Chapter 15 Sir Carmichael Clarke

Churston, lying as it does between Brixham on the one side and Paignton and Torquay on the other, occupies a position about halfway¹ round the curve of Torbay. Until about ten years ago it was merely a golf links and below the links a green sweep of countryside dropping down to the sea with only a farmhouse² or two in the way of human occupation. But of late years there had been big building developments between Churston and Paignton and the coastline is now dotted with small houses and bungalows³, new roads, etc.
Sir Carmichael Clarke had purchased a site of some two acres commanding an uninterrupted view of the sea. The house he had built was of modern design—a white rectangle that was not unpleasing to the eye. Apart from two big galleries that housed his collection it was not a large house.
Our arrival there took place about 8 am. A localpolice officer had met us at the station and had put us au courantof the situation.
Sir Carmichael Clarke, it seemed, had been in the habit of taking a stroll after dinner every evening. When the police rang up—at some time after eleven—it was ascertained⁴ that he had not returned. Since his stroll usually followed the same course, it was not long before a search-party discovered his body. Death was due to a crashing blow with some heavy instrument on the back of the head. An open A B C had been placed face downwards⁵ on the dead body
We arrived at Combeside (as the house was called) at about eight o’clock. The door was opened by an elderly butler whose shaking hands and disturbed face showed how much the tragedy had affected⁶ him.
‘Good morning, Deveril,’ said the police officer.
‘Good morning, Mr Wells.’
‘These are the gentlemen from London, Deveril.’
‘This way, gentlemen.’ He ushered⁷ us into a long dining-room where breakfast was laid. ‘I’ll get Mr Franklin.’

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