The Sea Mystery · Chapter 15 (1/2)

XV

Blackmail

“Have you been able to get the pump, Sergeant?” asked French as he reached the police station that afternoon.

“I’ve got the loan of one, Mr. French, or at least I’ll get it first thing tomorrow. From a quarry close by. It’s a rotary hand-pump, and Mr. Glenn, the manager, tells me that it will throw far faster than anything we’ll want.”

“We shall have to fix it down in the well?”

“Yes, the well’s forty-two feet deep. It’s thirty to the water and there’s twelve feet of water. But there’ll be no trouble about that. The beams that carry the old pump will take it, too.”

“You think they’re strong enough?”

“We’ll just have to try them.”

“What about ladders?”

“I’ve got a fifty-foot length of rope ladder from the same quarry.”

“Good. What time can we start tomorrow?”

“I shall have the pump by half past eight.”

“Then we should be at the colonel’s shortly after nine.”

This time French thought it would be wise to have Domlio present at their experiment. He therefore rang him up and made an appointment for nine-thirty.

Early next morning a heavily loaded car left Ashburton. In addition to the driver it contained French, Daw, and two constables in plain clothes, as well as a low, squat pump with detachable handle, an immense coil of armoured hose, another huge coil of rope ladder, and several tools and small parts.

“Another rush to Klondyke,” said French, at which priceless pearl of humour Daw smiled and the plain clothes men guffawed heavily.

“I should have thought that tailor could have fixed up the ownership of the coat,” Daw remarked, presently. “Shouldn’t you, sir?”

“Of course, Sergeant. But we shall get it, all right, even if we have to do all the work ourselves. I thought it wasn’t worth troubling about. It’s pretty certain the coat is not the only thing that was thrown into the well and we shall get our identification from something else.”

The car was run into the yard, unloaded, and dismissed, while French went to the hall door and asked for Colonel Domlio.

“Sorry to trouble you at this hour, Colonel, but I want you to be present at a small experiment I am carrying out.” He watched the other keenly as he spoke. “Will you please come out into the yard, where I have left Sergeant Daw and some men?”

Surprise showed on the colonel’s face, but not, so far as French could see, apprehension.

“This is very interesting, Inspector. I’m glad I’m at least being informed of what is taking place on my own ground. I shall certainly see what you are doing.”

As they turned the corner and the purpose of the visit became apparent to Domlio, his surprise seemed to deepen, but still there was no appearance of uneasiness. The police had lifted the cover of the well and were getting the pump rigged. Coombe and Mee had joined the others and stood speechlessly regarding the preparations.

“Ah, an invasion? I presume, Inspector, you have adequate authority for these somewhat unusual proceedings?”

“I think you’ll find that’s all right, sir. With your permission we’re going to pump out the well.”

“The removal of the well cover and the pump rather suggested something of the kind, but for the moment I can’t quite recall the permission.”

“I feel sure that under the circumstance you won’t withhold it. Better lower that lantern with the candle, Sergeant, before you send a man down. We want to be sure the air is good.”

“If it’s not an impertinence,” Domlio remarked, with ironic politeness, “I should be interested to know why you are not using the existing pump.”

“I didn’t think it was in working order. Is the well used?”

“An explanation, complete, no doubt, but scarcely satisfying. It did not occur to you to try it?”

“No, sir. Too noisy. But what about the well?”

“Ah yes, the well. The well is used⁠—in summer. We have a gravity supply from the hill behind the house, but it fails in summer; hence pumping from the well.”

This statement was very satisfactory to French. It cleared up a point which had been worrying him. If it were possible to get rid of the clothes by throwing them down the well, why had Pyke’s body not been disposed of in the same way? But now this was explained. The condition of the water in the following summer would have led to investigation.

“Try the fixed pump, Sergeant. It may save us rigging the other.”

But a test showed that the valve leathers were dry and not holding, and they went on with their original program.

