“Thank you,” said Blick. He dropped into a chair facing the stranger and drew out his pipe and tobacco. “A bit of fire’s quite welcome, though we’re nearly in May,” he opened.
“Very welcome indeed, sir,” responded the other. “Especially when you’ve been out in the open all day!”
“Been walking?” asked Blick, with a glance at the stranger’s knickerbockers.
“I have, sir! Done thirty miles today before I came to this place,” replied the stranger. “Right across the downs. I always take a holiday twice a year—early spring and late autumn—and spend it pedestrianizing. Run all over this particular part of the South in my time. But I never came to this particular village until today. And I confess that what led me here—for in the ordinary way I should have put up at Selcaster—was curiosity! I read in the newspapers about this Markenmore mystery—so being near, I thought I’d like to see the place.”
“Queer business, isn’t it?” said Blick.
“Queer indeed, sir!” agreed the stranger. “You’re interested in it, sir?”
“Got to be,” answered Blick laconically5. “Professionally.”
The stranger brought his big spectacles to bear on Blick and regarded him with rapt attention. Then he bent6 forward and spoke7 in a hushed voice.
“Is it possible, sir, that I have the pleasure of meeting the famous Detective-Sergeant Blick, whose name I have heard in connection with this case?” he asked almost reverentially. “Do I see Mr. Blick in the flesh?”
“You do!” replied Blick. “All there is of him!”
“Bless me!” exclaimed the stranger. “Very proud, I’m sure, to meet you, sir. My name’s Crawley—I come from Tooting. Rate-collector, Mr. Blick—an arduous8 and humdrum9 occupation, sir, but it keeps me in form for walking, of which exercise I’m passionately10 fond. Dear me! Now, it may seem an extraordinary thing, but do you know, sir, in the course of my five-and-forty years of existence I have never met a gentleman of your profession before! A very exciting and engrossing11 profession, I believe, sir—quite adventurous12?”
“Depends,” said Blick. “Dull and monotonous13 enough, sometimes. You can, of course, get excitement and adventure out of a problem in mathematics—but there isn’t much of either in doing a long sum of compound addition, is there?”
Mr. Crawley looked his admiration—and his failure to comprehend.
“I mean,” added Blick, “that our job is very often one of adding this to that, and that to this—until you’ve got a total.”
“Very good, sir, very good—I see your meaning!” said Mr. Crawley, rubbing his hands. “Oh, very good indeed, sir—an excellent illumination! It wouldn’t be fair of me, I suppose, to ask if you’ve arrived at a total in this Markenmore problem, Mr. Blick?”
“I can soon answer that for you,” said Blick. “I haven’t!”
“A very stiff nut to crack, I should think, sir,” remarked Mr. Crawley. “I read all the evidence in the paper—the Daily Sentinel, Mr. Blick—as I sat on a hill-side eating my modest lunch: very interesting indeed—more interesting, sir, than any of those sensational14 novels that people borrow from the libraries—oh, much more! Real life, sir!”
“Make anything out of it?” suggested Blick. “Got any opinion?”
Mr. Crawley glanced at the door and lowered his voice.
“I have opinions, Mr. Blick,” he answered. “Yes, sir, I have opinions. I am not a betting man, sir, but I would lay money that I know what is at the bottom of this affair!”
“Aye? What, now?” asked Blick. “Always glad of an idea.”
“Money!” said Mr. Crawley solemnly. “Money, sir—money!”
Mr. Crawley took off his spectacles, revealed a pair of weak, dreamy eyes, and shook his head.
“I think the unfortunate young man, Mr. Guy Markenmore—queer name, sir!—was followed. Tracked!” he answered. “Tracked, sir! With money at the bottom of it—yes!”
“Do you mean that he was robbed as well as murdered?” asked Blick.
