Ravensdene Court Part 9

It was very evident that the inspector was considerably puzzled, not to say upset, by the disappearance of the tobacco-box, and I fancied that I saw the real reason of his discomfiture. He had poohpoohed Mr.

Cazalette's almost senile eagerness about the thing, treating his request as of no importance; now he suddenly discovered that somebody had conceived a remarkable interest in the tobacco-box and had cleverly annexed it--under his very eyes--and he was angry with himself for his lack of care and perception. I was not indisposed to banter him a little.

"The second of your questions might be easily answered," I said. "The thing has been appropriated because somebody believes, as Mr.

Cazalette evidently does, or did, that there may be a clue in those scratches, or marks, on the inside of the lid. But as to who it was that believed this, and managed to secrete the box--that's a far different matter!"

He was thinking, and presently he nodded his head.

"I can call to mind everybody who sat round that table, where these things were laid out," he remarked, confidently. "There were two or three officials, like myself. There was our surgeon and Dr. Lorrimore.

Two or three of the country gentlemen--all magistrates; all well known to me. And at the foot of the table there were a couple of reporters: I know them, too, well enough. Now, who, out of that lot, would be likely to steal--for that's what it comes to--this tobacco-box? A thing that had scarcely been mentioned--if at all--during the proceedings!"

"Well, I don't know," I remarked. "But you're forgetting one thing, inspector. That's--curiosity!"

He looked at me blankly--clearly, he did not understand. Neither, I saw, did Miss Raven.

"There are some people," I continued, "who have an itching--perhaps a morbid--desire to collect and possess relics, mementoes of crime and criminals. I know a man who has a cabinet filled with such things--very proud of the fact that he owns a flute which once belonged to Charles Pease; a purse that was found on Frank Muller; a reputed riding-whip of d.i.c.k Turpin's and the like. How do you know that one or other of the various men who sat round the table you're talking of hasn't some such mania and appropriated the tobacco-box as a memento of the Ravensdene Court mania?"

"I don't know," he replied. "But I don't think it likely: I know the lot of them, more or less, and I think they've all too much sense."

"All the same, the thing's gone," I remarked. "And you'll excuse me for saying it--you're a bit concerned by its disappearance."

"I am!" he said, frankly. "And I'll tell you why. It's just because no particular attention was drawn to it at the inquest. So far as I remember it was barely mentioned--if it was, it was only as one item, an insignificant one, amongst more important things; the money, the watch and chain, and so on. But--somebody--somebody there!--considered it of so much importance as to appropriate it. Therefore, it is--just what I thought it wasn't--a matter of moment. I ought to have taken more care about it, from the time Mr. Cazalette first drew my attention to those marks inside the lid."

"You're sure that it was on the table at the inquest?" I suggested.

"I'm sure of that," he replied with conviction, "for I distinctly remember laying out the various objects myself. When the inquest was over, I told the man you've just seen to put them all together and to seal the package when he brought it back here. No--that tobacco-box was picked up--stolen--off that table."

"Then there's more in the matter than lies on the surface," said I.

"Evidently," said he. He looked dubiously from Miss Raven to myself.

"I suppose the old gentleman--Mr. Cazalette--is to be--trusted? I mean--you don't think that he's found out anything with his photography, and is keeping it dark?"

"Miss Raven and myself," I replied, "know nothing whatever of Mr.

Cazalette except that he is a famous authority on coins and medals, a very remarkable person for his age, and Mr. Raven's guest. As to his keeping the result of his investigations dark, I should say that no one could do that sort of thing better!"

"Aye, so I guessed," muttered the inspector. "I wish he'd tell us, though, if he has discovered anything. But I suppose he'll take his time?"

"Precisely," said I. "Men like Mr. Cazalette do. Time is regarded by men of his peculiar temperament in somewhat different fas.h.i.+on to the way in which we younger folk regard it--having come a long way along the road of life, they refuse to be hurried. Well--I suppose you'll make some inquiries about that box? By the way, if it's not a professional secret, have you heard any more of the affair at Saltash?"

"They haven't found out another thing," he answered, with a shake of the head. "That's as big a mystery as this!

"What do you think, from your standpoint, of the two affairs?" I asked, more for the delectation of Miss Raven than for my own satisfaction--I knew she was curious about the double mystery. "Have you formed any conclusion?"

"I've thought a great deal about it," he replied. "It seems to me that the two brothers, Salter and Noah Quick, were men who had what's commonly called a past, and that there was some strange secret in it--probably one of money. I think that in their last days they were tracked, shadowed, whatever you like to call it, by some old a.s.sociates of theirs, who murdered them in the expectation of getting hold of something--papers, or what not. And what I would like to know is--why did Salter Quick come down here, to this particular bit of the North Country?"

"He said--to look for the graves of his ancestors on the mother's side, the Netherfields," I answered.

