Christopher Quarles: College Professor and Master Detective. Brebner Percy James
years intervening," I returned.
"Wigan, it would be interesting to know if a similar murder occurred anywhere in the intervening year at that date," said Quarles.
"You have a theory, professor?"
"An outlandish one which would make you laugh. No, no; I do not like being laughed at. I never mention my theories until I have some facts to support them. I am interested in this case. Perhaps I shall go to Withan."
There was nothing more to be got out of the professor just then, and I departed.
I took the trouble to make inquiry whether any similar crime had happened in England in the January of the preceding year, and had the same inquiry made in France. There was no record of any murder bearing the slightest resemblance to the Withan tragedy.
A few days later Quarles telegraphed me to meet him at Kings Cross, and we traveled North together.
"Wait," he said when I began to question him. "I am not sure yet. My theory seems absurd. We are going to find out if it is."
We took rooms at a hotel in Medworth, Quarles explaining that our investigations might take some days.
Next morning, instead of going to Withan as I had expected, he took me to the police court, and seemed to find much amusement in listening to some commonplace cases, and was not very complimentary in his remarks about the bench of magistrates. The next afternoon he arranged a drive. I thought we were going to Withan, but we turned away from the village, and presently Quarles stopped the carriage.
"How far are we from Withan?" he asked the driver.
"Five or six miles. The road winds a lot. It's a deal nearer as the crow flies."
"You need not wait for us, driver. My friend and I are going to walk back."
The coachman pocketed his money and drove away.
"Couldn't keep him waiting all night, as we may have to do," said Quarles. "Mind you, Wigan, I'm very doubtful about my theory; at least, I am not certain that I shall find the facts I want. A few hours will settle it one way or the other."
After walking along the road for about a mile Quarles scrambled through a hedge into a wood by the roadside.
"We're trespassers, but we must take our chance. Should we meet anyone, blame me. Say I am a doddering old fool who would walk under the trees and you were obliged to come to see that I didn't get into any mischief. Do you go armed?"
"Always," I answered.
"I do sometimes," he said, tapping his pocket. "We might come up against danger if my theory is correct. If I tell you to shoot – shoot, and quickly. Your life is likely to depend upon it. And keep your ears open to make sure no one is following us."
He had become keen, like a dog on the trail, and, old as he was, seemed incapable of fatigue. Whether he had studied the topography of the neighborhood I cannot say, but he did not hesitate in his direction until he reached a high knoll which was clear of the wood and commanded a considerable view.
We were trespassers in a private park. To our right was a large house, only partially seen through its screen of trees, but it was evidently mellow with age. To our left, toward what was evidently the extremity of the park, was hilly ground, which had been allowed to run wild.
To this Quarles pointed.
"That is our way," he said. "We'll use what cover we can."
We plunged into the wood again, and were soon in the wilderness, forcing our way, sometimes with considerable difficulty, through the undergrowth. Once or twice the professor gave me a warning gesture, but he did not speak. He had evidently some definite goal, and I was conscious of excitement as I followed him.
For an hour or more he turned this way and that, exploring every little ravine he could discover, grunting his disappointment each time he failed to find what he was looking for.
"I said I wasn't certain," he whispered when our path had led us into a damp hollow which looked as if it had not been visited by man for centuries. "My theory seems – and yet this is such a likely place. There must be a way."
He was going forward again. The hollow was surrounded by perpendicular walls of sand and chalk; it was a pit, in fact, which Nature had filled with vegetation. The way we had come seemed the only way into it.
"Ah! this looks promising," Quarles said suddenly.
In a corner of the wall, or, to be more precise, filling up a rent in it, was a shed, roughly built, but with a door secured by a very business-like lock.
"I think the shed is climbable," said Quarles. "Let's get on the roof. I am not so young as I was, so help me up."
It was not much help he wanted. In a few moments we were on the roof.
"As I thought," he said. "Do you see?"
The shed, with its slanting roof, served to block a narrow, overgrown path between two precipitous chalk walls.
"We'll go carefully," said Quarles. "There may be worse than poachers' traps here."
Without help from me he dropped from the roof, and I followed him.
The natural passage was winding, and about fifty yards long, and opened into another pit of some size. A pit I call it, but it was as much a cave as a pit, part of it running deeply into the earth, and only about a third of it being open to the sky. The cave part had a rough, sandy floor, and here was a long shed of peculiar construction. It was raised on piles, about eight feet high; the front part formed a kind of open veranda, the back part being closed in. The roof was thatched with bark and dried bracken, and against one end of the veranda was a notched tree trunk, serving as a ladder.
"As I expected," said Quarles, with some excitement. "We must get onto the veranda for a moment. I think we are alone here, but keep your ears open."
The shed was evidently used sometimes. There was a stone slab which had served as a fireplace, and from a beam above hung a short chain, on which a pot could easily be fixed.
"We'll get away quickly," said Quarles. "Patience, Wigan. I believe we are going to witness a wonderful thing."
"When?"
"In about thirty hours' time."
The professor's sense of direction was marvelous. Having reclimbed the shed which blocked the entrance to this concealed pit, he made practically a straight line for the place at which we had entered the wood from the road.
"I daresay one would be allowed to see over the house, but perhaps it is as well not to ask," he said. "We can do that later. I'm tired, Wigan; but it was safer not to keep the carriage."
Try as I would, I could get no explanation out of him either that night or next day. He was always as secret as the grave until he had proved his theory, and then he seemed anxious to forget the whole affair, and shrank from publicity. That is how it came about that I obtained credit which I did not deserve.
"We go there again this evening," he said after lunch next day; "so a restful afternoon will suit us."
It was getting dark when we set out, and again Quarles's unerring sense of locality astonished me. He led the way without hesitation. This time he took more precaution not to make a sound when climbing over the shed into the narrow path.
"I think we are first, but great care is necessary," he whispered.
We crept forward and concealed ourselves among the scrub vegetation which grew in that part of the pit which was open to the sky. It was dark, the long shed barely discernible, but the professor was particular about our position.
"We may have to creep a little nearer presently," he whispered. "From here we can do so. Silence, Wigan, and don't be astonished at anything."
The waiting seemed long. Moonlight was presently above us, throwing the cave part of the pit into greater shadow than ever.
I cannot attempt to say how long we had waited in utter silence when Quarles touched my arm. Someone was coming, and with no particular stealth. Whoever it was seemed quite satisfied that the night was empty of danger. I heard footsteps on the raised floor