‘That put the Sûreté on to the right track at last. Martin, like the other man, refused to talk, and there was nothing found on him to give the police any further clue. Or so they thought. They sent a man over to London, and this is where the C.I.D. steps in.’
‘Did you take it on then?’ Margaret inquired.
‘No, another man was put on to it at first, but after a bit they had to transfer him to another job, and I took over.’
‘You mean,’ Celia said shrewdly, ‘the other man failed to solve it, don’t you?’
He reddened. ‘I expect he’d have solved it if he’d had more time, Mrs Malcolm.’
‘That’s all right, Celia,’ her husband said. ‘This is the man behind the scenes in that big murder case you used to read religiously in all the evening papers about six months ago. He’s only being bashful. Go on, Draycott: how did you get on to this place?’
‘Oh, that was really a slice of luck!’ Michael assured them. ‘When I went through everything Martin had had on him at the time of his capture, I found just one thing that looked as though it might be worth following up. He had his order-book, his passport, and licence, and various papers connected with his business. They didn’t help. The only other things he had were a London hotel bill, a letter from his wife, a local time-table, and a small account-book in which he kept a check of his running expenses. I had a look at the time-table first. It was one of those rotten little paper books you buy for twopence at the railway station. It was a time-table of trains on the line that runs through Manfield to Norchester. Now Norchester’s not a very likely spot for a traveller in Parisian novelties, and as you know, it’s the only place of any size on this line. Still, it was quite possible that there was some shop there that stocked these goods.
‘The next thing I got on to was the account-book. Martin was a very methodical man, and he didn’t just jot down his expenses roughly. Obviously his instinct was to write down exactly what he’d spent every penny on, and the book was full of items such as “’Bus to Shepherds Bush, so much,” and “Cigarettes, so much.” Also he kept a strict account of his railway fares. Usually he put down the town he went to, but sometimes it was just: “Train fare, so much.” At first this didn’t seem to lead anywhere, but I studied the book very closely, and I found after wading through pages of that sort of stuff that though he sometimes put down “Fare to Birmingham,” and sometimes only “Fare to B,” or even just “train fare, so much,” there was one train fare that kept on recurring and never had anything more against it than the words “train fare.” The sum was six and eightpence, and by good luck it was the only six and eightpenny fare he ever had. I tabulated all his various journeys, and found that there was no mention in his accounts of any town on this particular line. So then I got down to it, and studied his time-table. It took in the Tillingford Junction areas as well, so there was a fair field. I noted the names of all the stations you could get to for six and eightpence, and those that had cheap day returns at that price. In the end I got it down to five, of which Manfield was one.’
‘I call that most ingenious!’ said Mrs Bosanquet, who had been listening enthralled. ‘But wasn’t it still very difficult?’
‘It wasn’t so much difficult as boring,’ Michael replied. ‘It was a case of nosing about at pubs, and such-like places, and trying to find out whether there were any suspicious people in any of these places. When I worked round to Manfield it was just at the time that you were moving into this house, and there was a fair amount of talk about it. When I learned that the house had been empty for years, and was supposed to be haunted, I thought I was getting warm, and I moved on to Framley. Fripp followed me, and between us we soon found out enough to make us feel we’d hit on the place we were looking for. Only’ – he smiled – ‘you’d taken possession of the house, your servants were already here, and it was very difficult for me to do much. But I managed to pick up a good deal of information one way and another, and when I heard of previous tenants being frightened away, and of a cowled figure being seen, I was as sure as a man can be that the Priory was the source of the false banknotes.’
‘Not happening to believe in ghosts,’ said Charles, with an eye on his aunt.
She was quite equal to it, and answered with complete composure: ‘This has been a lesson to all of us not to be credulous, I am sure. If you remember, Charles, from the very first I said that you were imagining things. Pray continue, Mr Draycott.’
