The Chestermarke Instinct. Fletcher Joseph Smith
did. He was seen to set off in this direction, and there's a probability that he crossed over here on his way to Ellersdeane. But he's never been seen since he left Scarnham."
"Well," observed Creasy, "as I said just now, he wouldn't happen anything by accident in an ordinary way. Was there any reason why anybody should set on him?"
"There may have been," replied Neal.
"He wouldn't be likely to have aught valuable on him, surely – that time o' night?" said the tinker.
"He may have had," admitted Neale. "I can't tell you more."
Creasy asked no farther question. He led the way to the foot of the promontory, at a point where a mass of rock rose sheer out of the hollow to the plateau crowned by the ruinous tower.
"Here's where I picked up the pipe," he said. "Lying amongst this rubbish – stones and dry wood, you see – I just caught the gleam of the silver band. Now what should Mr. Horbury be doing down here? The path, you see, is a good thirty yards off. But – he may have fallen over – or been thrown over – and it's a sixty-feet drop from top to bottom."
Neale and Betty looked up the face of the rocks and said nothing. And Creasy presently went on, speaking in a low voice: —
"If he met with foul play – if, for instance, he was thrown over here in a struggle – or if, taking a look from the top there, he got too near the edge and something gave way," he said, "there's about as good means of getting rid of a dead man in this Ellersdeane Hollow as in any place in England! That's a fact!"
"You mean the lead-mines?" murmured Neale.
"Right, sir! Do you know how many of these old workings there is?" asked Creasy. "There's between fifty and sixty within a square mile of this tower. Some's fenced in – most isn't. Some of their mouths are grown over with bramble and bracken. And all of 'em are of tremendous depth. A man could be thrown down one of those mines, sir, and it 'ud be a long job finding his body! But all that's very frightening to the lady, and we'll hope nothing of it happened. Still – "
"It has to be faced," said Betty. "Listen – I am Mr. Horbury's niece, and I'm offering a reward for news of him. Will you keep your eyes and ears open while you're in this neighbourhood?"
The tinker promised that he would do his best, and presently he went back to his fire, while Neale and Betty turned away towards the town. Neither spoke until they were half-way through the wood; then Betty uttered her fears in a question.
"Do you think the finding of that pipe shows he was – there?" she asked.
"I'm sure of it," replied Neale. "I wish I wasn't. But – I saw him with this pipe in his lips at two o'clock on Saturday! I recognized it at once."
"Let's hurry on and see the police," said Betty. "We know something now, at any rate."
Polke, they were told at the police-station, was in his private house close by: a polite constable conducted them thither. And presently they were shown into the superintendent's dining-room, where Polke, hospitably intent, was mixing a drink for a stranger. The stranger, evidently just in from a journey, rose and bowed, and Polke waved his hand at him with a smile, as he looked at the two young people.
"Here's your man, miss!" said Polke cheerily. "Allow me – Detective-Sergeant Starmidge, of the Criminal Investigation Department."
CHAPTER VIII
THE SATURDAY NIGHT STRANGER
Neale, who had never seen a real, live detective in the flesh, but who cherished something of a passion for reading sensational fiction and the reports of criminal cases in the weekly newspapers, looked at the man from New Scotland Yard with a feeling of surprise. He knew Detective-Sergeant Starmidge well enough by name and reputation. He was the man who had unravelled the mysteries of the Primrose Hill murder – a particularly exciting and underground affair. It was he who had been intimately associated with the bringing to justice of the Camden Town Gang – a group of daring and successful criminals which had baffled the London police for two years. Neale had read all about Starmidge's activities in both cases, and of the hairbreadth escape he had gone through in connection with the second. And he had formed an idea of him – which he now saw to be a totally erroneous one. For Starmidge did not look at all like a detective – in Neale's opinion. Instead of being elderly, and sinister, and close of eye and mouth, he was a somewhat shy-looking, open-faced, fresh-coloured young man, still under thirty, modest of demeanour, given to smiling, who might from his general appearance have been, say, a professional cricketer, or a young commercial traveller, or anything but an expert criminal catcher.
"Only just got here, and a bit tired, miss," continued Polke, waving his hand again at the detective. "So I'm just giving him a refresher to liven his brains up. He'll want 'em – before we've done."
Betty took the chair which Polke offered her, and looked at the stranger with interest. She knew nothing about Starmidge, and she thought him quite different to any preconceived notion which she had ever had of men of his calling.
"I hope you'll be able to help us," she said politely, as Starmidge, murmuring something about his best respects to his host, took a whisky-and-soda from Polke's hand. "Do you think you will – and has Mr. Polke told you all about it?"
"Given him a mere outline, miss," remarked Polke. "I'll prime him before he goes to bed. Yes – he knows the main facts."
"And what do you propose to do – first?" demanded Betty.
Starmidge smiled and set down his glass.
"Why, first," he answered, "first, I think I should like to see a photograph of Mr. Horbury."
Polke moved to a bureau in the corner of his dining-room.
"I can fit you up," he said. "I've a portrait here that Mr. Horbury gave me not so long ago. There you are!"
He produced a cabinet photograph and handed it to Starmidge, who looked at it and laid it down on the table without comment.
"I suppose that conveys nothing to you?" asked Betty.
"Well," replied Starmidge, with another smile, "if a man's missing, one naturally wants to know what he's like. And if there's any advertising of him to be done – by poster, I mean – it ought to have a recent portrait of him."
"To be sure," agreed Polke.
"So far as I understand matters," continued Starmidge, "this gentleman left his house on Saturday evening, hasn't been seen since, and there's an idea that he probably walked across country to a place called Ellersdeane. But up to now there's no proof that he did. I think that's all, Mr. Polke?"
"All!" assented Polke.
"No!" said Neale. "Miss Fosdyke and I have brought you some news. Mr. Horbury must have crossed Ellersdeane Hollow on Saturday night. Look at this! – and I'll tell you all about it."
The superintendent and the detective listened silently to Neale's account of the meeting with Creasy, and Betty, watching Starmidge's face, saw that he was quietly taking in all the points of importance.
"Is this tin-man to be depended upon?" he asked, when Neale had finished. "Is he known?"
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