Mr. American

  'Not to say well,' said Mr Franklin. 'Our paths crossed once or twice; we were acquainted.' He met the inspector's eyes. 'Why - what about him?'

  'And he called on you at Oxton - that would be Oxton Hall, Mrs Franklin's former home in Norfolk,' said Crawford, ignoring the question. He seemed a well-informed inspector; Mr Franklin could feel his stomach muscles tightening. 'What Christmas was that - before you were married, I think you said, Mrs Franklin?'

  'Why, yes,' said Peggy, and glanced at Mr Franklin. 'That was

  1909 - and it was on Christmas Eve. I remember distinctly - we asked him to say to supper, didn't we, Mark?'

  'That's right,' said Mr Franklin.

  'Could you tell me,' said Crawford, 'precisely in what circumstances he called upon you?' His sleepy blue eyes included both of them.

  'He came to see me,' said Mr Franklin. 'But I'm not quite sure I understand why you're asking - '

  'If you'll bear with me a moment,' said Crawford, 'I'll explain presently. Why did he come to see you, Mr Franklin, can you tell me?'

  'Why, certainly. I'd known him in America, as I said, and he was across in England - on business, he said, but I don't know what it was - and having found out I was in the neighbourhood, he dropped by.'

  'Just so.' Crawford nodded. 'A social call - I imagine he would stay an hour or two, then?'

  'About an hour, I guess.' Mr Franklin shrugged. 'I don't remember exactly. He didn't stay to supper, as I recall.'

  'No, he didn't,' said Peggy.

  'And he gave you no hint of his business in England?' The blue eyes looked impassively at Mr Franklin. 'Uh-huh. D'ye happen to remember, Mr Franklin, what you and he talked about?'

  Mr Franklin frowned as though searching his memory. 'It's a long time ... I guess we talked about the States, and that sort of thing - you know, places we'd met - '

  'Where had you met - in America?'

  'Oh, out West. I was a miner, and a cattleman - we'd met in Colorado, Wyoming, I guess. But I hadn't known him that well, you see.'

  'And there was nothing of special significance that you spoke about that evening?'

  Mr Franklin shook his head. 'He asked how I was getting along -we exchanged news, you know how it is. We hadn't seen each other in nearly ten years - matter of fact, I didn't even recognise him at first.'

  'I see.' Crawford's glance travelled to Peggy. 'Mrs Franklin-do you recall anything about this Mr Logan? What he looked like, for example.' The inspector gave a slight smile. 'Ladies are often more observant than us men.'

  'Nothing particular,' said Peggy. 'I remember he looked a little - well, threadbare. Not awfully well-dressed or well-fed, for that matter. He was a skinny little chap, wasn't he Mark? I thought - 'She stopped, glancing at her husband.

  'Go on, Mrs Franklin.'

  'Well, I was going to say, I thought he was a scrounger. You know, he looked rather down on his luck, and I wondered if that was why he'd called on Mark.'

  'Ah, yes.' The blue eyes travelled back to Mr Franklin. 'Was that your impression, too, Mr Franklin?'

  'He didn't look too well-off.' Mr Franklin paused. 'I gave him a few pounds, now that I think of it - as my wife says, he looked down on his luck.'

  'Do you happen to remember how many pounds, Mr Franklin? In sovereigns?'

  Since he had given Logan no money at all, Mr Franklin quickly calculated a likely amount. 'I think it was five pounds - but, really inspector, I'm not certain. And I feel entitled to ask what these questions have to do with my wife and myself. I'm sure she's very tired - '

  'I'll not detain you a moment longer than I must,' said Crawford. 'So he left you, with five pounds or thereabouts - did he say where he was going?'

  'No, he didn't. But I had the impression he was catching a train to London.'

  `But he had said nothing of his business in England. Curious, that. You didn't inquire of him, Mr Franklin?'

  'Not directly. I think he said something about looking up some relatives, or friends -something like that. He was quite vague about it.'

  There was a momentary interruption caused by the entrance of the maid with a tea-tray. Mr Franklin was relieved that Samson had not brought it himself: the mention of Logan's name in his butler's presence might just have caused even that imperturbable individual to react, and Mr Franklin had an idea that Inspector Crawford, for all his sleepy eyes and gentle manner, was not the kind who would have missed any significance that might attach to a clumsily rattled teaspoon, much less a laden tray descending at his feet. At a sign from Peggy the maid dispensed tea, which Mr Crawford received with a murmured 'Thank'ee, thank'ee'; he spooned sugar liberally into his cup, sipped, bobbed his head at Peggy and said 'Very acceptable indeed, ma'am,' before setting his cup on a side-table and resuming his inquiries.