French had been puzzled by the colonel’s attitude. If beneath his cynical manner he were consumed by the anxiety which, were he guilty, he could scarcely help feeling, he was concealing it in a way that was little short of marvellous. However, the preparations would take time and it was impossible that if the man knew what would be found he could hide all signs of tension.

The candle, lowered to the surface of the water, burned clearly, showing that the air was fresh. The rope ladder was then made fast to the stonework and Sergeant Daw climbed down. Presently he returned to say that the beams on which the old pump rested were sound. The new pump was therefore lowered and one of the constables sent down to begin work.

Getting rid of the water turned out a bigger job than French had anticipated. Slowly the level dropped. At intervals the men spelled each other, French and Daw taking their turns. By lunchtime the water had gone down seven feet, though during the meal it rose six inches. After that they worked with renewed energy to get the remaining five feet six inches out before dusk.

“You have a second well, have you not, Colonel?” French enquired. “I noticed a pump near the kitchen door.”

“Yes. We use it for drinking purposes. This is only good enough for washing the car and so on.”

On more than one occasion Domlio had protested against what he called the waste of his time in watching the work. But French insisted on his remaining till the search was complete.

About four o’clock the water was so far lowered as to allow an investigation of the bottom, and the sergeant, squeezing past the man at the pump, went down with his electric torch. French, leaning over the wall, anxiously watched the flickering light. Then came the sergeant’s voice: “There’s a waistcoat and trousers and shoes here, Mr. French.”

“That all?” called French.

“That’s all that I see. I’ve got everything of any size, anyhow.”

“Well, tie them to the rope and we’ll pull them up.”

How Domlio would comport himself when he saw the clothes was now the important matter. French watched him keenly as the dripping bundle appeared and was carried to a bench in the garage.

Though the day’s work had prepared the man for some denouement, he certainly appeared to French to be genuinely amazed when the nature of the find was revealed.

“Good Heavens! Inspector! What does this mean?” he cried, squaring his shoulders. “Whose are these and how did you know they were there?”

French turned to the plainclothes men. “Just wait outside the door, will you,” he said, then went on gravely to the other: “That is what I have to ask you, Colonel Domlio.”

“Me?” The man’s sardonic calm was at last broken. “I know nothing about them. The thing is an absolute surprise to me. I swear it.” His face paled and he looked anxious and worried.

“There is something I should tell you,” French continued. “On considering this Berlyn-Pyke case I formed a theory. I don’t say it is correct, but I formed it from the facts I had learnt. According to that theory you took out your car on the night of the tragedy, drove into Ashburton, picked up Mr. Pyke’s coat, waistcoat, trousers, shoes, and certain other things, brought them here and threw them into the well. A moment, please.” He raised his hand as Domlio would have spoken. “Rightly or wrongly, that was my theory. But there was a difficulty. You had stated to the sergeant that you had not gone out that night. I came here and found that that statement was not true. You had been out. Then I made further enquiries and learnt that you had taken out your car. You explained that, but I regret to say that I was unable to accept your explanation. I thought, however, that the presence or absence of these objects in the well would settle the matter. I looked at the well and saw that the cover had recently been moved. Two nights ago Sergeant Daw and I came out, and after trying with a line and fishhooks, we drew up a coat⁠—Pyke’s coat. Now, Colonel, if you wish to make a statement I will give it every consideration, but it is my duty again to warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you.”

“What? Are you charging me with a crime?”

“Unless you can satisfy me of your innocence you will be charged with complicity in the murder of Stanley Pyke.”

The Colonel drew a deep breath.

“But, good Heavens! How can I satisfy you? I don’t even know what you have against me, except this extraordinary business which I can make neither head nor tail of. You must know more about it than you have said. Tell me the rest.”

“You tell me this: Was your statement about the loss of the locket on that night true?”

Colonel Domlio did not reply. He seemed to be weighing some problem of overwhelming difficulty. French waited patiently, wondering how far his bluff would carry. At last the colonel spoke.

