THE CRIME AT TATTENHAM CORNER (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes

      Chapter I

       Table of Contents

      The big clock outside struck 7.30. Early as it was, Inspector Stoddart was already in his room at Scotland Yard.

      He looked up impatiently as his most trusted subordinate, Alfred Harbord, entered after a sharp preliminary tap.

      "Yes, sir. You sent for me?"

      The inspector nodded. "You are detailed for special duty at once. We are starting in the runabout immediately, so if you want to send a message—" He nodded at the telephone.

      Harbord grinned. "My people are pretty well used to my irregular habits, thank you, sir."

      The inspector rose. "The sooner we are off the better, then." He handed Harbord a typewritten paper. "Wired up," he said laconically, "from the Downs."

      Mysterious death at an early hour this morning. Some platelayers on their way to work in the cutting beyond Hughlin's Wood, not far from Tattenham Corner, found the body of a man of middle age in a ditch. He is evidently of the better class and supposed to be a stranger in the district. The body lay face downwards in a foot of water at the bottom of the ditch or dyke. Up to the present it has not been identified. But a card was found in the pocket with the name of—

      The corner of the paper had been torn off, evidently on purpose. Harbord read it over.

      "Hughlin's Wood," he repeated. "I seem to know the name. But I can't think where the place is."

      "Not a great many miles from Epsom," the inspector said, as he locked his desk and dropped the keys into his pocket. "Centuries ago, Hughlin's Wood used to stretch all round and over that part of the Downs, but it has dwindled to a few trees near Hughlin's village. These trees go by the name of Hughlin's Wood still. I can tell you the rest as we go along."

      Harbord followed him in silence to the little two-seater in which the inspector was wont to dash about the country. He was an expert driver, but it needed all his attention to steer his car among the whirl of traffic over Westminster Bridge, passing Waterloo and Lambeth.

      The inspector glanced at "The Horns" as they glided by it. "We will lunch there on the way back, Harbord."

      He put on speed as they got on the Brixton Road and, passing Kennington Church, tore along through Streatham and Sydenham, and across country until they could feel the fresh air of the Downs in their faces. Then the inspector slackened speed and for the first time looked at his companion.

      "What do you make of it?"

      "What can I make of it?" Harbord fenced. "Except that you would not be going down unless there was more in the summons than meets the eye."

      Stoddart nodded.

      "The body was found face downwards in the stagnant water of a ditch, but the cause of death was a bullet wound in the head. The man had been thrown into the ditch almost immediately after death. In the pocket have been found a card and a couple of envelopes bearing the name of a man high in the financial world. The markings on the linen, etc., correspond. I know this man fairly well by sight. Therefore I am going down to see whether I can identify the remains. See those Downs—"

      Harbord looked where he pointed at the vast, billowy expanse around them, then he looked back inquiringly.

      "Yes, sir."

      Stoddart waved his hand to the north side. "Over there lie Matt Harker's stables. He has turned out more winners of the classics than any other trainer.