The Ginger Cat Mystery (19 page)

“Are you going to call at the Manor to see Mr. Carstairs, Mr. Vereker?” asked Miss Cornell as she let her machine tilt over so that she could support it standing on one foot.

“That was my intention,” replied Vereker, and looked with disconcerting directness into Miss Cornell's eyes to see if he could discover whether she had learned from Mary Lister the reason for his call at her father's cottage.

Miss Cornell returned the look with disarming frankness which ostensibly satisfied Vereker and continued: “I asked you because I want you to do me a great favour. Would you kindly give him a note for me?”

“With the greatest of pleasure,” replied Vereker, noticing the flush of colour that had mounted to the young woman's cheeks.

“Thanks so much. It will save me running up and besides I don't particularly want to see Roly to-night.”

“Shall I tell him that?” asked Vereker maliciously.

“For heaven's sake don't do that!” exclaimed Miss Cornell seriously and seeing Vereker's smile, laughed, her whole face lighting up with mischievous merriment. “We've had a slight tiff and I'm not in the mood for forgiveness just yet,” she added.

“Mr. Carstairs is apparently very fond of you,” ventured Vereker boldly.

“He must be if you've noticed it already,” parried Miss Cornell. “I'm afraid he wears his heart on his sleeve. But to return to my request, I'll run home, write my note, and meet you in the drive as you are going up to the house. Please don't walk too fast as I may keep you waiting a few minutes.”

“Don't take any risks, Miss Cornell. I'll give you plenty of time. I'm not in any hurry at all.”

“Thanks ever so much, Mr. Vereker,” she said and next moment with a roar from its exhaust the motor-cycle flashed up the road, swerved swiftly to the left to clear a speeding car, and was lost to sight round a curve.

“She certainly has cool nerves,” thought Vereker and promptly associated the fact with his suspicions regarding her. He continued his way leisurely, stopping every now and then to admire the serene pastoral landscape drowsing in the autumn sunshine. Finally he turned up the drive by the gate near the bungalow and was sauntering lazily in the chequered shade cast by the avenue of chestnuts bordering the well-kept gravel, when Miss Cornell's girlish figure suddenly appeared through a mass of rhododendrons and waited for him to approach. She held an envelope in her right hand, and when Vereker came up with her he noticed she had changed into a smart tweed suit and wore a neat felt hat which shaded her large dark eyes and lent them a bewitching softness and lambency. A closer glance revealed that she had been weeping and was doing her utmost to hide her distressed feelings.

“I suppose you think I've got a colossal cheek making a postman of you, Mr. Vereker,” she said, handing him the letter.

“Don't mention it, Miss Cornell. I hope, however, I'm not going to be the bearer of bad news,” replied Vereker, boldly eager for any scrap of information.

“No,” she replied thoughtfully. “What appears bad news at first often turns out to be the reverse. As you've already guessed, Roly is in love with me and I'm sorry to say I don't return his affection. I like him immensely, but that's not sufficient. I couldn't marry him without love. Sometimes, I suppose, a mere liking may turn into something stronger. I don't know and time alone will tell. I've asked him for time in this letter. I think that's only fair to him and to myself. What do you think?”

“It's fair enough, Miss Cornell, but I'm afraid a mere liking seldom turns into love. Time, however, may alter your opinion about love being the
sine qua non
for marriage.”

“Perhaps. I'm inclined to agree with you about the matter of love. It's often called love at first sight, but I think all love is really at first sight and the first expression is merely the development of the state. The germ is born at once and gathers force according to the constitution of the afflicted person.”

“Very clearly put, Miss Cornell,” said Vereker and was lost for some moments in romantic reminiscences of his own. He looked up quickly and caught a pair of large dark eyes gazing at him with almost an appeal for friendship in their sombre depths. At once he felt he must summon all his reason to counteract this allurement, and his glance wandered from the neat, brown felt hat down the trim, shapely figure to a pair of brown walking shoes almost hidden in the lush grass. There it settled on a dandelion with its globe of downy seed; it was a comforting distraction in a moment of emotional embarrassment.

