Sgt Beef - Case Without A Corpse Part 2

Good Lord!

I was pleased to see that I had made an impression at last. Yes. And Sergeant Beef is finding out whom he has murdered. As soon as he's done so, I suppose they'll call on you again.

Yes. Blast them. I suppose they will. Unless by any luck it wasn't in Braxham.

But ...

He was on that motor-bike to-day, remember.

I had not thought of that. The doctor smiled, nodded, and went out.

Seems to know his way about, I remarked to Mr. Simmons.

Yes. He thinks a bit of himself. But he's a fine doctor. He saved young Harold's life last year. Treats everyone the same panel or not. And he always comes when you need him.

Mr. Simmons left me, for it was ten o'clock, and he had to close his doors. Murder or no murder, that was a matter which could not be neglected. If half the inhabitants of Braxham had taken cyanide of pota.s.sium it would have made no difference. Closing hour was the most respected rite in all England. So I reflected somewhat bitterly as I heard his bolts go home.

I was conscious of feeling very tired. The events of the last hour had been startling and gruesome enough to take all the life out of me. I wanted to get to bed, and forget the white face of young Rogers as he had stood in front of us, waiting to make an end of himself before our very eyes. I wanted to get the recollection of that knife out of my brain. I decided that to-morrow I would leave Braxham and return to London, where, if such things happened, one was not made aware of them.

I went into the sitting-room of the inn, where Mrs. Simmons brought my supper. But the sight of the underdone beef was revolting to me, and I could not eat. I lit a cigarette, and waited. I felt that I could not very well go to bed till Sergeant Beef returned. But I did not encourage Mrs. Simmons, a short, trim, respectable person with gla.s.ses, to discuss the matter with me as she cleared away.

At last, about eleven o'clock, there was a knocking on the side-door, and Sergeant Beef was with us.

Most extraordinary thing, he said. No one's missing, that I can hear of. I've telephoned everywhere. Sent round to every house he's known at. Not a sign of nothink. The police all round think I'm barmy, ringing up and arsking for a corpse.

He was out of breath and out of temper.

I don't know, he said. I always supposed a murder case started with a corpse, and then you had to find out 'oo done it. This time we know oo's done it, but we can't find the corpse. Wot d'you say to that?

I think it's early to say anything, Sergeant. The corpse may be out in the woods, or anywhere.

But no one's been missed, grumbled the Sergeant.

Nor was there in the Brighton Trunk Murder, till they found the body, then there were hundreds. You wait till the morning. You'll soon find out whom he killed.

D'you know, returned Sergeant Beef, unexpectedly. This 'ere's too much for me. This 'ere's a case for Scotland Yard. And what's more I'm going to ring 'em up.

CHAPTER III.

I WAS frankly disappointed. I remembered how Sergeant Beef had loftily dismissed the suggestion that he should call in the Yard in the Thurston mystery, and it seemed like pusillanimity on his part now. And it was surely premature. The murder, it appeared, had been committed only a few hours ago, and the fact that his telephone calls had failed to reveal anyone as missing, or to give him information of a discovered corpse, meant nothing at all.

Well, I said, you know your business best, but I really can't understand you giving up already.

Sergeant Beef eyed me somewhat beerily. I 'aven't give up, he said, I don't say I shan't get to the bottom of this, like I 'ave of other myst'ries. Only last week there was a bit of a 'ow-d'ye-do at the Church 'ere. Someone 'ad been after the alms-boxes. I got 'er, though. It turned out to be the woman wot swep' up on Mondays, 'oo 'ad said she'd seen a tall man walking mysterious down the aisle. I got 'er already. And I don't say I shan't get at the truf of this. But I know my duty. When there's feachers in a case wot seems extraordinary, it's my job to inform Scotland Yard. Well? Aren't there 'ere? 'Ave you ever 'eard of a murder where you know 'oo the murderer is and can't find out 'oo 'e's murdered? Corse you 'aven't. I don't believe it's ever 'appened before. And if that's not extraordinary feachers I don't know wot is. So I shall ring 'em up first thing.

But there was one more interruption that night before we could go to bed. While Sergeant Beef was fumbling with the b.u.t.tons of his overcoat there was a knock at the door, not very loud, but distinctly audible in the back room where we stood.

Simmons turned to the Sergeant. He was angry now. I don't see why this house should be turned into a police-station. I want to get to bed.

Can't be 'elped, said Beef lethargically. I didn't choose where 'e was to do 'isself in. Will you go and see 'oo it is, or shall I?

Mr. Simmons left us, and we could hear the sound of the bolts withdrawn.

Is Sergeant Beef here? came an anxious male voice.

Yes, Mr. Rogers. Come inside. Simmons's voice had lost its roughness. Put your umbrella down there. Still raining I see.

Where is the Sergeant? The voice was querulously impatient.

We heard the two men approaching, and I turned to examine old Mr. Rogers. He wasn't really so oldin his late fifties, I judged. He was a small man, with a little straggling and dishevelled grey hair on the sides of his head, and watery weak eyes. His clothes were baggy, and his appearance rather that of a worried, fussy, elderly rabbit. I wondered if he already knew about his nephew, and disliked the thought of his hearing the story now. In spite of my interest in human nature, I always find an emotional climax embarra.s.sing. But with his first words he put my mind at rest on this point.

The constable has been round to tell me. Sergeant, he said.

Yes. We're very sorry about it, Mr. Rogers.

He seemed scarcely to know that Beef had spoken. There was evidently something else on his mind. He looked up at us a minute, then down to the thick green table-cloth. I saw that he was trembling.

My wife . . . he whispered at last.

Beef jumped up. He moved more quickly than I thought possible for him.

Your wife? Not ...

Mr. Rogers shrugged. Then he pulled a telegram from his pocket, and handed it to Sergeant Beef.

This came to-day, he said, I've never known her to do such a thing before. If you knew my wife you would understand that it . . . that I can't believe. ... His eyes dropped again. Sergeant, hesaid suddenly, Do you think it could have anything to do with . . .? He was quite incoherent, yet we could understand well enough what he was suggesting.

Sergeant Beef was still staring at the telegram.

Sent off from he said, naming the London station from which the main line ran to Braxham, at 12.15. Did you know she was going to London?

Oh yes, Sergeant. She went up on a Day Return. I've been down to the station and asked. She took a day return as she always did. She was going to get a little present for . . . His voice broke.

I see. The telegram says Staying night with friends, returning 11.15 a.m. to-morrow. Wot friends would that be?

I've no idea. That's the extraordinary part. We had a few friends in Bromley where we used to live. But we haven't seen them for years. And I've never known her to stay away for a night. And with young Alan home. ...

'E didn't go up with 'er yesterday, I suppose?

He was away all day. He had his motor-bike. I don't know where he was till he came and ...

'E told you wot 'e'd done?

Mr. Rogers nodded. It was about eight o'clock, he said, when he came back. He was muddy up to the eyes. All his motor-biking things was wet and dirty. I could see as soon as he came into the room that there was something wrong. 'Wot is it, Alan?' I asked him. He looked at me stupidly for a minute, then he said, 'Uncle . . . I've committed a murder.'

And you believed him at once?