The Heath Hover Mystery Read online

be he, sur, do you know?" he asked in lowered voice, as he stoodgazing, awed, upon the still features. "'E be a middlin' likely sort ofgent, for sure."

  "I know just as much about him as you do, Joe. As I told you thismorning--I never ask people about themselves, and he didn't tell meanything. No doubt he would have done so this morning, poor chap, but--there he is. Well, get away now and fetch the doctor and the police,and the sooner we get all the bother over and done with the better."

  Mervyn went out, and superintended the harnessing of the pony, and sawhis old retainer start. It would take the latter well over the hour tojog along the hilly road, between Heath Hover and Clancehurst.

  "Straight on and straight back, Joe," was his parting injunction. "Youdon't want to wet your whistle at any pubs this journey you know. Thebusiness is too important. And keep your tongue in your head about it,too. The only people you've got to wag it to are the doctor and theinspector. To any one else might make things unpleasant to you. See?"

  Having, as he thought, effectually frightened his ancient servitor intodiscretion, and duly seen him start, Mervyn went back to the house, butdid not enter. Instead, he took his way up to the sluice and stoodgazing out over the ice-bound pond. There was nothing to be done untilthe representatives of medicine and the law should arrive, and meanwhilehe felt a sort of disinclination to enter the house. But for its ratherthick coating of snow he would have put on his skates and amused himselfupon the said ice, cutting a few figures. Then he remembered he had hadno breakfast, and suddenly felt the want of it.

  Accordingly he descended the path, and entering began to get out therequisite materials. He was accustomed largely to doing for himself, soin a trice he had brewed his tea in the kitchen and got out other thingsneeded. But some of the said other things were in the living-room, leftthere from the night before. He did not care to breakfast there withthe dead man lying on the couch in the same room.

  The latter seemed unusually, supernaturally still. He glanced at thecouch. It was just as he had left it. There was nothing particularlyrepellant in the dead man's aspect. On the whole it was ratherpeaceful--still, he preferred to have his breakfast somewhere else. Andthen, while collecting what he required, his thoughts went again to thething he had deposited within the vase on the mantelpiece.

  This he now extracted. Had there been any one to witness the process,they would have seen that it was effected with extraordinary care. Forinstance, he did not touch the object, he turned it out upon the table,and when he moved it at all it was with a bit of stick which he tookfrom the remains of what had been used to make the fire with. Yet itwas a harmless looking thing enough--a small, shining disk not more thanan inch and a half in diameter, and it had five points like those of astar.

  What an extraordinary thing was that which had happened, he said tohimself. The omen of the door handle and the open door; andinvoluntarily now he glanced at the latter. But it was fast shut, andthe handle at its usual angle. It had been the means of saving thestranger's life--for what a very short time, as events had proved--andhe remembered how he had marvelled that contrary to all report themanifestation had been effected in bringing any _good_ to anybody. Wellthe "good" had not been effectual enough to last, so that far thegrimness of the tradition did not belie itself. It was indeedextraordinary, and here in the broad daylight he could afford tocontemplate it from a purely speculative point of view. Yet as helooked more and more at the little disk a good deal of an uneasyfascination was upon him, and well it might be--none knew this betterthan himself.

  Then he did a strange thing. He went out of the room, returningimmediately wearing a thick pair of fur-lined gloves. He took up thetrinket, even then holding it gingerly. He looked round for somethingto wrap it in, then thought better of it. He rose, and carried thething out, holding it behind him, and ascended again to the sluice.There was a small hole in the ice, where the overflow ran out over aniron door. That would do. No, it would not. He paused--just in time,as he realised he had been on the point of making a most fatal mistake.

  He looked around, not furtively, not pointedly, just casually. Not asoul was in sight, but he knew, none better, that it does not followthat because you cannot see a soul therefore not a soul can see you. Acloud of blue titmice was twittering in a leafless alder, glancing fromtwig to twig. Overhead a little red kestrel was hovering against thecloudless blue of the dazzling winter sky, and two squirrels gambolledand chirked among the feathering boughs of a dark yew tree which stillhad a few berries left. Blackbirds clucked and flickered over the icesurface. All Nature was joyous and at peace this bracing, invigoratingwinter morning, and within the room down yonder the dead man lay.

