The Sittaford Mystery Read online

  “She seemed anxious to—well—to see something of the Captain?”

  Narracott was wondering. Was that the reason for the taking of the house? Was it only a prelude to the making of Captain Trevelyan’s acquaintance? Was that the real game? It would probably not have occurred to her that the Captain would have gone as far as Exhampton to live. She might have calculated on his moving into one of the small bungalows, perhaps sharing Major Burnaby’s.

  Evans’s answer was not very helpful.

  “She’s a very hospitable lady, by all accounts. Someone in to lunch or dinner every day.”

  Narracott nodded. He could learn no more here. But he determined to seek an interview with this Mrs. Willett at an early date. Her abrupt arrival needed looking into.

  “Come on, Pollock, we’ll go upstairs now,” he said.

  They left Evans in the dining room and proceeded to the upper story.

  “All right, do you think?” asked the Sergeant in a low voice, jerking his head over his shoulder in the direction of the closed dining room door.

  “He seems so,” said the Inspector. “But one never knows. He’s no fool, that fellow, whatever else he is.”

  “No, he’s an intelligent sort of chap.”

  “His story seems straightforward enough,” went on the Inspector. “Perfectly clear and aboveboard. Still, as I say, one never knows.”

  And with this pronouncement, very typical of his careful and suspicious mind, the Inspector proceeded to search the rooms on the first floor.

  There were three bedrooms and a bathroom. Two of the bedrooms were empty and had clearly not been entered for some weeks. The third, Captain Trevelyan’s own room, was in exquisite and apple-pie order. Inspector Narracott moved about in it, opening drawers and cupboards. Everything was in its right place. It was the room of a man almost fanatically tidy and neat in his habits. Narracott finished his inspection and glanced into the adjoining bathroom. Here, too, everything was in order. He gave a last glance at the bed, neatly turned down, with folded pyjamas laid ready.

  Then he shook his head.

  “Nothing here,” he said.

  “No, everything seems in perfect order.”

  “There are the papers in the desk in the study. You had better go through those, Pollock. I’ll tell Evans that he can go. I may call round and see him at his own place later.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “The body can be removed. I shall want to see Warren, by the way. He lives near here, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This side of the Three Crowns or the other?”

  “The other, sir.”

  “Then I’ll take the Three Crowns first. Carry on, Sergeant.”

  Pollock went to the dining room to dismiss Evans. The Inspector passed out of the front door and walked rapidly in the direction of the Three Crowns.

  Six

  AT THE THREE CROWNS

  Inspector Narracott was not destined to see Major Burnaby until he had had a protracted interview with Mrs. Belling—licensed proprietor of the Three Crowns. Mrs. Belling was fat and excitable, and so voluble that there was nothing to be done but to listen patiently until such time as the stream of conversation should dry up.

  “And such a night as never was,” she ended up. “And little did any of us think what was happening to the poor dear gentleman. Those nasty tramps—if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a dozen times, I can’t abear those nasty tramps. Do anybody in they would. The Captain had not so much as a dog to protect him. Can’t abear a dog, tramps can’t. Ah, well, you never know what is happening within a stone’s throw.

  “Yes, Mr. Narracott,” she proceeded in answer to his question, “the Major is having his breakfast now. You will find him in the coffee room. And what kind of a night he has passed with no pyjamas or anything, and me a widow woman with nothing to lend him, I can’t say, I am sure. Said it made no matter he did—all upset and queer he was—and no wonder with his best friend murdered. Very nice gentlemen the two of them, though the Captain had the reputation of being close with his money. Ah, well, well, I have always thought it dangerous to live up to Sittaford, miles away from anywhere, and here’s the Captain struck down in Exhampton itself. It’s always what you don’t expect in this life that happens, isn’t it, Mr. Narracott?”

  The Inspector said that undoubtedly it was. Then he added:

  “Who did you have staying here yesterday, Mrs. Belling? Any strangers?”

  “Now let me see. There was Mr. Moresby and Mr. Jones—commercial gentlemen they are, and there was a young gentleman from London. Nobody else. It stands to reason there wouldn’t be this time of year. Very quiet here in the winter. Oh, and there was another young gentleman—arrived by the last train. Nosey young fellow I call him. He isn’t up yet.”

  “The last train?” said the Inspector. “That gets in at ten o’clock, eh? I don’t think we need trouble ourselves about him. What about the other—the one from London? Did you know him?”

  “Never seen him before in my life. Not a commercial gentleman, oh, no—a cut above that. I can’t remember his name for the moment—but you’ll find it in the register. Left on the first train to Exeter this morning, he did. Six ten. Rather curious. What did he want down here anyway, that’s what I’d like to know.”

  “He didn’t mention his business?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Did he go out at all?”

  “Arrived at lunchtime, went out about half past four and came in about twenty past six.”

  “Where did he go when he went out?”

  “I haven’t the remotest idea, sir. May have been just for a stroll like. That was before the snow came, but it wasn’t what you might call a pleasant day for walking.”

  “Went out at half past four and returned about twenty past six,” said the Inspector thoughtfully. “That’s rather odd. He didn’t mention Captain Trevelyan?”

