Have His Carcase

‘No, I don’t — only they weren’t there,’ retorted the Inspector, with spirit. ‘Moggeridge and his two sons were over in Wilvercombe, buying some stuff there — I’ve got witnesses to that. Old Pollock was out in his boat, because Freddy Bares, saw him, and his eldest boy was probably with him. We’re going to pull those two in, and that’s why I said the murderer might have come by sea. The only other Pollock is a boy of about fourteen, and you can’t suppose it was him that did it, nor yet any of the women and children.’

‘I see. Well then. Three: the murderer walked the whole way along the coast from Darley or Wilvercombe. By the way, didn’t you say there was somebody camping out along there, just beyond Darley Halt.’

‘Yes,’ said Harriet, ‘a square-built sort of man, who spoke — well, not quite like a countryman — like a gentleman of the country sort.’

‘If anybody had passed that way, he might have seen him.’

‘So he might,’ replied the Inspector, ‘but unfortunately we haven’t laid hands on that particular gentleman, though we’ve got inquiries out after him. He packed: up and departed early on Friday morning, taking his belongings in a Morgan. He’d been camping at the bottom of Hinks’s Lane since Tuesday, and gave the name of Martin.’

‘Is that so? And he disappeared immediately after the crime. Isn’t that a trifle suspicious?’

‘Not a bit.’ Inspector Umpelty was quite triumphant. ‘He was having his lunch at the Three Feathers in Darley at one o’clock and he didn’t leave till 1.30. If you’ll tell me how a man could walk four and a half miles in half-an-hour, I’ll get a warrant made out for Mr Martin’s arrest.’

‘Your trick, Inspector. Well — let’s see. Murder at two o’clock — four and a half miles to go. That means that the murderer can’t have passed through Darley later than 12.50 at the very outside. That’s allowing him to do four miles an hour, and since he would have to do at least part of the distance along the sand it’s probably an over-estimate. On the other hand, he wouldn’t be likely to do less than three miles an hour. That gives 12.30 as his earliest time — unless, of course, he sat and talked to Alexis for some time before he cut his throat.’

‘That’s just it, my lord. It’s all so vague. In any case, Mr Martin isn’t much good to us, because he spent Thursday morning in Wilvercombe — or so he mentioned to the landlord of the Feathers.’

‘What a pity! He might have been a valuable witness. I suppose you’ll go on looking for him, though it doesn’t seem as if he’d be very much good to us. Did anybody notice the number of his Morgan?’

‘Yes; it belongs to a London garage, where they hire out cars to be driven by the hirers. Mr Martin came in there last Thursday week, paid his deposit in cash and returned the bus on Sunday night. He said he had given up his house and had no fixed address, but gave a reference to a Cambridge banker. His driving-licence was made out in the name of Martin all right. There was no trouble about the insurance, because the garage uses a form of policy that covers all their cars irrespective of who is driving them.’

‘But wasn’t there-an address on the driving-licence?’

‘Yes; but that was the address of the house he’d given up, so they took no notice of that.’

‘Do garage-owners usually ask to see people’s driving licences?’

‘I don’t know that they do. Apparently this fellow showed it to them without being asked.’’

‘Curious. You’d almost think he was going out of his way: to forestall criticism. How about the bank?’

‘That’s all right. Mr Haviland Martin has been a depositor there for five years. Introduced by another client. No irregularity.’

‘I suppose they didn’t mention the name’ of his — referee nor the amount of his deposit.’

‘Well, no. Banks don’t care about giving away information. You see, we’ve absolutely nothing against this fellow Martin.’

‘Exactly. All the same, I’d rather like to have a chat with him. There are points about him which seem to me suggestive, as Sherlock Holmes would say. What do you think, my dear Robert Templeton?’

‘I think,’ replied Harriet, promptly, ‘that if I had been inventing a way for a murderer to reach an appointed spot and leave it again, complete with bag and baggage and without leaving more trail than was absolutely unavoidable, I should have made him act very much as Mr Martin has acted. He would open an account under a false name at a bank, giving the bank’s address to the garage-proprietor as sole reference, hire a car and pay cash and probably close the account again in the near future.’

‘As you say. Still, the dismal fact remains that Mr Martin obviously did not do the murder, always supposing that the Feathers’ clock can be relied on. A little further investigation is indicated, I fancy. Five years seems a longish time to premeditate a crime. You might, perhaps, keep an eye, on that bank — only don’t make a row about it, or you may frighten the bird away.’