“No, sir—I don’t mean that at all,” said Mr. Crawley with emphatic16 decision. “I observed that Mr. Guy Markenmore’s property and money were left untouched. No—I mean that money is at the bottom of the mystery of his murder—that he was murdered by some evil person who will benefit by his death—in a pecuniary17 sense, Mr. Blick, a pecuniary sense. I may be wrong,” concluded Mr. Crawley; “I may be wholly and entirely18 wrong—but, on the evidence, sir, such is my opinion. And I have served on a jury—more than once.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if there’s a good deal in what you say,” admitted Blick. “There’s generally some question of money at the bottom of all these things. However,” he added, as he pulled out his watch and yawned in the act, “up to now I’ve got precious little light on the subject—perhaps I’ll get a bit more tomorrow.”
Then, with a laughing remark that even detectives must sleep occasionally, he bade Mr. Crawley good night and went off to bed.
Mr. Crawley flung him a last remark as he left the room, accompanied by a wag of his forefinger19.
“Don’t forget, Mr. Blick—though a gentleman of your ability and experience needs no reminding of it, I’m sure—don’t forget that it’s always the unexpected that happens! The unexpected, sir!—Ah, there’s a great deal in the unexpected! No one knows, sir, what the morrow may not bring forth20!”
“Guess you’re about right there, Mr. Crawley,” asserted Blick. “You’ve hit it in one this time!”
He had no idea of what the morrow would bring forth, neither then, nor when he presently fell fast asleep, nor when he woke in the morning, nor when, at eight o’clock, he climbed up into the trap in which Grimsdale was to drive him into Selcaster. Mr. Crawley, who had also breakfasted early, stood at the Inn door when Blick emerged; he was equipped for walking, and was fastening a small satchel21 on his shoulders.
“Off?” enquired Blick.
“Only for the day, sir,” replied Mr. Crawley. “I am going to have a full and glorious day on the downs—behold the receptacle of my lunch! And I am so well satisfied with the Sceptre, Mr. Blick, that I propose to make it my headquarters for the rest of my holiday, so I shall perhaps have the pleasure of seeing you tonight, sir—when,” he added in a whisper, “I trust the day may have brought forth!—profitably, eh?”
“You never know your luck!” responded Blick.
He said little to the landlord as they drove into Selcaster, but when they came to the ancient Market Cross in the middle of the old city, he laid a hand on his arm.
“Grimsdale,” he said, “pull up, and set me down here. I’m going to see the Chief Constable22—I’ll walk along the street. And listen—I want you to stop in Selcaster a bit. Be down at the station at ten o’clock sharp. I’ll see you there.”
He got out of the trap and went off in the direction of the Chief Constable’s office, and Grimsdale turned into the big courtyard of the Mitre, to wait until the appointed time. At five minutes to ten he went down to the station, and handing over his horse and trap to the care of the boy, walked upon the up platform. The London express was nearly due, and, as usual, there were many passengers awaiting its arrival: the platform was thronged24. But Grimsdale was quick to observe that Blick was there, and that near him, mingling25 with the crowd, were two or three plainclothes policemen of the local force; clearly Blick was expecting somebody. And Grimsdale, a bit of straw protruding26 from his lips, watched, keen-eyed and observant.
Ten o’clock chimed from the many towers in the city, and nothing had happened. In five minutes more the big express would come thundering in; in eight it would have glided27 away again on its sixty-mile run to London. At one minute past ten Mr. Blick, who was keeping a sharp watch on the booking-office, left the platform and went outside the station. As he emerged on the open space in front, William Pegge, driving Mrs. Tretheroe’s smart dog-cart, came racing28 up—alone.
Pegge singled Blick out from the folk who hung about the station doors and pulled up right before him. The detective was at the side of the dog-cart in an instant. His eyes went to the vacant seat at the groom’s side.
“Where is he?” he asked in a sharp whisper.
Pegge bent down.
“Gone!” he answered. “Hooked it during the night! Nobody in his room this morning; clean disappeared! Mrs. Tretheroe sent me in to tell the police—she says something’s happened to him.”
Pegge bent still lower. As he spoke they heard the express coming—it entered the station behind them with a roar and a rattle30 that died away into the hiss31 of escaping steam as the engine pulled up and came to its brief rest.