  Mrs. Belling shook her head decisively.

  “No, Mr. Narracott, he didn’t mention anybody at all. Kept himself to himself he did. A nice looking young fellow—but worried, I should say.”

  The Inspector nodded and stepped across to inspect the register.

  “James Pearson, London,” said the Inspector. “Well—that doesn’t tell us much. We’ll have to make a few inquiries about Mr. James Pearson.”

  Then he strode off to the coffee room in search of Major Burnaby.

  The Major was the only occupant of the room. He was drinking some rather muddy-looking coffee and The Times was propped up in front of him.

  “Major Burnaby?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “I am Inspector Narracott from Exeter.”

  “Good morning, Inspector. Any forrarder?”

  “Yes, sir. I think we are a little forrarder. I think I can safely say that.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said the Major drily. His attitude was one of resigned disbelief.

  “Now there are just one or two points I would like some information on, Major Burnaby,” said the Inspector, “and I think you can probably tell me what I want to know.”

  “Do what I can,” said Burnaby.

  “Had Captain Trevelyan any enemies to your knowledge?”

  “Not an enemy in the world.” Burnaby was decisive.

  “This man, Evans—do you yourself consider him trustworthy?”

  “Should think so. Trevelyan trusted him, I know.”

  “There was no ill feeling about this marriage of his?”

  “Not ill feeling, no. Trevelyan was annoyed—didn’t like his habits upset. Old bachelor, you know.”

  “Talking of bachelors, that’s another point. Captain Trevelyan was unmarried—do you know if he made a will? And in the event of there being no will, have you any idea who would inherit his estate?”

  “Trevelyan made a will,” said Burnaby promptly.

  “Ah—you know that.”

  “Yes. Made me executor. Told me so.”

 
“Do you know how he left his money?”

  “That I can’t say.”

  “I understand he was very comfortably off?”

  “Trevelyan was a rich man,” replied Burnaby. “I should say he was much better off than anyone around here suspected.”

  “What relations had he—do you know?”

  “He’d a sister and some nephews and nieces, I believe. Never saw much of any of them, but there was no quarrel.”

  “About this will, do you know where he kept it?”

  “It’s at Walters & Kirkwood—the solicitors here in Exhampton. They drew it up for him.”

  “Then perhaps, Major Burnaby, as you are executor, I wonder if you would come round to Walters & Kirkwood with me now. I should like to have an idea of the contents of that will as soon as possible.”

  Burnaby looked up alertly.

  “What’s in the wind?” he said. “What’s the will got to do with it?”

  Inspector Narracott was not disposed to show his hand too soon.

  “The case isn’t such plain sailing as we thought,” he said. “By the way, there’s another question I want to ask you. I understand, Major Burnaby, that you asked Dr. Warren whether death had occurred at five and twenty minutes past five?”

  “Well,” said the Major gruffly.

  “What made you select that exact time, Major?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” said Burnaby.

  “Well—something must have put it into your head.”

  There was quite a pause before Major Burnaby replied. Inspector Narracott’s interest was aroused. The Major had something he quite patently wished to conceal. To watch him doing so was almost ludicrous.

  “Why shouldn’t I say twenty-five past five?” he demanded truculently, “or twenty-five to six—or twenty past four, for that matter?”

  “Quite so, sir,” said Inspector Narracott soothingly.

  He did not wish to antagonize the Major just at this moment. He promised himself that he would get to the bottom of the matter before the day was out.

  “There’s one thing that strikes me as curious, sir,” he went on.

  “Yes?”

  “This business of the letting of Sittaford House. I don’t know what you think about it, but it seems to me a curious thing to have happened.”

  “If you ask me,” said Burnaby, “it’s damned odd.”

  “That’s your opinion?”

  “It’s everyone’s opinion.”

  “In Sittaford?”

  “In Sittaford and Exhampton too. The woman must be mad.”

  “Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for tastes,” said the Inspector.

  “Damned odd taste for a woman of that kind.”

  “You know the lady?”

  “I know her. Why, I was at her house when—”

  “When what?” asked Narracott as the Major came to an abrupt halt.

  “Nothing,” said Burnaby.

  Inspector Narracott looked at him keenly. There was something here he would have liked to get at. The Major’s obvious confusion and embarrassment did not escape him. He had been on the point of saying—what?

  “All in good time,” said Narracott to himself. “Now isn’t the moment to rub him up the wrong way.”

  Aloud he said innocently:

  “You were at Sittaford House, you say, sir. The lady has been there now—about how long?”

  “A couple of months.”

  The Major was eager to escape the result of his imprudent words. It made him more loquacious than usual.

  “A widow lady with her daughter?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Does she give any reason for her choice of residence?”

  “Well—” the Major rubbed his nose dubiously. “She talks a lot, she’s that kind of woman—beauties of nature—out of the world—that sort of thing. But—”

  He paused rather helplessly. Inspector Narracott came to his rescue.

  “It didn’t strike you as natural on her part?”

