THE CROW'S INN TRAGEDY (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes
was said that he enjoyed Mr. Bechcombe's confidence to the fullest degree. Be that as it may, it was evident that he knew nothing of the special business of this morning. He was a thin man of middle height with a reddish-grey beard, sunken-looking, grey eyes, like those of his principal usually concealed by a pair of horn-rimmed, smoke-coloured glasses; his teeth were irregular--one or two in front were missing. He had the habitual stoop of a man whose life is spent bending over a desk, and his faintly grey hair was already thinning at the top. As he went back to his desk both communicating doors in turn banged loudly behind Mr. Bechcombe. Instantly a change passed over his clerks; as if moved by one spring all the heads were raised, the pens slackened, most of them were thrown hastily on the desk.
Percy Johnson, one of the articled pupils, emitted a low whistle.
"What is the governor up to, Mr. Thompson?" he questioned daringly. "Casting the glad eye on some fair lady; not to be disturbed for an hour will give them plenty of time for--er--endearments."
Thompson turned his severe eyes upon him.
"This is neither the place nor the subject for such jokes, Mr. Johnson. May I trouble you to get on with your work? We are waiting for that deed." Mr. Johnson applied himself to his labours afresh.
"It is nice to know that one is really useful!"
The morning wore on. The two clients mentioned by Mr. Bechcombe--Mr. Geary and Mr. Pound--duly arrived and were shown in to Mr. Bechcombe, in each case remaining only a short time. Then there came a few minutes' quiet. The eyes of the clerks wandered to the clock. At twelve o'clock the first batch of them would depart to luncheon.
Amos Thompson's thoughts were busy with his chief. Some very important business must be about to be transacted in Mr. Bechcombe's private room, and the managing clerk, though usually fully cognizant of all the ins and outs of the affairs of the firm, had no notion what it might be. He would have been more or less than mortal if his speculations with regard to the mysterious visitor had not risen high. Just as the clock struck twelve there was a knock and ring at the outer door, and he heard a loud colloquy going on with the office boy. In a minute Tony Collyer came through into the clerks' office. It showed the upset to the general aspect of the managing clerk's ideas that he should go forward to meet him.
"Good morning, Mr. Anthony. I am sorry that Mr. Bechcombe is engaged."
"So am I," said Tony, shaking him heartily by the hand. "Because I want to see him particularly and my time is limited this morning. But I suppose I must wait a bit. Get me in as soon as you can, there's a good old chap!"
Thompson shook his head.
"It won't be any good your waiting this morning, Mr. Anthony. We have orders that no one is to disturb Mr. Bechcombe. It would be as much as my place is worth to knock at the door."
"And how much is your place worth, old boy?" Tony questioned with a laugh, at the same time bringing down his hand with friendly heartiness on the managing clerk's back. "Come, I tell you I must see my uncle--honour bright, it is important."
"It's no use, Mr. Anthony," Thompson said firmly. "You can't see Mr. Bechcombe this morning. And, pardon me, but it may be as well in your own interests that you should wait until later in the day."
Anthony laughed.
"What a quaint old bird you are, Thompson! Well, since my business is important, and I don't want you to lose your berth--wouldn't miss the chance of seeing your old phiz for anything--I shall go round and try what I can make of my uncle at his private door. I'll bet the old sport has some game on that he don't want you to know about, but he may be pleased to see his dear nephew."
"Mr. Anthony--you must not, indeed--I cannot allow--"
Anthony put up his hand.
"Hush--sh! You will know nothing about it! Keep your hair on, Thompson!" With a laughing nod round at the grinning clerks he vanished, pulling the door to behind him with a cheerful bang.
A titter ran round the office. Anthony Collyer with his D.S.O. and his gay, irresponsible manners was somewhat of a hero to the younger clerks.
Amos Thompson looked grave. He knew that Luke Bechcombe had been intensely proud of his nephew's prowess in the War, he guessed that his patience had been sorely tried of late, and he feared that the young man might be doing himself serious harm with his uncle this morning. But he was powerless. There was no holding Tony Collyer back in this mood. Presently Thompson, listening intently, caught the sound of a distant knocking at his chief's door, twice repeated, then there was silence.
He shrugged his shoulders, imagining Mr. Bechcombe's wrath at the intrusion. After a smothered laugh or two the clerks applied themselves to their work again and silence reigned in the office. The managing clerk watched the clock anxiously. He could imagine Mr. Bechcombe's reception of his nephew, but, knowing Tony as he did, he felt surprised that he had not returned to report proceedings. Then just as the office clock was nearing the half-hour a messenger from the Bank arrived. The waiting-room was reserved for clients, so the Bank clerk was shown into a little office that Amos Thompson used sometimes when there was a press of work, and the managing clerk went to him there.
"Is there anything I can do? Mr. Bechcombe is unfortunately engaged until one o'clock."
"No, thank you!" the young man returned. "I was charged most particularly to give my message to no one but Mr. Bechcombe himself. I suppose I must wait till one o'clock if you are sure I cannot see him before."
The managing clerk looked undecided. His eyes wandered from side to side beneath his horn-rimmed spectacles.
"I will see what I can do," he said at last.
He went back to his own desk, selected a couple of papers, put them in his pocket, and went through the outer office. In the lobby he picked up his hat, then after one long backward glance he went towards the outer door.
The time wore on. The first contingent of clerks returned from their luncheon. Their place was taken by a second band. The clock struck half-past one; and still there was no sign of either the principal or his managing clerk. The messenger from the Bank went away, came back, and waited.
At last the senior clerks began to look uncomfortable. John Walls, the second in command, went over to one of his confreres.
"I understood the governor said he was not to be disturbed, until one o'clock, Spencer, but it's a good bit after two now, and Mr. Thompson isn't here either. The waiting-room is full and here's this man from the Bank back again. What are we to do?"
Mr. Spencer rubbed the side of his nose reflectively.
"How would it be to knock at the governor's door, Walls? He couldn't be annoyed after all this time."
John Walls was of the opinion that he couldn't either. Together they made up their minds to beard the lion in his den. They went through the anteroom and knocked gently at Mr. Bechcombe's door. There came no response.
After a moment's pause Mr. Walls applied his knuckles more loudly, again without reply.
He turned to his companion.
"He must have gone out."
The fact seemed obvious, and yet Spencer hesitated.
"You didn't hear anyone moving about when you first knocked?"
"No, I didn't," responded John Walls, staring at him. "Did you?"
"Well, I expect it was just fancy, because why shouldn't the governor answer if he was there? But I did think I heard a slight sound--a sort of stealthy movement just on the other side of the door," Spencer said slowly.
"I don't believe you could hear any movement except a pretty loud one through that door," the other said unbelievingly. "But it is very awkward, Mr. Thompson going out too. I don't know what to do."
"The governor did say something about Mr. Thompson going to the Bank with him," Spencer went on. "I wonder now if Mr. Bechcombe went out by the private door, and Mr. Thompson and he met in the passage and they went off to the Bank together."
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