Charles seemed incapable of speech. Michael went on: ‘I got on to Inspector Tomlinson at Manfield, and he was exceedingly helpful. Through him I learned what there was to know about most of the people here. Naturally Duval was the most suspicious character. I won’t bore you with the stages at which I arrived at the conclusion that there was an underground passage. Suffice it that I did arrive at it. Finding that opening into the well clinched the matter. And I hit on the moving stone. That didn’t lead to much, but a visit, on the off-chance, to the British Museum library disclosed one significant fact.’
‘We know!’ Peter interrupted. ‘Two pages torn out of the history of this house!’
‘Oh, did you get on to that too? Yes, that was it. That same day I went to visit your solicitor, to find out whether anyone had tried to get you to sell the house, and if so, who he was, and where he came from.’
‘I found that out,’ Margaret said. ‘You don’t know how it worried me.’
‘Did it? I’m sorry.’ He smiled down at her, and Celia caught her husband’s eye significantly. ‘I drew a blank, except that I found someone had tried to buy the place. I next got on to Wilkes.’
‘Yes, what made you suspect him?’ Peter asked. ‘Was it that electric-plant of his?’
‘Not at first. It was just one little thing after another. I found that when you traced all the Priory ghost stories back they generally came from the same source: Wilkes. The very day you arrived’ – he nodded at Charles – ‘Wilkes spun a very fine yarn about having seen the Monk. I don’t know if you remember, but Fripp was in the bar at the time, and he recounted the whole story to me. It was a good story I thought, and there was only one flaw. Wilkes couldn’t be content to confine himself to eerie feelings and shadowy figures: he had to strain after an effect, which he doubtless thought very terrifying, and say he saw the Monk standing behind him. And he then committed the crowning error of saying the Monk just vanished into thin air. That was going a bit too far, and it set me on to his tracks. Then there was Duval. He used to come every day to the Bell, and he wasn’t exactly the sort of customer a landlord of Wilkes’ type encourages as a general rule. When he was drunk he got talkative, and rather abusive, but so far from throwing him out Wilkes always seemed anxious to humour him. The electric light plant I couldn’t get a glimpse of for quite some time, but one thing I did see: Nearly every night, at opening-time, most of the village turns up at the Bell, as you probably know. They’re in and out the whole evening, and the bar’s usually pretty full. I kept a watch on the various habitués, and I noticed that two of the men who went in I never saw come out again. Moreover, Wilkes was never visible in the early morning, and it looked very much as though he was in the habit of keeping remarkably late hours. That gave me the idea that there might be a way down to the underground passage from the Inn. As you know, the Bell is very old, and it may well have been some sort of an annexe to the original monastery. The difficulty was to locate this possible entrance, and that’s not an easy matter in a public inn. You never know whom you’ll run into if you start prowling about. However, I got a chance to go down into the cellars unperceived yesterday, and I seized it. It’s full of bins, and I managed to hide myself successfully. It was one of the most uncomfortable evenings I ever spent, for once down I didn’t dare come up again till I’d discovered all I hoped to. I saw Wilkes, Spindle and two other men come down soon after closing time, and I watched them shift a big cask that stood on top of the trap-door. All but Spindle went down, and when he had replaced the cask over the trap, Spindle went off again. He?
??s obviously the look-out man. The night Duval was murdered, and you came to the Bell, Malcolm – do you remember what a time it took for Wilkes to materialise?’
‘I do indeed,’ Charles said.
‘Spindle didn’t go upstairs to wake him. He nipped down the back stairs, gave the signal that would summon Wilkes – there’s an electric bell just inside the trap door, by the way – and nipped up again. Wilkes came hurrying back, went up the back stairs, and came down the front fully dressed. You thought that was what had taken him so long.
‘But I’m wandering from the point. Where was I?’
‘Behind a beer-barrel,’ said Charles. ‘Come to think of it, you might have chosen a worse hiding-place. Go on.’