“How are you getting on with your investigation, Mr. Vereker?” came the question in a casual conversational tone. “Any nearer a solution?”

“Still in the dark, Miss Cornell, but things are beginning to take shape. Little facts are discovered, they suddenly, almost unconsciously, group themselves into a persuasive pattern and begin miraculously to glow. The light gradually grows stronger and then there's a flash of illumination. The secret lies bare and the time has come to strike.”

“It sounds horribly cruel and fiendishly clever. Suppose, for instance, that when the secret lies bare as you call it, you find that a murder is justifiable, what do you do?”

“No murder is justifiable, Miss Cornell. Homicide may be at times, but a planned and executed taking of a human life is not justifiable.”

“You mean at law, I suppose, but in your experience you must have come across a case where a human being is wronged and has no redress at law. The wronged person takes the law into his own hands and kills, what then?”

“I've had no such experience, but suppose one came my way I'm not allowed to constitute myself a supreme judge. The final judgment lies with twelve good men and women and that's as far as we can go in human affairs. Of course, there's a final Supreme Judge and I'm afraid His ways are inscrutable.”

“Yes, they apparently are,” said Miss Cornell with the suspicion of a sigh, “but to return to the subject of my letter. I want you to hand it to Roly when you take leave of him. He's terribly impetuous and if you hand it to him on your arrival he'll promptly dash down to the bungalow on the spur of the moment. I have to return to the bungalow before I go out and I don't want him to catch me in. I want to give him time for reflection and I shall be out for some time. When he has had leisure to think things over calmly, he'll decide that it will be better not to see me. Will you do that for me?”

“Certainly, Miss Cornell,” said Vereker and could almost have added that he would do anything for so charming a woman.

“Thanks and I'll say good-bye for the present,” said Miss Cornell extending her hand. “I daresay we'll meet again. I don't know whether I shall be called as a witness at the inquest, but I presume I shall. I don't look forward to it.”

“I hope you'll be spared the ordeal,” said Vereker and took her proffered hand.

For a few seconds she let her hand remain in his. She stood strangely hesitant with downcast eyes and heaving breast and then said, “I wish, Mr. Vereker…” but her face suddenly changed with a swiftly-born resolution and she left the sentence provokingly unfinished.

“So do I,” said Vereker quietly, but with a toss of her head and a matter-of-fact good-bye, she turned on her heel and made her way rapidly through the rhododendrons.

“On the very brink of revelation and then darkness. Not even a glimpse from some soul's Pisgah!” soliloquized Vereker. “Alas, it's the common experience of the detective. Ah, well, Anthony, you always were a damned fool with a pretty woman and perhaps it's all for the best that she rang off at the critical moment. There are some things in life that even experience fails to teach and the wisest fail to learn.”

When Vereker arrived at the Manor he was shown into the drawing-room and more than five minutes elapsed before Mr. Roland Carstairs entered.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Vereker, but I was in the midst of packing up my kit. I'm leaving Marston after tea,” said Carstairs apologetically and sank into a chair as if mentally and physically exhausted. Vereker at once noticed the drawn, haggard features and the tired light in the man's rather fine grey eyes. He looked as if he had passed through some overwhelming emotional ordeal and had reached the limits of human endurance.

“You look rather done up, if I may say so,” said Vereker sympathetically.

“I feel it, too,” continued Carstairs and for some moments sat in silence as if uncertain whether to unburden himself further. Then, as if unable to restrain himself, he remarked, “They say the way of the transgressor is hard, but I'm inclined to think that the way of the man who tries to do the right thing in difficult circumstances is infinitely harder. Do you believe in being born under an evil or unlucky star, Vereker?”

“I've often wondered whether there's anything in the saying,” replied Vereker. “A great number of people are firmly convinced that the stars have an occult influence on our lives and fortunes. I've never gone into the subject myself, but personally I've no faith in astrology. Still there's no denying the fact that there are some people whom misfortune seems to dog in spite of all their efforts, and there are those who sail gaily along on the perennial crest of good luck. The hidden cause behind events is the mystery and may have nothing to do with the stars.”