  'So you have no precise notion - indeed, no notion at all - of what he was doing in England, of where he had been immediately before calling upon you, or where he was bound. Not a communicative man,

  then, Mr Harvey Logan?'

  'Not very, I'm afraid,' said Mr Franklin. 'Or if he did say anything like that, I've forgotten it.'

  'He said he'd been in banking, in the United States,' said Peggy. 'I remember he mentioned that, just as he was leaving.'

  'Indeed?' Crawford sipped at his tea again. 'Banking, eh? That's most interesting. Did he make any other remark at that time, Mrs Franklin?'

  'I don't remember,' said Peggy thoughtfully. 'Something about not seeing us again, I think - no, he said he might, very briefly. Some thing like that. But he didn't.'

  'No? And have either of you seen him since that Christmas Eve of 1909 - what time of day did he leave you, by the way?'

  'In the evening,' said Peggy. 'About eight o'clock, wasn't it Mark?' 'Of course, you had asked him to stay to supper. Have you seen him since?'

  They said 'no' simultaneously. 'Or heard of him at all?'

  'Not a word,' said Mr Franklin, and Peggy shook her head. Crawford glanced at Green, who produced a notebook, and the inspector asked:

  'I'd be obliged if you could give me, between you, as accurate a description as you can of this Harvey Logan.' He looked at Mr Franklin. 'If you, sir, would begin, I've no doubt Mrs Franklin can recollect some details also.'

  'Well,' said Mr Franklin, concentrating on the Logan of 1909, and not the Kid Curry of earlier years, 'he'd be about five feet seven, I guess, slight build, thin features, kind of sandy hair, going back a little. His eyes were dark - '

  'And very bright,' said Peggy. 'Like a bird's.'

  'His clothes were shabby, dark-coloured. He had on an old top coat, and I think he had a hat. A billycock, wasn't it?' he asked Peggy. 'I'm not sure. But he wasn't wearing shoes - I remember seeing they were boots. I noticed because they were cracked.'

  'Very good,' said Crawford. 'Did you notice if he was wearing a watch and chain? No? Aye, well, it's a while ago.' He nodded, and in the same quiet conversational voice asked: `Did you see-or did you get the impression - that he was armed?'

  Mr Franklin felt as though a block of ice had been laid against his spine. Peggy was looking blankly astonished, and he hoped his own expression matched hers.

  'Armed? Lord, inspector, why should he be?'

  `Did you get any such impression?' asked Crawford.

  'No, certainly not. That's an extraordinary question, inspector.'

  'He may well have been an extraordinary man, Mr Franklin,' said Crawford drily. `Well - I think that covers about everything. I apologise again for taking up so much of your time. You've been very helpful.' The blue eyes were amiable as they moved from Peggy to Mr Franklin. `There is nothing else you can recollect that might be of value - either of his visit to Oxton Hall, or in your case, sir, about your knowledge of him in America?'

  Mr Franklin shook his head slowly. His mouth was dry, and he felt desperately in need of something stronger than tea. He wondered if there was anything harmless that he could volunteer that might help to satisfy this inquisitive policeman - but it was
an insignificant wonder beside the enormous question of why they were asking about Logan at all. How the devil had they found out he had been to Oxton, and why should that be of the slightest interest anyway? He could mean nothing to them - and he'd been safely underground for five years now. The American law agencies had crossed him off their books ten years ago -

  `Nothing, Mr Franklin?' Crawford was shaking his head. `Aye, well. There's one point on which I'd appreciate a wee bit of help, though - you knew him in Colorado and Wyoming, you said. What did you know of him - or where, if you can tax your memory that far, did you meet him?'

  This was potentially dangerous ground, in view of his own American past, but he had to put a good frank face on it.