"Aye, well!" remarked the inspector, almost triumphantly. "I know he did--but I've had the most careful inquires made. There isn't such a name in any churchyard of these parts. There isn't such a name in any parish register between Alnmouth Bay and Fenham Flats--and that's a pretty good stretch of country! I set to work on those investigations as soon as you told me about your first meeting with Salter Quick, and every beneficed clergyman and parish clerk in the district--and further afield--has been at work. The name of Netherfield is absolutely unknown--in the past or present."

"And yet," suddenly broke in Miss Raven, "it was not Salter Quick alone who was seeking the graves of the Netherfields! There was another man."

The inspector gave her an appreciative look.

"The most mysterious feature of the whole case!" he exclaimed. "You're right, Miss Raven! There was another man--asking for the same information. Who was he! Where is he? If only I could clap a hand on him----"

"You think you'd be clapping a hand on Salter Quick's murderer?" I said sharply.

To my surprise he gave me an equally sharp look and shook his head.

"I'm not at all sure of that, Mr. Middlebrook," he answered quietly.

"Not at all sure! But I think I could get some information out of him that I should be very glad to secure."

Miss Raven and I rose to leave; the inspector accompanied us to the door of the police-station. And as we were thanking him for his polite attentions, a man came along the street, and paused close by us, looking inquiringly at the building from which we had just emerged and at our companion's smart semi-uniform. Finally, as we were about to turn away, he touched his cap.

"Begging your pardon," he said; "is this here the police office?"

There was a suggestion in the man's tone which made me think that he had come there with a particular object, and I looked at him more attentively. He was a shortish, thick-set man, hound-faced, frank of eye and lip; no beauty, for he had a shock of sandy-red hair and three or four days' stubble on his cheeks and chin; yet his apparent frankness and a certain steadiness of gaze set him up as an honest fellow. His clothing was rough; there were bits of straw, hay, wood about it, as if he were well acquainted with farming life; in his right hand he carried a stout ash-plant stick.

"You are right, my friend," answered the inspector. "It is! What are you wanting?"

The man looked up the steps at his informant with a glance in which there was a decided sense of humour. Something in the situation seemed to amuse him.

"You'll not know me," he replied. "My name's Beeman--James Beeman. I come fro' near York. I'm t' chap 'at were mentioned by one o' t'

witnesses at t' inquest on that strange man 'at were murdered hereabouts. I should ha' called to see you about t' matter before now, but I've n.o.bbut just come back into this part o' t' country; I been away up i' t' Cheviot Hills there."

"Oh?" said the inspector. "And--what mention was made of you?"

James Beeman showed a fine set of teeth in a grin that seemed to stretch completely across his homely face.

"I'm t' chap 'at were spoken of as asking about t' graves o' t'

Netherfield family," he answered. "You know--on t' roadside one night, off a fellow 'at I chanced to meet wi' outside Lesbury. That's who I am!"

The inspector turned to Miss Raven and myself with a look which meant more than he could express in words.

"Talk about coincidence!" he whispered. "This is the very man we'd just mentioned. Come back to my office and hear what he's got to tell.

Follow me," he continued, beckoning the caller. "I'm much obliged to you for coming. Now," he continued, when all four of us were within his room. "What can you tell me about that? What do you know about the grave of the Netherfields?"

Beeman laughed, shaking his round head. Now that his old hat was removed, the fiery hue of his poll was almost alarming in its crudeness of hue.

"Nowt," he said. "Nowt at all! I'll tell you all about it--that's what I've comed here for, hearing as you were wondering who I was and what had come o' me. I come up here--yes, it were on t' sixth o' March--to see about some sheep stock for our maister, Mr. Dimbleby, and I put up for t' first night at a temp'rance i' Alnwick yonder. But of course, temp'rances is all right for sleeping and braikfasting, but nowt for owt else, so when I'd tea'd there, I went down t' street for a comfortable public, where I could smoke my pipe and have a gla.s.s or two. And while I was there, a man come in 'at, from his description i' t' papers, 'ud be this here fellow that were murdered. I didn't talk none to him, but, after a bit, I heard him talking to t'

landlord. And, after a deal o' talk about fis.h.i.+ng hereabouts, I heard him asking t' landlord, as seemed to be a gr't fisherman and knew all t' countryside, if he knew any places, churchyards, where there were Netherfields buried? He talked so much about 'em, 'at 't name got right fixed on my mind. T' next day I had business outside Alnwick, at one or two farms, and that night I made further north, to put up at Embleton. Now then, as I were walking that way, after dark I chanced in wi' a man near Lesbury, and walked wi' him a piece, and I asked him, finding he were a native, if he knew owt o' t' Netherfield graves. And that 'ud be t' man 'at tell'd you 'at he'd met such a person. All right!--I'm t' person.'

"Then you merely asked the question out of curiosity?" suggested the inspector.

"Aye--just 'cause I'd heard t' strange man inquire," a.s.sented Beeman.

"I just wondered if it were some family o' what they call consequence."

"You never saw the man again whom you speak of as having seen at Alnwick?" the inspector asked. "And had no direct conversation with him yourself?"