The Monk of Hambleton Part 25

"Murdered," he said; it was not a question.

"The doctor says the blow could not have been self-inflicted." She touched the starter and turned the car homeward. "Yes--murdered."

"That is terrible, Miss Copley. I feel deeply shocked. Has the murderer been identified?"

"I can't say positively. He was found about six o'clock this morning by the cook, and you can imagine that we have been simply inundated with police and officials ever since. They've been doing a lot of whispering and conferring and I think they _do_ suspect some one, but of course they haven't confided in me."

"Excuse me, Miss Copley--just who are you? I gather you are a member of the Varr household."

"He was my brother-in-law. He married my sister. I've been visiting them about two months."

"I see. Thank you. Now--what about Krech and the police?"

"Well, they notified Jason Bolt--he was Simon's partner--and he came right over, bringing Mr. Krech, who is staying with him. There was a lot of talk about a mysterious monk--I know something about him, too!--and just when it was time to go to the train, Mr. Norvallis was questioning your friend in the living-room. So I slipped away and came to your rescue. It's as well I did--there are no taxis in Hambleton!"

"It was very good of you to remember me, with so much else to think about. You--er--how did you know I was expected?"

"Mr. Varr told us yesterday that Mr. Krech was sending for you."

"'Us'?" He turned to look at her while she answered. "How many people knew that I was coming, do you suppose?"

"Oh--several, anyway! Why?"

"I'm wondering if the news could have reached the ears of the murderer," he explained. "Some one was persecuting Mr. Varr, we know that. If he suddenly learned that a detective was coming--you see?"

"He might have thought it better to--to strike while the striking was good? Yes, I see." She took her eyes from the road long enough to give him a quick look. "You think of things very quickly, Mr.

Creighton!"

"Practice makes perfect," he murmured. "Who is Norvallis?"

"a.s.sistant County Attorney, or something like that. Murders are rather too complicated to be handled by the local police, evidently."

"Yes, the County takes hold usually--sometimes the State, if the County can't make the grade. You spoke of a doctor--was that the County Physician? Has the body been moved yet?"

"Yes--thank goodness! I wasn't a great admirer of Simon's, but it wasn't nice to think of him lying out there in a tomato-patch!

However, I suppose you're disappointed."

"Why? Oh, I see! You're a.s.suming that I might be interested in the investigation. That doesn't seem likely. I came here on some matter of burglary--and quite possibly that has ceased to be of importance now. I must talk to Norvallis, though."

"If you investigate the robbery, you will be investigating the murder,"

said Miss Ocky quietly. "When Simon's notebook was stolen, his desk was forced open by a Persian dagger, belonging to me, that happened to be lying handy. That was missing with the notebook--and it was found again this morning in--in Simon!"

"Golly!" Creighton looked at her with renewed interest. "Not pleasant for you, that!"

"It seems to link the two crimes, doesn't it?"

"Decidedly. Here we are, I see."

A small crowd of curiosity-seekers was gathered at the gate which gave access to the driveway from the highroad, and a policeman in uniform was chatting with them amiably while barring their closer approach. He saluted as Miss Ocky waved her hand to him and vigorously honked her way through the staring crowd.

"I'll drop this bag in the hall for the time being," said the detective as they mounted the piazza steps and entered the house. "Will you put me deeper in debt to you by finding Mr. Krech for me?"

She said she would, and departed on the errand while he lingered in the hall. The sight of no less than twelve automobiles of various sizes and sorts parked in front of the house had prepared him for a mob inside. A hum of voices reached him from a room on his left, the door of which was discreetly closed, and another hum came from one on the right, which he could see was a dining-room. Farther back in the hall, three solid-looking gentlemen had their gray heads together in a serious confab. For some reason they appeared to regard his entrance with considerable interest, and seemed to be discussing him while he waited. He put it down to the fact that he was a stranger where it was the custom for every one to know every one else. Then Herman Krech came out of some room in the rear and swept down upon him, accompanied by a short, stout, worried-looking individual.

"h.e.l.lo, Creighton. This is Mr. Bolt, Mr. Varr's partner."