  `That's difficult, inspector.' He smiled ruefully. `I moved around a great deal - mining, ranching, and so on. We met in Denver, Colorado, I'm certain - I was going off to the silver diggings at a place called Tonopah - and Logan was in a group of us discussing the strike there had been there. I don't know what his interest was. Then I met him another couple of places - ' he tried to think of places he had never been with Logan ` - but I'm not sure where. Possibly Carson City, or Laramie, if those names mean anything to you. Come to think of it,' he improvised, 'he might have been working in a bank in Denver. But out West isn't like here, you know - you drift into people, and half the time you never know who or what they are. He was just like hundreds of others that I ran into one time or another.'

  'I understand,' said Crawford. For a moment it seemed that he was about to ask something else, but if so he changed his mind. `Aye, well. So.' He pulled at his large nose. `Then, if there's nothing more you can tell us about this man - nothing that you think might be of interest ...?'The blue eyes were as bland and open as an infant's; their very innocence alarmed Mr Franklin as no menacing stare could have done. What the hell was Crawford after? Well, now was the time to find out. Like good, law-abiding citizens he and Peggy had answered all these mysterious questions, and now that the interview was plainly drawing to an end, it was only natural that as good, law-abiding citizens they should want to know the purpose of the interrogation.

  'Nothing I can think of, inspector,' he said. `But perhaps if we knew the purpose of your questions... I don't want to pry into police business, but I'd very much like to be told what this is all about, and what's so important about this fellow Logan.'

  Crawford nodded. 'Of course, I promised to explain, did I not? Forgive me - knowing you were both weary, I hesitated to keep you any longer. Aye, you're entitled to know, if you wish. It's a curious business - most curious. You have a property not far from Oxton, I believe, Mr Franklin? Lancing Manor, in the village of Castle Lancing?'

  Mr Franklin had been prepared for anything from the moment Logan's name was mentioned, and he managed to keep his face unmoved, and meet the inspector's glance. But it was a herculean effort, and he had deliberately to refrain from clenching his hands visibly; he could feel a suffocating grip inside his chest. Fortunately Peggy spoke before he did.

  `Yes, it's our country house.'

  'Is that the only property you have in the village?'

  He had to volunteer it; concealment could have been fatal, now that he guessed what was coming.

  'It's the only property I have there now,' he said steadily. 'A few months ago I sold a cottage that I owned in another part of the village. Just a little place where an old relative - 'he forced a smile' - a very distant relative of mine, used to live. She died some time back, and I had no further use for it.'

  'That would be Lye Cottage, would it not? Occupied until the year before last by a Mrs Reeve?'

  'That's the place. I sold it to a neighbour - a Lord Lacy, who runs an outfit called Gower Estate. He wanted it for agricultural development.' God, he thought, Lacy - and with a rush came back the whole miserable, unbelievable conversation with Peggy in the car, driven out by the advent of Crawford and this new crisis. Within an hour his marriage had been ruined, and Kid Curry had come back to haunt him again - and Crawford was nodding agreement.

  'That accords with what we've learned. Agricultural development, as you say. I take it you haven't been down to Castle Lancing for some time?'

  'Not for more than a couple of months, no.'

  'Then you'll not be aware that Lye Cottage has been cleared away, for building purposes?'

  'I knew it was going to be. But what's this got to do with - '

  'I said it was a curious business, Mr Franklin,' said Crawford quietly. 'And it's a wee bit complicated, too. A very singular affair - and you'll see why I've been asking so many singular questions. As I say, Lye Cottage has been pulled down, and the ground thereabouts cleared for building work which the Gower Estate has in hand. Cottages for farm workers are to be erected, I understand, of the very latest kind. Well, it appears that labourers were at work digging a trench for drainage or piped water - something of the sort - and they came on an extraordinary thing.' The blue eyes seemed to be unblinking, hypnotic to his imagination. 'They found the remains of a body - a man's body, a skeleton. It was at some depth, and they supposed it had been there perhaps for generations - until one of them noticed that among the bones - I beg your pardon, Mrs Franklin, I don't wish to distress you - '

  'No, no,' said Peggy. She was intent on the inspector. 'Please go on.'

  'Very good. Among the bones, then, they noticed a watch and chain. Now, they were Irish labourers - ' Crawford's expression nicely reflected Scotland's opinion of its fellow-Celts ' - and no doubt they would have pocketed it and said nothing, but by unusual good luck a constable from Thetford arrived on the scene at the very moment of discovery. He was there about the disappearance of some poultry, and had naturally gone immediately to investigate among these Irish navvies. So there he was, just as the watch was in the hand of the man who had that minute picked it up, and the gang of them clustered round a half-buried skeleton.'

