind that arranged 'em — anyway, not among my own friends.'

'Ah-h, there's still strangers about,' said Pussey, with the intention of comforting him. 'Likely there'll be someone who's had blood on's clothes. We'll find un. Don't you worry, sir.'

Leo swung away from him and walked over to the window.

'Eh!' he said suddenly, 'who's this?'

Looking over his shoulder, I saw a sleek chauffeur-driven Daimler pull up outside the cottage gate. A tall thin grey-faced man descended and came hesitantly up to our door. A moment or so later we made the acquaintance of Mr Robert Wellington Skinn, junior partner of the ancient and respectable firm of solicitors whose name Kingston had given me.

He was a stiff, dignified personage, and he and Leo took to each other immediately, which was fortunate, or the subsequent interview would certainly have taken much longer and been doubly confusing. As it was, Mr Skinn came to the point in what was for him, I felt sure, record time.

'In view of everything, I thought I'd better come down myself,' he murmured. 'An affair of this sort in connexion with one of our clients is, I can assure you, most unusual. I received your inquiries yesterday; I read the papers last night; I connected the two names immediately — Peters and Harris. In the circumstances I thought I had better come down myself.'

Pussey and I exchanged glances. We were getting somewhere.

'The two men knew each other, then?' I asked.

He looked at me dubiously as though he wondered if I could be trusted....

'They were brothers,' he said. 'Mr Harris changed his name for — ah — no doubt very good reasons of his own, and he is comparatively new to our books. Our principal client was his elder brother, Mr Rowland Isidore Peters, who died in this district last January.'

After a certain amount of delay he went with Leo to view the body, and came back a little green. He was also flustered.

'I wouldn't like to commit myself,' he murmured. 'I saw Mr Peters once twelve years ago, and I saw Mr Harris in London this spring. Those were the only two occasions on which I met either. The — ah — dead man I have just seen resembles both. Do you think I could have a glass of water?'

Pussey pressed him to be more exact, and would have taken him back again, but he refused to go.

'Really, I see no point in it,' he said. 'I think you can take it that, in my opinion, the dead man is Mr Harris. After all, there's no reason to suppose that it shouldn't be. He called himself Harris down here, did he not?

We let him cool down, and when he was more at ease I asked him cautiously about the dead man's estate.

'I really couldn't say, without reference to my books,' he protested. 'I know Mr Harris received a considerable sum of money under his brother's will. I can let you know the figures tonight. There was personal property, and of course, the insurance, as far as I remember. It all seemed perfectly in order to me at the time.'

Pussey was relieved. 'Anyway, we've cleared up his identity, that's one thing,' he said. 'No doubt on it; can get on with the P.M.'

Leo and I escorted the solicitor back to his car. The unfortunate man was shaken by his experience, as well he might be, but he was an obliging soul and before he left, he promised to let us know full details of the two estates.

'There's just one thing,' I said, as he got into the car. 'Who was Mr Peters insured with? Do you know?'

He shook his head. 'I'm afraid I couldn't tell you offhand. I think it was the Mutual Ordered Life. I'll look it up.'

As soon as he had gone I made a suggestion to Leo, and, having got his consent, sent Lugg and a constable down in the car to fetch Miss Effie Rowlandson. They were gone some little time, and when at last they reappeared they brought not only the girl herself but Bathwick also, which was surprising. There was a considerable delay at the gate, and I went out. The vicar had got over his unexpected friendliness towards me of the night before, and I was aware that all his old antagonism had returned.

'I'm only doing what I'm told, sir,' I heard the constable protesting as I came up. 'Besides, the young lady suggested it 'erself only the night before last.'

Bathwick ignored him and turned to me.

'This is an outrage,' he said. 'A young girl subjected to a disgusting sight just to satisfy a few inefficient policemen.... I must protest against it; I really must!'

Effie smiled at him wanly. 'It's very nice of you, I'm sure,' she said, 'but I've made up my mind to it; I have, really. You wait here for me,' she added.

However he was not to be soothed. He protested so much and so vigorously that my interest in him revived, and I wondered what conceivable purpose he could have in making such a fuss.

In the end we left him in the car, and I took the girl into the little mortuary once more. I was never exactly attracted by Effie Rowlandson, but on that occasion I admired her pluck. She was not callous, and the shock must have been considerable, but she kept her head and played her part with dignity.

'Yes,' she said huskily, as I drew the sheet over the limp form once more. 'Yes, it is Roly. I wasn't in love with him, but I'm sorry he's dead. I — '

Her voice broke, and she began to cry. She controlled herself within a moment or so, however, and when I took her back to the bewildered Pussey she made her statement.

'I met him a little over a year ago,' she said. 'He had a flat in Knightsbridge, and he used to take me out a lot. We got engaged, or nearly engaged, and then — oh, Mr Campion, you know the rest. I've told you.'

Between us we got the story down on paper, and I took her back to the car. Bathwick had climbed out and was waiting for her at the gate. I suppose he saw that she had identified Harris from our faces, for he did not speak to me but, taking her arm, hurried her down the road towards 'The Feathers'.

Lugg looked after him. 'Funny bloke,' he said. 'Now, where 'ave you got to?'

'An impasse,' I said truthfully, and went back to Pussey.

We worked it out while we waited for Professor Farringdon. Pussey put his deductions in a reasonable if not too tidy nutshell.

'There's impersonation been going on,' he said judicially. 'Sounds like the old story — the good brother and the bad brother. We'll call 'em Peters and Harris for the sake of simplicity. Peters had the money, and on occasions Harris used to impersonate him; well, that's been done before. Harris carried on with this little bird under the name of Peters so that if she should look him up or make inquiries she'd find out he was a man of substance. As for the solicitor, he was in a proper muddle, poor gentleman. The two brothers doubtless looked powerful alike to begin with, and of course that poor bloke in there doesn't look like anything now. What would you say, sir?'

I hesitated. It is never safe to identify a man after twenty-five years, and Kingston had told me that his patient resembled Harris considerably. On the whole, I was inclined to back the Inspector's theory, with one exception. When he talked of the 'good brother' and the 'bad brother' as Peters and Harris, I thought he should have reversed the names.

I told him so, and he eyed me. 'Very likely,' he said, 'but that doesn't get us any nearer, does it? Who's done they murders? That's what I'd like to know.'

We stood for a moment in silence looking at one another, and the Professor's arrival took us by surprise. He came bustling in, a vigorous little Scotsman with short tufty grey hair and the shrewdest grey-blue eyes I have ever seen.

'Good morning, Inspector,' he said. 'You've got a remarkable amount of bodies, I hear.'

His cheerfulness was disconcerting, and we escorted him to the shed in the yard in silence. As he pored over the man who had called himself Harris, however, his good humour changed, and he turned to me with a very grave face.

'I heard from Sir Leo what you were suggesting, and I take ma hat off to you,' he said. 'It's a diabolical thing — a diabolical thing.'

'Then you think — ?' I began.

He waved me silent.

'I wouldn't dare to give an opeenion without a very careful autopsy,' he said, 'but I wouldn't be at all surprised if you were right; I wouldn't at all.'

I walked over to the other side of the room while he was very busy. At last he straightened his back.

'Have it sent round to me,' he said, 'and I'll let you know for certain in a day or two. But I think I dare express an opinion — a very tentative one, you understand — that he met his death some little time before he had yon crack over the head.'

I put a question and he nodded to me.

'Oh aye.' he said, 'it was poison. Chloral hydrate, I wouldn't wonder. That' — he indicated the terrible indentation of the skull — 'that was in the nature of a blind. You've got a clever man up against you, Mr Campion. Now let's have a look at the other puir feller.'