  “Well, it’s like this. She’s a fashionable sort of woman. Dressed up to the nines—daughter’s a smart, pretty girl. Natural thing would be for them to be staying at the Ritz or Claridge’s, or some other big hotel somewhere. You know the sort.”

  Narracott nodded.

  “They don’t keep themselves to themselves, do they?” he asked. “You don’t think they are—well—hiding?”

  Major Burnaby shook his head positively.

  “Oh! no, nothing of that kind. They’re very sociable—a bit too sociable. I mean, in a little place like Sittaford, you can’t have previous engagements, and when invitations are showered on you it’s a bit awkward. They’re exceedingly kind, hospitable people, but a bit too hospitable for English ideas.”

  “The Colonial touch,” said the Inspector.

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “You’ve no reason to think they were previously acquainted with Captain Trevelyan?”

  “Sure they weren’t.”

  “You seem very positive?”

  “Joe would have told me.”

  “And you don’t think their motive could have been—well—to scrape acquaintance with the Captain?”

  This was clearly a new idea to the Major. He pondered over it for some minutes.

  “Well, I never thought of that. They were very gushing to him, certainly. Not that they got any change out of Joe. But no, I think it was just their usual manner. Over friendly, you know, like Colonials are,” added the super-insular soldier.

  “I see. Now, as to the house itself. Captain Trevelyan built that, I understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And nobody else has ever lived in it? I mean, it’s not been let before?”

  “Never.”

  “Then it doesn’t seem as though it could be anything in the house itself that was the attraction. It’s a puzzle. Ten to one it’s got nothing to do with the case, but it just struck me as an odd coincidence. This house that Captain Trevelyan took, Hazelmoor, whose property was that?”

  “Miss Larpent’s. Middle-aged woman, she’s gone to a boarding house at Cheltenham for the winter. Does every year. Usually shuts the house up, but lets it if she can, which isn’t often.”

  There seemed nothing promising there. The Inspector shook his head in a discouraged fashion.

  “Williamsons were the agents, I understand?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Their office is in Exhampton?”

  “Next door to Walters & Kirkwood.”

  “Ah! then, perhaps, if you don’t mind, Major, we might just drop in on our way.”

  “Not at all. You won’t find Kirkwood at his office before ten anyway. You know what lawyers are.”

  “Then, shall we go?”

  The Major, who had finished his breakfast some time ago, nodded assent and rose.

  Seven

  THE WILL

  An alert-looking young man rose to receive them in the office of Messrs. Williamson.

  “Good morning, Major Burnaby.”

  “Morning.”

  “Terrible business, this,” said the young man chattily. “Not been such a thing in Exhampton for years.”

  He spoke with gusto and the Major winced.

  “This is Inspector Narracott,” he said.

  “Oh! yes,” said the young man pleasurably excited.

  “I want some information that I think you can give me,” said the Inspector. “I understand that you put through this let of Sittaford House.”

  “To Mrs. Willett? Yes, we did.”

  “Can you give me full details, please, of how that came about. Did the lady apply personally, or by letter?”

  “By letter. She wrote, let me see—” He opened a drawer and turned up a file. “Yes, from the Carlton Hotel, London.”

  “Did she mention Sittaford House by name?”

  “No, she merely said she wanted to rent a house for the winter, it must be right on Dartmoor and have at least eight bedrooms. Being
near a railway station or town was of no consequence.”

  “Was Sittaford House on your books?”

  “No, it was not. But as a matter of fact it was the only house in the neighbourhood that at all fulfilled the requirements. The lady mentioned in her letter that she would be willing to go to twelve guineas, and in these circumstances I thought it worthwhile writing to Captain Trevelyan and asking whether he would consider letting. He replied in the affirmative, and we fixed the thing up.”

  “Without Mrs. Willett seeing the house?”

  “She agreed to take it without seeing it, and signed the agreement. Then she came down here one day, drove up to Sittaford, saw Captain Trevelyan, arranged with him about plate and linen, etc., and saw over the house.”

  “She was quite satisfied?”

  “She came in and said she was delighted with it.”

  “And what did you think?” asked Inspector Narracott, eyeing him keenly.

  The young man shrugged his shoulders.

  “You learn never to be surprised at anything in the house business,” he said.

  On this note of philosophy they left, the Inspector thanking the young man for his help.

  “Not at all, a pleasure, I’m sure.”

  He accompanied them politely to the door.

  The offices of Messrs. Walters and Kirkwood were, as Major Burnaby had said, next door to the estate agents. On reaching there, they were told that Mr. Kirkwood had just arrived and they were shown into his room.

  Mr. Kirkwood was an elderly man with a benign expression. He was a native of Exhampton and had succeeded his father and grandfather in the firm.

  He rose, put on his mourning face, and shook hands with the Major.

  “Good morning, Major Burnaby,” he said. “This is a very shocking affair. Very shocking indeed. Poor Trevelyan.”

  He looked inquiringly at Narracott and Major Burnaby explained his presence in a few succinct words.

  “You are in charge of the case, Inspector Narracott?”

  “Yes, Mr. Kirkwood. In pursuance of my investigations, I have come to ask you for certain information.”