“I heard Mrs. Tretheroe say to the housekeeper32 that the Baron33 often went out walking very late at night,” he answered. “She said he’s a bad sleeper34, and goes out walking to make himself sleep. I made out that she thought he’d gone out that way during the night, and she believes he’s had an accident, or something of that sort. She’s sending folk round for him, and I’m to tell the police here.”
“Wait a minute,” said Blick. The people who had got out of the express were coming from the exits; he moved out of their way. “You’ve no idea what time he went out?” he asked, glancing at Pegge.
“I’ve no idea,” replied Pegge. “I did hear that he went to bed at his usual time, but——” He paused. Grimsdale had come bustling35 up and was tapping Blick’s elbow. Blick turned quickly. Grimsdale pointed23 to a tall man who had just emerged from the station and stood at its principal entrance looking about him.
“There!” said Grimsdale. “That man! That’s him—the man who came to the Sceptre on Monday night—the American!”
At that moment the tall man caught sight of Grimsdale, started, smiled, nodded, and came hastily across.
“Hello, landlord!” he said. “The very man I was waiting to see! Say!—how’s this affair about Guy Markenmore going on? I’ve travelled all night to reach this city so that I could tell about things—never heard of it myself till yesterday evening, right down at Falmouth! Have they laid hands on anybody?”
Grimsdale was looking from the stranger to Blick, and Blick hastened to speak.
“Are you the man with whom Guy Markenmore had supper at the Sceptre last Monday midnight?” he asked abruptly36. “The man who booked a room there and never occupied it?”
“I am that man,” replied the stranger, with a ready nod and smile. “No other!”
“Do you mind telling me who you are?” asked Blick. “And what you are?”
“I do not! My name is Edward Lansbury, and I’m a financier, with businesses in New York and in London. Who are you and what’s your business?”
“Detective-Sergeant Blick, of the Criminal Investigation37 Department, New Scotland Yard! I have this case in hand, Mr. Lansbury, and I’ll be glad if you’ll tell me what you know about it.”
“Sure! Everything! That’s what I’ve run up from Falmouth for. Where’ll we talk?”
“Come this way,” said Blick. The plain-clothes men had come up behind him; he turned and whispered to them, and they went away in the direction of the police-station. “Don’t wait for me, Grimsdale,” he continued. “I shall be detained here for some time, so you can go back at once.”
But Grimsdale brought a hand out of his pocket, offering something to Lansbury.
“Your change, sir,” he said. “Three pound fourteen. Bill was twenty-six shillings, sir.”
Lansbury started, laughed, took the money, and handed some of the silver back.
“Guess I’d forgotten all about that!” he said. “Here!—get yourself a drink.”
“Thought you had, sir,” remarked Grimsdale, phlegmatic38 as ever. “Thank you, sir.”
He went over to his trap and drove off, and Blick signed to his companion to follow him towards the Chief Constable’s office.
“I’m truly thankful you came, Mr. Lansbury,” he said, as they walked up the street. “Everything’s in more or less of a fog about this affair!”
“Well, beyond what I know myself—which is not a great deal—all I know of it has been got from a London paper that I picked up in my hotel at Falmouth yesterday evening,” said Lansbury. “I set off here almost at once—been on the train practically all night. What’s the latest development?”
“The latest development,” replied Blick, “is one of which I’ve only heard within the last few minutes. Do you know the Baron von Eckhardstein?”
“Sure! I know him well. He was with me and Markenmore at the little inn that night—I left Markenmore and him together at three o’clock or so, Tuesday morning. Von Eckhardstein, of course, was the tall man that the landlord saw us walk up the road with—as, I saw, the landlord mentioned in his evidence.”
“Well—von Eckhardstein has disappeared! During this last night. Clean gone! I suppose you don’t know anything about that?”
“Less than nothing! But what’s all this about? Seems to me——”
“Wait a bit,” interrupted Blick. “We’ll be alone with the Chief Constable in a minute. Then—tell me all you know. We want it!”
The Chief Constable, to whom Blick had sent a message by the plain-clothes men, was awaiting him and the new-comer in his private office. He looked at Lansbury with considerable interest, and suddenly asked a direct question.
