Death at Hallows End (17 page)

“I see. Then there is still nothing but Stonegate's word to tell us that Humby was in the village.”

The Rector blinked.

“You mean that? It may be that our little community here is not connected with his disappearance? I should be so delighted. But I don't see why Stonegate should lie.”

“Nor do I, yet.”

Carolus watched the Rector laboriously lighting his bicycle lamp.

“You don't use a car?” he asked casually.

“Not for some years. My predecessor here, Canon Spotter, was killed in a car accident and when I first came, I felt that people might prefer I should not drive. So I took to bicycling and now prefer it. Healthier, altogether.”

He nodded to Carolus, wheeled his cycle out to the road, mounted and cycled slowly away.

Carolus turned to Puckett, who had waited patiently.

“I wanted to ask you about something you said at your house. Speaking of the Neasts you said it wasn't their car that went up and down the road last night.”

A look of rustic cunning came over the wizened features of the little man.

“The Falstaff will be opening about now,” he said. “I don't often go to the Ploughman in the village. They've got new people there I don't take to much.”

Carolus took the hint.

“Get in,” he said. “I have to go up to the Falstaff in any case. You can tell me about it there.”

“As for Stonegate being a liar, I shouldn't put it past him,” said Puckett as they drove through Hallows End. “Him and Rudd weren't very friendly, you know. He was a bit too thick with those Neasts for Rudd's liking. Or for mine, for that matter.”

They reached the Falstaff and Carolus led the way into the public bar, hoping to avoid Mr. Sporter's peculiar idiom, at least until he had heard what he wanted from Puckett. The sight of a pint seemed to cheer the little man, and instead of making his usual circuitous approach to information, he began straightaway.

“Yes. Last night,” he said. “I don't know what made me notice. I did slip in to the Ploughman, as a matter of fact. I don't often go there, as I told you, only it was Saturday night. I came away early. About an hour before closing. And on my way home
I met Cyril Neast hurrying up the lane on foot. I knew what that meant. He was going to get properly boozed. When he's like that, his brother won't let him take the car and he has to walk up to the Ploughman. When he's bad enough they call Mr. Hedge, who has a taxi in the village, to run him home. Other times, if he can walk he does. I've seen him stagger past my cottage as late as midnight sometimes because he Gets it Round the Back.”

“Did you see or hear him returning last night?”

“No. I didn't. Unless he was in this car I heard go by. The one I was telling you about. What time it was I couldn't say but it went past as though it was going up to the farm. Then about an hour later it came back again and that's the last I heard of it. All I can tell you it wasn't Neasts' old lorry. I know the sound of that.”

“Was it Mr. Hedge's taxi though?”

“No. It wasn't. Mr. Hedge brought a party up to the church this morning and I asked him. No, he said, he hadn't been called out at all yesterday. Nor last night. So it wasn't him.”

“You've no idea at all who it might have been?”

“Not to speak of, really. Only, you saw that party came to church this evening? Five of them, there was. It did just crost my mind. No reason for it, mind you. Those were the Hickmansworths from the farm up the other lane. Their ground joins on to Neasts's but there's no way across. They have to come all the way round by the lane. What made me wonder is they're supposed to be some sort of relations of the Neasts, only they haven't Spoken for I don't know how many years, until just recently.”

“You mean they've made it up with the Neasts?”

“That's what it looks like. Their car was up there the other day anyhow, outside the bungalow, because I saw it when I went to lock up the church.”

They were interrupted by the entrance of Stonegate who, seeing them seated together, gave a curt nod and went to the farther side of the room. But Puckett seemed almost as uncomfortable as the bigger man and after a few minutes said, “There's a bus runs into Hallows End at eight-five and I think I'll catch it. Save you driving all that way. No, thanks all the same. I must be getting along.” He hurried from the bar.

Stonegate looked up.

“I don't know what he thinks he might have to tell you,” he said.

Carolus decided to play this up.

“Oh, he gets about,” he said.