‘I wish I’d thought of that earlier,’ Michael said. ‘I thought it a rotten spot. I stayed there till about four o’clock when Wilkes and Co returned. Still, I was repaid, for the two strangers were full of something that had happened. Evidently they hadn’t been able to give vent to their feelings down below, and they meant to talk it all over with Wilkes before they left the Inn. Duval was mentioned, and apparently neither of them had the smallest doubt that the Monk had done him in. They were in a great way about that, partly out of fear of the Monk, partly because they thought Duval’s death would bring the police down on them. Then one of them said that it wasn’t that so much as “what’s happened to-night.” They both agreed about that, and the other one said that it was too thick, and he wouldn’t be a party to murder. Wilkes tried to soothe him by saying there’d be no murder, but it was plain that the milder one of the pair wasn’t satisfied. He kept on saying that he wouldn’t stand for it, until the other one turned on him and told him to go and tell the Monk so if he dared. He replied if he knew who the Monk was, he would, and be damned to the lot of them, and then they both rounded on Wilkes, and accused him of knowing the Monk’s identity. The ferocious one said that it was his belief Duval had found “where the Monk goes,” and he’d half a mind to have a shot at doing the same thing. Wilkes managed to pacify him, and I learned from what he said that the Monk meant to clear out as “soon as the run’s finished,” things having got suddenly dangerous. That was you, of course, but I didn’t know that at the time. After a bit more palaver they all cleared out, and as soon as I dared I went up to my room, ascertained that Wilkes had gone to bed, got hold of Fripp and a perfectly good disguise – hired from Clarkson’s, by the way – and went down to see what I could discover. The rest you know.’ He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Tomlinson ought to be arriving at any moment now, and as soon as he comes I want to investigate the rest of that staircase.’
‘I never heard such a thrilling tale in my life!’ Celia said. ‘And you can say what you please, but I think you’re a pretty clever detective!’
‘Hear, hear!’ Peter said. ‘By the way, what if the Monk takes it into his head to go down some time to-day to have a look at us?’
‘I thought of that,’ Michael said, ‘but I can’t see any reason why he should. Neither Wilkes nor Spindle will: it’s far too risky, besides which I’ve left Fripp to make himself a nuisance to Wilkes. The Monk can’t go, because to be seen in daylight might give him away, and now of all times he won’t take any chances.’
Bowers came into the room, and went to Charles. ‘Colonel Ackerley has called, sir, and he says if you could spare a moment he would like to speak to either you or the mistress. I’ve shown him into the library.’
‘All right, I’ll come,’ Charles said. ‘I take it I’d better keep your presence here a secret even from him, Draycott?’
‘Yes, don’t tell anyone,’ Michael answered.
When Charles entered the library the Colonel rose from a chair by the window. ‘My dear fellow, I hope I haven’t disturbed you, but I felt I must come up to inquire. My man told me about you coming up to my place to telephone last night, and this morning the milkman told him what had happened. Now is there any mortal thing I can do? Is my car any use to you? I never was more shocked in my life. Have you any idea what can have become of them?’
‘None,’ Charles said. ‘We’re worried to death about it. As far as we can make out they must have strolled out, possibly to meet us – we were dining with the Pennythornes, you know – and what happened then, or who spirited them away, we haven’t the foggiest notion. The police are on to it, of course. The whole thing’s a mystery. It seems certain somebody must have kidnapped them, but who, or why, we simply don’t know. My wife’s in a dreadful state: expects to hear of their bodies being discovered in some wood. I can’t think it’s as bad as that, though. It’s awfully good of you to offer to help: I hoped I’d be able to get hold of you last night.’
‘I was over at Manfield. I’d have come like a shot if I’d been in. But can I do anything to-day?’
‘Thanks very much, sir, but I don’t think you can. Now the police have taken over, there’s really nothing any of us can do. Of course we’re getting on to the hospitals, and circulating a description. But it’s awfully good of you to offer.’
‘Good of me be damned! I’m only sorry there’s nothing I can do. But I needn’t keep you here at any rate. I know you must be wishing me at Jericho. Don’t forget to call me up if you want anything at any time. I may have to run over to Norchester this afternoon, and I might be late back. But my man will let you in if you should want to telephone again. You’ll convey my deepest sympathy to your wife, won’t you?’
He had hardly been gone five minutes when the police-car arrived, and the inspector got out. He was shown into the dining-room at once.