  Crawford paused, possibly for dramatic effect, and looked from Mr Franklin to Peggy and back again.

  'The constable immediately took possession of the watch, and noticed it was gold; he opened it, and there was the owner's name, with an inscription. It said: "Presented on the occasion of his twentyfirst birthday, June the third, 1886, by grateful friends of his family, to Harvey Logan, Esq."'

  'Good heavens!' Peggy exclaimed. 'Oh, how dreadful! That poor little man!'

  `My God!' said Mr Franklin quietly. He was back in the rainy dark, in the Lye thicket, rummaging hurriedly through the dead man's pockets, removing papers - papers, for God's sake, that would have rotted in a few weeks, but leaving the pen-knife, the coins, and the watch which he had forgotten until this minute. It had never occurred to him that Logan's body would ever be found, or that any of the articles left would give a clue to his identity. His only thought had been to get the dead thing shovelled under - and now Crawford was pausing in his tale, watching them.

  'But how. ..' Mr Franklin began. 'Are you sure, inspector - that it's the same man? I mean - how on earth could he have gotten there?'

  'How indeed?' said Crawford.

  'Could he have wandered - and collapsed, or something?' said Peggy. 'Oh, Mark, how awful!'

  'No, Mrs Franklin,' said Crawford, 'he had been buried. The remains were approximately five feet below the surface. However, as I was telling you. The constable, on seeing the inscription, realised at once that the skeleton he was looking at had been a living man at least as recently as the year 1886, and that this was no ancient grave. He's a smart boy, yon,' added the inspector approvingly, 'and acted with an intelligence rare in a country constable - aye, or some greatly his senior that I could name, but that's by the way. He ordered the navvies off the site, under strict instructions to say nothing of the matter, and remained on guard while their foreman brought help from Thetford. The result was that the site was closed, Lord Lacy's agent informed, and the navvies whisked off the next day to work in another county. Oh, some word got out about a curious discovery, but nothing more. Lord Lacy's agent
observed complete discretion, and I doubt if there's a soul even in Castle Lancing that knows what was found by Lye Cottage. In consequence, when the Norfolk constabulary brought us in, we were able to go to work unhindered- 'Crawford did not quite lick his lips in satisfaction, but he came close to it ' - and that's something rare in a murder investigation.'

  'Murder?' Mr Franklin looked suitably horrified, and Peggy gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

  'Aye, murder,' said Crawford. 'It was to be assumed, from the fact that the body had patently been hidden within the last thirty years. And there were other indications that confirmed the assumption beyond doubt. The science of criminal investigation,' he continued with some complacency, 'is a great deal further advanced than even the readers of Sherlock Holmes might think. For example, our examiners were able to determine that the body had been in the earth not less than three, and not more than seven years. Your Mr Harvey Logan was last seen alive - by you, at least - four years and seven months ago. A watch bearing his name is found in the grave, and the description which you have given me, of a man about five feet seven inches tall, of slight build, corresponds satisfactorily with the Bertillon measurements of the skeleton. I am afraid,' said Crawford deliberately, 'that the man who walked out of Oxton Hall that Christmas Eve, is the man who was subsequently murdered not more than eighteen months later, and whose body was found as I have described.' The inspector paused. 'I wonder, Mrs Franklin, if I could impose on you for another cup of your excellent tea? No, no - please don't ring for any more - what is in the pot will do admirably.'

  He waited while Peggy refilled his cup, and Mr Franklin sat calculating the odds. They'd found Logan, they knew he'd been murdered at or presumably near Castle Lancing. What else did they know - God, he himself had mentioned Colorado and Wyoming! That was enough to set them on the trail - a telegraph to Denver would tell them who Logan really was. .. except that Kid Curry was officially dead in - where was it? Glenwood, or some name like that, ten years ago. That would puzzle them. But in any event, there was nothing to connect Mark Franklin, Esq., of Castle Lancing, with Curry's criminal past in the States. Nothing to suggest that Mark Franklin had ever seen Curry again after that night at Oxton Hall. Then ... what the hell were they doing here, talking to him? What did they know, or suspect? Was this sleepy-looking bastard Crawford playing some elaborate game of cat-and-mouse, or just pursuing some