“He never even saw that car that afternoon.”

“No, but he heard one last night.”

Stonegate looked up sharply.

“What's last night got to do with it? No one disappeared last night, did they?”

“Not that I know of. From here, at any rate. Can you drive a car, Stonegate?”

“Can I drive a car? Of course I can. I shouldn't like to say how often I've driven Mr. Neast's. And a tractor. What makes you ask that?”

“Curiosity,” said Carolus. “Do you know the Hickmans-worths?”

“No. And I don't want to. I suppose you're going to say they've seen something, too?”

“I don't know. I haven't met them yet.”

“They're a funny lot,” reflected Stonegate.

Carolus winced. “In what way?”

“I shouldn't like to say,” replied Stonegate, “They keep themselves to themselves,” he added.

Carolus went through to the saloon bar to see Mr. Sporter about his night's accommodation.

“You're still around then?” said the landlord. “Pretty persis, aren't you? I suppose you have to be, investigation-wise.”

There was a welcome pause while he poured Carolus's drink. Then he came out with a casual remark which Carolus found shattering,

“I hear they're going to dig someone up tomorrow,” he said.

“You hear
what?”

“An exhumation laid on. Gallup, the copper from Hallows End, was in just now. Off duty, of course. He told me he'd been told to lay on a couple of men for it tomorrow afternoon. It isn't certain yet but he's to have these men ready to dig. Casual labour, of course. Pretty grues, isn't it? I've never come across anything exhumation-wise before.”

Carolus made a mental note to get Gallup reprimanded for opening his mouth.

“When had he heard this?” he asked Sporter.

“Just before coming here, I gathered.”

“Anyone hear him tell you?”

“No. Only the wife, and she wouldn't say anything.”

What was the good? He knew enough of small communities to guess that once spoken, information like that could spread to the farthest outlying cottage in half an hour.

There was only one thing to be done. He said nothing, but at closing time went up to his room, provided himself with a couple of blankets and a supply of cheroots. He dare not even ask Sporter for a thermos flask, but, after putting the blankets in his car unobserved, told the landlord he had to drive over to Cashford and would be back about midnight. Mr. Sporter gave him a key.

C
AROLUS WOULD HAVE LIKED
to leave his car there in the car park, but it was essential, he thought, that Sporter and anyone else who might be watching should think he had driven away towards Cashford. But when he reached Church Lane, he felt it safe to take the direction he wanted. He remembered that there was a derelict barn a little way down on the left and in the shadow of this he left the Bentley.

He wished, as he continued on foot towards Monk's Farm, that he knew the route of Spaull's footpath, but decided he could not risk going astray tonight. His senses were alert and he paused occasionally to listen. It seemed that nothing disturbed the calm of that late September. The weather was cold and there were patches of mist over the fields, but the moon shone fitfully and at times Carolus could see the stars.

As he approached the Neasts' bungalow he walked more cautiously, his feet going through the grass of the verge silently and he himself lost in the shadow of the wayside trees. Thus he passed the house, noting that there were no lights visible.

When he approached the churchyard, he saw that the general darkness was broken by a sharp light in one of Mrs. Rudd's upper windows. But this went out just as Carolus had passed in through the lych gate and taken his way towards the porch. There he put down his blankets and, always keeping in shadow
and on grass, went to Rudd's grave—which so far as he could see, was as he had left it that afternoon. At last he settled in the church porch with his two blankets round him.

Carolus had a trick of dozing like a cat with all his senses enough awake to bring him into instant consciousness at the slightest thing. He remained thus for nearly an hour, until the silence was broken by a sound which he instantly recognised as the closing of Mrs. Rudd's door. So last night, someone, waiting where he was now, might have heard the door slam when Spaull emerged, and been prepared later to approach him from behind and deal that skilful blow which had made him unconscious.

Now footsteps approached, slow and a little faltering, of someone who carried no light and was not sure of the way through the ground mist that was heavy just then in the churchyard. Carolus stood perfectly still and waited.