‘I’m afraid I’m a bit late,’ he said. ‘I got detained. Now, what are the plans, inspector? We’re all of us pretty well in your hands.’
‘It’ll have to be to-night,’ Michael said. ‘Can you manage it?’
‘Yes, I’ve arranged for the Flying Squad from Norchester to be here. That’s all right,’ the inspector answered. ‘I take it we’ve got to try and find this other entrance?’
‘We’re only waiting for you, to start,’ Michael answered. He looked inquiringly at Peter and Charles. ‘Are you game to come and help us?’
‘Not only game to, but all bursting with enthusiasm,’ Charles said. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Celia?’
‘Not if Mr Draycott is going to be with you,’ she said. ‘If anyone else comes to inquire, what shall I tell them?’
Charles repeated what he had said to the Colonel. ‘And I think Margaret ought to retire to her room,’ he added. ‘If anyone happened to look in at the window and see her the game would be up.’
‘All right,’ Margaret agreed. ‘I’ll stay upstairs till you get back. You’ll return here, won’t you, Michael?’
‘Yes, if I may,’ he said. ‘Sorry you’ve got such a dull morning ahead of you, but it’ll be all over by to-night.’
Five minutes later the four men were once more on the secret stair.
‘We’d better go up first, and make sure where it leads to,’ Michael said. ‘There’s obviously a way into it from the first floor.’
They followed him up the stairs until they came to a blank wooden partition. The usual knob was found, and as they expected the partition opened. Something that looked at first like a curtain was hanging just inside, but when Michael flashed the light on to it they saw that it was a dressing-gown.
‘One of the cupboards,’ Michael said.
A sharp voice called: ‘Who’s there? Come out at once!’
‘Great Jupiter!’ said Charles. ‘It’s Aunt Lilian!’
‘In that case, you can go first,’ said Michael, and made way for him to pass.
Mrs Bosanquet, on the other side of the cupboard-door, said quaveringly: ‘I am not afraid of you, and I warn you the police are in the house, and I have rung my bell!’
‘Well, stop ringing it, Aunt,’ said Charles, emerging.
She was backed against the wall, but at sight of him wrath took the place of the alarm in her face. ‘Well really, Charles!’ she sa
id. ‘How dare you hide yourself in my wardrobe?’
‘I didn’t. We’re all here…’
‘All? Do you mean two strange men are mixed up with my clothes?’
‘No, but there’s a way on to the secret stair at the back of your wardrobe. Come and look.’
Mrs Bosanquet clutched at the bed-post. ‘Are you telling me that I have been sleeping in this room and the whole while that Monk-person has been able to get in?’ she asked faintly. ‘No, I don’t want to see it. And I don’t want those men pushing their way through my dresses. Go away, please. I am about to transfer all my belongings into Margaret’s room.’
Charles retreated, and closed the panel behind him. ‘Very unpleasant shock for the lady,’ the inspector said gravely.
‘All things considered,’ Charles said, ‘I think we’d better go down stairs.’
‘Yes, sir, I think we had. I’ll post a man in that room to-night, inspector.’
‘It would be as well,’ Michael agreed. ‘That seems to be the only entrance up here. Will you go ahead?’
‘You take the lead,’ Tomlinson replied, and made room for him to squeeze past.
‘Take care how you tread,’ Michael warned them, and began to descend.
They went down, and down, past the library, past the moving stone, which Michael pointed out to them. At every step the atmosphere grew colder and danker. ‘I’m glad I’m not alone,’ said Charles. ‘I don’t like it one little bit.’
‘Nor do I,’ confessed the inspector. ‘Like going into a grave. My word, it’s damp, isn’t it?’
‘I think in all probability we are going into a grave,’ Michael said. ‘Something very like it, anyway.’
‘Smells filthy,’ said Peter. ‘I can’t stand must.’
‘We’re at the bottom now, anyway. Look out for your heads.’
‘I shall have to have someone to hold my hand soon,’ Charles remarked. ‘Do I understand we’re likely to come out at the chapel?’
‘That’s what we’re hoping,’ Michael answered.