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Bolt." Creighton barely acknowledged the introduction as he searched his friend's face. "Krech, how did this happen? I wouldn't have had it--"

"I know." The big man broke in quickly, earnestly. "I know what you are thinking. Forget it! It isn't your fault, nor mine. I warned him yesterday morning on my own account, and again in the afternoon after I had talked with you. He simply disregarded it."

"A pity!" muttered the detective. His face had cleared somewhat at Krech's statement. "Thank goodness, I haven't got that negligence on my conscience! It has been worrying me ever since I heard the news.

So he wouldn't listen to you?"

"Nary a bit. Let's go out on the piazza. There's a place around the corner that this merry throng hasn't discovered."

He led the way with his easy self-a.s.surance and they followed at his heels. He was right about the privacy of the retreat to which he took them; a few men were standing around the front piazza, but no one had turned the corner.

"I'm glad to have a chance to speak to you, Mr. Bolt," said the detective when they had found seats. "This is a shockingly different state of affairs than I expected to find. What of the burglary that Mr. Varr had on his mind? Has that any importance now apart from its obvious connection with the crime?"

"Yes, indeed, great importance for me and a number of other people who may suffer from the theft of Simon's notebook." Jason looked ten years older than when he had risen that morning. "If that has gone it will be a serious blow to our tanning business--and a gold-mine to any compet.i.tor who might get his hands on it and not be honest enough to return it."

"Um. Secret formulas--that sort of thing?"

"Exactly. On my own behalf, and out of respect for my partner's wishes--his last wish, practically,--I would be very glad to have you take a hand in the affair and see if you can locate that notebook."

"The theft and the murder are linked by the dagger. If the police have their eye on the murderer, the notebook should be recovered when he is arrested."

"That's only a possibility, Mr. Creighton--and--oh, frankly, I want you to take the case anyway! Mr. Krech and I must try to tell you the whole story as we heard it from Simon yesterday. He was the victim of an unknown enemy. Threats--robbery--arson--murder! I won't be satisfied until that scoundrel is well and truly--_hanged_! As for the police--well, I think better of them than Simon, perhaps, but I'd still be glad of another string to my bow. It's proper for me to employ extra a.s.sistance if I wish, isn't it?"

"Perfectly. I quite understand how you feel--and I will be glad to do what I can. The family won't object, I suppose?"

"Not a sc.r.a.p," said a woman's voice behind him. They started to their feet at the sight of Miss Ocky, who had come upon them unawares. "I can answer for the family. Please sit down again. I'll take this sofa--unless you're talking secrets," she added, with a faint smile for Herman Krech. "I tried to stay quiet in my room upstairs, but--nerves!" She lifted her shoulders and looked apologetic.

They a.s.sured her they had no secrets from her. She sat down and listened attentively as Jason Bolt, at Creighton's request, gave a careful account of the events preceding Varr's death as he had heard them from his partner, appealing to Krech from time to time for corroboration. His voice shook with emotion as he described his horror that morning when the news of Simon's fate was brought to him.

"A rotten business," he ended huskily.

Miss Ocky eased the tension by suddenly producing her cigarette case and pa.s.sing it around; Creighton accepted one and lighted it, a thought surprised at this touch of outer-worldliness in a demure, middle-aged, country lady. It might be, he mused, that she called herself not an old maid, but a bachelor girl. He liked her, though; liked the bright eyes that lost nothing that pa.s.sed, the alert brain that missed no trick, the strength of character revealed in the finely-modeled mouth and chin that were still invested with feminine charm.

"Let's tackle this business at once," he suggested. "Sooner the better. In a murder, look for the motive. Miss Copley--Mr. Bolt--can either of you tell me who might have wanted to kill Simon Varr?"

They looked uncomfortable. It was Krech who took the bull by the horns.

"_De mortuis ml nisi bonum_," he said gravely. "Otherwise, I should say that it would be simpler to give you a list of the people who didn't." He spared a regretful glance for Bolt's hurt little exclamation. "I know it jars on you just now, but truth is truth.

I've seen enough in the last three days to know that Varr must have had a host of enemies."

"Yes," said Miss Ocky. "A notable collection."