Then there was a shadow in the entrance of the porch.

“I thought I saw someone come in here,” said Mrs. Rudd. “It's a good thing I've got cat's eyes, as my husband used to say, and can see better than others at night. I was keeping an eye open, though, after what happened last night. Now I know it's you, it's all right.”

Carolus wondered why he should be given this spontaneous trust. Perhaps Spaull had spoken of him.

“I wish you'd been here last night,” went on Mrs. Rudd. “You wouldn't have let yourself be knocked on the head like that. Of course I knew at once what it was when that poor young man came staggering into the cottage, but he
would
have it he'd slipped and fallen over backwards. So I let him say it. If the doctor liked to believe it, that was his business, though I thought Dr. Jayboard looked as though he knew more than he said.”

Carolus could see now that Mrs. Rudd was hugging a large shawl around her. She did not seem in a hurry to return to her cottage.

“Do you think they'll come again, then? Is that why you're out here tonight?”

“Who?” asked Carolus.

“Those who were at my husband's grave last night. Oh, I know all about it. Mr. Puckett told me at church tonight. Besides, it wasn't the first time.”

“What do you mean?” asked Carolus quickly.

“What I say. They tried once before.”

“You mean that someone interfered with your husband's grave before last night?”

“Certainly that's what I mean. It was last Wednesday. Mr. Spaull had gone to see his young lady and I was alone in the house, when all of a sudden I woke up and looked out of the window. What made me do it I don't know. Instink, very likely. Anyway I saw a light over by my husband's grave.”

“A light?”

“Yes. Not much of one. Not enough to let me see who it was or how many of them there were. They must have heard me open the window because I could hear them shovelling back the earth as fast as they could.”

“Shovelling it back?”

“That's what it sounded like. They'd got the wind up, see? Perhaps they didn't know Mr. Spaull was away and thought he'd be after them. So I shouted out, ‘Hey! What are you up to over there?' I saw the light moving away in a hurry then. I'd have gone out if they hadn't. I wouldn't have minded how many there were if they was going to upset my old man's grave. But I didn't need to. They were off, light and all. I knew what they were after.”

“You did?”

“Yes. The dirty thieving lot. See, I'd put my old man's gold watch in with him. It was a silly thing to do, I know, but it didn't seem like him without it. He'd worn it all his life ever since he'd courted me. His mother gave it him after his father died. It was real gold and worth I don't know how much. He'd had ever so many offers for it.”

“But how would anyone know it was in the coffin?”

“You don't know these parts. There's nothing that isn't known within five minutes of it happening.”

“Did you report it?”

“I told Gallup, the policeman in the village, and he came out and had a look. All the flowers had been put back and it looked just as it was left after the funeral, so he said I'd been imagining things. I let it go at that. What's the use with anyone like Gallup?”

“Did you tell Spaull about it when he returned?”

“No. I didn't bother. It's no good upsetting anyone, is it, and he was such a quiet young man. Anyway, you can see I was right about that lot because they came back last night and from all accounts this time they got what they wanted.”

“You will soon know, Mrs. Rudd. I told the police what happened last night, and Puckett's belief that the grave has been disturbed, and they're getting an exhumation order. But I don't think you'll find your husband's coffin has been opened.”

“I hope not, anyway. It seems a shame if someone can't have a bit of peace once they're dead.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Nothing was audible around them.

“Are you going to stop here all night?” asked Mrs. Rudd. “If so, I'll go and make you a drop of nice hot tea.”

“No, thanks. After what you've told me there's no need to stay. I wish that idiot Gallup had reported this business when it happened.”

“Didn't he, then?”

“It seems not. If he had done so … However, you go back home, Mrs. Rudd. You'll see tomorrow that your husband has not been disturbed, I think.”

“Well, that'll be something. Only it's very upsetting, all this, when someone's Gone. I wish I'd kept that watch now. It isn't as though it could be any good to him. You don't know what to do for the best, do you?”