“Possibly not, but it's as good a way of explaining a mystery as any other,” said Carstairs despondently. “I was born under a damned unlucky star. I'm sure of that.”

“What's your trouble? Is there anything I can do to help you?” asked Vereker.

“Very kind of you to suggest it, but I'm afraid you can do nothing,” replied Carstairs, touched by Vereker's ready sympathy.

“Perhaps an affair of the heart?” hinted Vereker hopefully.

“Not only of the heart, Vereker. I'm unlucky all round. Anyhow, I'm leaving this place this afternoon and shan't be sorry either. If I could find any solace in drink I might go and get drunk. That's how I feel!”

“Wine's a great companion when you're happy, but a sorry one when you're fed up,” remarked Vereker. “Why have you decided to leave in such a hurry?”

“The chief cause of my leaving hurriedly is Doctor Redgrave. We had a bit of a row this morning and if we hadn't been in Jo's presence we'd have come to blows.”

“What was the trouble? It'd do you good to get it off your chest,” said Vereker encouragingly. “Sort of psychic deflation. Better than keeping it to yourself and brooding over it.”

“Yes, I think so, too, and I can trust you to let it go no farther,” said Carstairs lighting his pipe. “You'll probably have guessed, Vereker, that I don't feel too well disposed towards Redgrave. There's that germ-carrier business which I've told you about. It seemed fishy to me, look at it in any light you like. Since my tiff with Redgrave this morning, I've taken the trouble to tell Inspector Heather all about it and I hope he digs into it pretty thoroughly. To add to my suspicions in the matter, Redgrave has taken Tapp into his service. I don't know exactly what has been said by Tapp to Redgrave, but they've evidently put their heads together and discussed it pretty thoroughly. In their discussion my indirect share in the affair was certainly brought to Redgrave's knowledge and that put the fat in the fire. He has got his knife in me now and no mistake.”

“To interrupt you, Carstairs, what's your private opinion of the man, Tapp?”

“He's apparently an underhanded sneak, to put it bluntly. In the first place he has hidden his secret affliction from everybody. This was almost to be expected, though in a way it's unpardonable. I was inclined to be sorry for him at first. To make matters worse, he has been carrying on a flirtation with the gardener's daughter. I happen to know he's a married man and quite by accident I spotted him one night from my bedroom window. He had his arms round the girl and was ostensibly making violent love to her. That's none of my business and I've said nothing about it, but now I think the young woman ought to be told the fellow's history. However, I'm not going to be the informer. I'm beginning to learn that interference in other people's affairs only gets one into unnecessary trouble. The part that concerns me is that he knows I'm acquainted with his history, and I daresay he has told Redgrave that I started the ball rolling in the exhumation of old John Cornell, though I was not directly responsible.”

“Was that the cause of your stormy interview with Redgrave?” asked Vereker.

“It wound up in that. The passage of arms started with an innocent enough trifle. Redgrave is one of those superior persons who treat you with a kind of supercilious tolerance as if you were one of Nature's funny mistakes. At least that is how he has always treated me. I admit I'm none too clever, but I object to it being rubbed into me like an embrocation. He invariably adopts the same attitude to Stella Cornell. I resent that kind of attitude very strongly. This morning the conversation started with some remark about a sense of humour and when I made some comment, Redgrave said I ought to write a serious monograph on the subject. He remarked that it would be great reading, almost as funny as Bergson's work on laughter which was one of the most humorous things he had read for many years. I replied rather warmly by saying that some people had a very strange idea of humour and asked him if he could give me a good example of the ludicrous. He confessed that it was a difficult task, but he agreed with Schopenhauer that a tangent to a circle was one of the funniest things he knew. The very reply was an impertinent assumption of superiority. I told him he was being damned offensive and not in the least funny. Then the matter took a grave turn and we became abusive. He lost his temper and said I was a meddlesome idiot and that it was my mischievous interference in other people's affairs which had brought unnecessary pain on Mrs. Cornell and had put him in a very serious position locally. I had, he continued, come within an ace of ruining his practice and career.”