Sgt Beef - Case Without A Corpse Part 17

It was, of course, too early to form a theory about the actual crime, and there were too many questions unanswered. If, for instance, young Rogers had indeed killed the girl, as it would seem reasonable to suppose, when had he done it? Not, as we had half-imagined, on the Common that afternoon, for she had been seen sitting on the back of his motor-bike at ten to six near the station. And how or where could he have done it after that? If she had not gone on the six o'clock train, where had she been during the twenty minutes or more that he spent in the Dragon, from 6.10 onwards? Or again, supposing that he had killed the girl, why had the Fairfaxes disappeared? And the foreigner?

Imagining the girl out of it, and picking Fairfax as the person murdered, when could Rogers have done that? Had he taken the man out on the back of his motor-bike, and during that short time between starting up his motorbike at Riverside and arriving at Rose Cottage, murdered him and disposed of the corpse? Almost impossible. Had Fairfax remained away from Riverside all the afternoon and been murdered by Rogers after the latter had seen Smythe on her train at six o'clock? If so, where? How? And, above all, why?

As for the foreigner, it was too obscure. We had no hint even of his nationality, certainly not of his reason for being in Braxham. But suppose young Rogers had killed him, afternoon or evening, who was it that I saw standing across the road when Beef and Simmons were carrying the corpse? Who had visited the corpse that night, and why?

It was all very well for Stute to talk about his system and his time-table, let him answer a few of these questions. Why, good heavens, we were as much in the dark as ever. We didn't even know young Rogers's real name.

CHAPTER XIII.

DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR STUTE scarcely said good morning, when I reached the station next day, before he referred with some irritation to Beef.

Not here yet! he said. The man has no sense of time. He gave me a rather grim smile. You've spoiled him, you know, writing up the bit of luck he had in that Thurston case. The poor chap thinks he's a detective.

I don't think he's ever thought that, I returned.

Just then Beef entered, looking somewhat dazed and irritable, as he is apt to do in the early morning.

Well, Sergeant, said Stute, I've done half a day's work. I've given instructions in London that every effort shall be made to find the girl Smythe's address or to trace her story before this happened. If she is what we suppose it shouldn't be hard to find out where her room was, though whether she's still alive or not remains to be seen.

His brisk voice went on, as he turned over the papers before him.

I've also arranged for the Common to be searched, at any rate for two hundred yards each side of the road to begin with. They will form search parties out there. Fortunately the hunting instinct is still strong enough in human beings to make the formation of a search party an easy matter.

Stute paused and lit a cigarette.

Thenare you listening, Sergeant?I have sent for the postman who delivers in the High Street to come here as soon as he's finished his round.

Wotever d'you want 'im for? These were the first words Beef had spoken.

I want to see whether any other letters were delivered to young Rogers of which his aunt and uncle knew nothing. An ordinary routine enquiry, Beef. The sort of enquiry you ought to have made already. I wish you could realize that a case like this is not cleared up by some miraculous flash of insight or deduction, but by a steady acc.u.mulation of the facts.

Yessir, said Beef.

Then, since I gather you had forgotten the matter, I have given orders for the searching of the interior of that warehouse beside the Dragon.

Oh yes. I get you, said Beef, sucking his moustache.

And finally, I had a look at the motor-bike. I understand that you have allowed it to remain at old Rogers's. I had it brought round. It should have been brought here at once.

Why? There was nothink to see. I 'ad a look at it.

That is for me to judge, Sergeant. And now, will you kindly attend while I tell you what reports have come in this morning? Thank you. The Research Department tell us that the stains on the cuff of the s.h.i.+rt and the sleeve of the coat are actually the stains of human blood. The bottle from which young Rogers drank contained cyanide of pota.s.sium. And the Fairfax couple have not yet been traced.

Well, we knew about the stains and the bottle, said Beef, so we aren't much forrader.

Wait a minute, said Stute. I have a report here from a man who examined the only one of young Rogers's fellow stewards who had anything revelant to say.

Beef looked up. This seemed to interest him.

Only one little point emerges, said Stute, and it's this. Young Rogers was apparently in the habit of bringing home a number of tickets for the Buenos Aires Lottery. He had them in a sealed envelope, and told this steward that he was always a bit afraid they would be found on him by the Customs officers.

'S' that all?

Yes. Our man tried hard to get anything further there might be, but Rogers had never told him what he did with the tickets in England.

Well, that's worth knowing, anyway, said Beef.

Everything connected with the case is worth knowing, said Stute. It is by co-ordinating all these pieces of information that we shall arrive at the truth.

There was a knock at the door, and Constable Galsworthy came in. There was an air of respectful independence about this big, finely-built countryman, with the ruddy young face and rather intelligent eyes, which made me inclined to support his claim for consideration as an efficient policeman, as against that of Constable Smith of Chopley, who had been almost ingratiating towards Stute.

Fawcett, the postman, is here, sir, he said to Stute.

Show him in, said the detective.

Fawcett looked a little embarra.s.sed as he took a chair. His encounters with Beef were usually less formal.

I want you, Fawcett, to think carefully. Can you remember what letters you have delivered for young Rogers lately?

Fawcett thought carefully. There was one, he said at last.

When did it arrive?

I can't say exactly. A day or so before he got home.

You didn't notice the postmark?

No. I didn't. If I had to notice every postmark on the letters I deliverwell.

Nor the handwriting?

No.

And you can't remember any others lately?

No.

None from abroad?

This query caused Fawcett to think carefully again.

There was one from abroad, he said at last, but I don't think it was for him. It was for Mr. Rogers.

When did that arrive?

Before the other one. I should say about a week before. I remember that because it was one of those thin envelopes what they use for air mail.