“Are you the Mr. Edward Lansbury who had a good deal to do with the Vilona Real Estate Development Company some few years ago?” he enquired. “You are, eh? Um!—I’ve got a pretty fair holding in that—very profitable it’s been, too. And what can you tell of this Markenmore affair, Mr. Lansbury? We shall be very glad to know.”
Lansbury dropped into an easy chair at the side of the Chief Constable’s desk, and put the tips of his fingers together.
“Well,” he said, “I’ll tell you all that I can tell—that is, all that I actually know. As regards the actual murder of Guy Markenmore, seems like it amounts to nothing; as regards what happened just before it, well, you must make out of that what you can! All I can tell you is as to what took place at the Sceptre Inn.”
“And why you, Markenmore, and von Eckhardstein met there,” said Blick quietly.
“Sure! Well, as to why we met there,” continued Lansbury. “As I told you at the railway station just now, I am a financier. I have business interests in this country as well as in my own. I have an office in London, just as I have an office in New York. Naturally I know a great many financial operators in both countries. I knew Guy Markenmore well enough—a smart man who had done well. I know von Eckhardstein, not so well, but sufficiently39. He, of course, is better known than I am, or than Markenmore was—known in London, Paris, and Vienna.”
“A German, I suppose?” asked the Chief Constable.
“No—von Eckhardstein is an Austrian,” said Lansbury. “Well—I have had dealings with these two—separately, you understand, never together—on various occasions, and always found them very good, straight men of business. Now, very recently, Markenmore wrote to me that he had a business deal on in which I should find it profitable to join, with the idea of developing its results in the States. He told me in a letter what it was—but I do not wish, at present, to tell you, for the thing is a most important secret. I will, of course, tell if it becomes necessary to do so in the interests of justice: that is, if my telling the precise details will help in the arrest of Markenmore’s murderer. But just now I would rather not say, and it’s not relative to the pertinent40 matter. It’s sufficient to tell you that Markenmore had the chance—an option, in fact—of buying a certain something from a certain somebody, and he invited me to go in with him; his proposition was that I should acquire one-third, he would take up another, and we would find a third man to buy the remaining third. We had a little correspondence about the thing to be purchased—I may tell you that that thing was a trade secret. While we had this correspondence, Markenmore was in London, and I was at either Southampton or at Falmouth—I have business at both places just now. Now, about the middle of last week, Markenmore wrote to me and said that as I was at Southampton, would I meet him at the Sceptre Inn, Markenmore, Selcaster, on the next Monday night?—he was going to Markenmore Court that evening, he said, on family business, and would join me at the Sceptre when it was over—at ten-thirty or so. We fixed41 this up. I came on from Southampton by an evening train, walked out to Markenmore, booked a room at the Sceptre, and ordered supper for two. While it was being got ready, I took a walk outside—I had been kept indoors a great deal for some days in a close-atmosphered place, and I was enjoying the fresh air. I strolled outside this village of Markenmore, and I met von Eckhardstein.”
“A moment,” interrupted Blick. “What time was that?”
“It would be between nine-thirty and ten, as near as I can remember,” replied Lansbury.
“Dark, then?”
“Oh, quite dark! I should not have seen von Eckhardstein but for the fact that I struck a match to light my cigar. He saw me—he was leaning against a gate, close by. He hailed me, and after I had expressed my surprise at our meeting, told me that he was the guest of a lady in the village. Then he wanted to know what I was doing there. It immediately occurred to me that he was the very man to take up the remaining one-third share I have mentioned to you, so I told him my business. I also explained the proposition, and told him what Markenmore and I proposed to do.”
“Another question,” said Blick. “Did von Eckhardstein know Markenmore? Had they ever had any dealings?”
“I do not think they had—no. As to knowing each other, I daresay they may have been, and probably were, familiar with each other’s name, as financiers. But I am sure that until that night they had never known each other personally.”
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1
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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6
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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7
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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8
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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satchel
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| n.(皮或帆布的)书包 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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29
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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