  Mervyn turned to regain the house. The little black kitten, its bushytail erect, came bounding up the path stairway to meet him, but he didnot take it up, as it rubbed against his legs, purring a greeting.

  Halfway down the earth stairway a large stone lay, partly embedded inthe soil. Mervyn bent down as though to tie up his bootlace. When herose again that stone was the custodian of something. It was thetombstone of the strange small disk he had held in his hand.

  Mervyn went into the kitchen, where he had left his breakfast all ready;and then he did another strange thing. He took off the big fur gloveshe had been wearing, and put both well to the back of the red, roaring,kitchen fire. In an instant they were absorbed in the furnace-likeheat. Then he sat down to his breakfast, but, in view of theproceedings just detailed he thought he could in a degree estimate thesensations of a murderer, who has carefully and effectually--as hethinks--disposed of every item of evidence.

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  THE ENQUIRY.

  About lunch-time a smart dogcart came bowling along the snow coveredroad, and from it descended the doctor and the police inspector,likewise a constable: old Joe, with his slower conveyance, had been leftto follow on. Dr Sandys was a good representative of the prosperousG.P. in practice in a prosperous market town; genial, hearty, andprepared to be surprised at nothing which came in his wayprofessionally. The inspector likewise was a good type of his kind;tall, alert, rather soldierly in countenance and bearing.

  "Well, Mr Mervyn, this is a strange sort of happening, isn't it?" beganthe former. "However, the first thing to do is to get to work."

  "Will you look at the--er--the body first, or the locality?" saidMervyn.

  "The locality?"

  "Yes. I mean where I first picked him up. I suppose Joe told you allabout it, didn't he?"

  "Yes, he told us all about it--after a fashion," said the inspector witha slight smile. "But I needn't remind you Mr Mervyn, what sort of a`telling all about it,' one would be likely to get from a man of oldJoe's stamp. So the first thing to do is for you to give us youraccount of what happened," and the speaker's hand instinctively divedfor his notebook.

  "I rather think I had better inspect the `subject' the first thing,Nashby," struck in the doctor.

  "Of course. This way."

  Mervyn showed them into the room and raised the blinds, which he hadlowered again after the first discovery. The constable was left incharge of the dogcart. The doctor bent over the dead man and proceededto make his first examination. The bystanders could not but notice thathe looked more than a little puzzled.

  "We shall have to strip him," he said, looking up. This was done, thepolice inspector giving his aid. Mervyn stood and looked on.

  The body was that of a well-knit, well-proportioned man, probably on theright side of forty.

  "No sign of injury, none whatever," pronounced the doctor, "and hisheart is as sound as a bell. Here is something, but it seems of noimportance. At one time or other, he was addicted to the drug habit,"pointing to the left arm, which he had raised. "But--not lately."

  "Not lately?" echoed the inspector, whose notebook was in full swing."Now to be precise, doctor, up to how lately should you say?"

  "It's impossible to be precise," was the answer, "if by that you meanexactl
y how many years ago he discontinued the habit--and from allappearances he needn't have been very greatly addicted to it even then.Certainly not less than five or six years ago, possibly longer; indeed,I should say longer."

  The inspector nodded, and for a minute or two his stylo was very busyindeed. The puzzled frown on the surgeon's face grew deeper and deeper,and well it might. Here was a strong, well-built, healthy man in theprime of life, dying in his sleep, and no sign whatever to guide Sciencetowards the discovery of the cause.

  "We shall have to make an exhaustive postmortem," said the doctor atlast, covering the dead man again, "and to this end I must take stepsfor having the body removed to Clancehurst, for I propose to call infirst-rate expert assistance."

  "Very good, sir,"