“I have lied to the sergeant and to you, Inspector, with what I now believe was a mistaken motive. I have been turning over the matter in my mind and I see that I have no alternative but to tell you the truth now or to suffer arrest. Possibly things have gone so far that this cannot be avoided. At all events, I will tell you everything.”

“You are not forgetting my warning, Colonel Domlio?”

“I am not forgetting it. If I am acting foolishly it is my own lookout. I tried to put you off, Inspector, to save bringing Mrs. Berlyn’s name further into the matter, because, though there was nothing against her character, I was sure you would have bothered her with annoying questions. But, though I thought it right to lie with this object, I don’t feel like risking prison for it.”

“I follow you,” said French.

“You will remember then what I told you about Mrs. Berlyn, that she had been seeing a good deal first of Pyke and then of myself. I’m sorry to have to drag this in again, but otherwise you wouldn’t understand the situation.

“About⁠—let me see⁠—four months before the tragedy Mrs. Berlyn came out here one afternoon. She said that she had been in London to a lecture on entomology and that she had been so much interested that she had read one or two books on the subject. She said that she knew I was doing some research in it and she wondered whether I would let her come and help me and so learn more. I naturally told her I should be delighted, and she began to come out here quite often. On different occasions she has accompanied me on the moor while I was searching for specimens, and she has spent several afternoons with me in my library mounting butterflies and learning to use the microscope. This went on until the day of the tragedy.”

Colonel Domlio paused, squared his shoulders, and continued:

“On that morning I had received by post a letter addressed in a strange hand and marked ‘Personal.’ It was signed ‘X.Y.Z.’ and said that the writer happened to be walking about four p.m. on the previous Tuesday in the Upper Merton glen at a certain point which he described; that he had seen me with Mrs. Berlyn in my arms; that, having a camera, he had at once taken two photographs, one of which had come out; and that if I cared to have the negative he would sell it for fifty pounds. If I wished to negotiate I was to meet him on the Chagford⁠–⁠Gidleigh road at the gate of Dobson’s Spinney at one o’clock that night. Should I not turn up, the writer would understand that I was not interested and would take his picture to Mrs. Berlyn, who, he thought, would prefer to deal rather than have it handed to Mr. Berlyn.

“At first I could not think what was meant; then I remembered what had taken place. We had been, Mrs. Berlyn and I, searching for a certain butterfly at the place and time mentioned. Suddenly she had cried out that she had seen a specimen and she had rushed after it past where I was standing. Just as she reached me she gave a cry and lurched against me. ‘Oh, my ankle!’ she shouted and clung to me. She had twisted her foot in a rabbit hole and she could not put her weight on it. I supported her in my arms for a few seconds, and it must have been at this moment that my blackmailer came on the scene. I laid Mrs. Berlyn down on the grass. She sat quiet for some minutes, then with my arm was able to limp to the car. She said her ankle was not sprained, but only twisted, and that she would be all right in a few hours. Next day when I rang up to enquire she said it was still painful but a good deal better.

“At first I was doubtful whether I should act on the letter; then I thought that if there was a genuine photograph it would be better for me to deal with the owner. I therefore went out to the rendezvous at the time mentioned. But I might have saved myself the trouble, for no one was there. And from that day to this I never heard another word about the affair, nor did I mention it to a soul. Indeed, the Berlyn-Pyke tragedy put it out of my head, and the same thing, I suppose, robbed the photograph of its value.”

“You told me,” said French, “something about Mrs. Berlyn’s relations with Mr. Pyke and yourself, saying that I would not understand your story otherwise. Just what was in your mind in that?”

“Because these relations complicated the whole situation. Do you not see that? Had everything been normal I could have treated the thing as a joke and shown the photograph to Berlyn. As things were, he would have taken it seriously.”

French felt a little puzzled by this statement. If the man were lying, it was just the sort of story he would expect to hear, except for one thing. It was capable of immediate confirmation. If it were not true he would soon get it out of Mrs. Berlyn.

“I don’t want to be offensive, Colonel,” he said, “but by your own admission you have twice lied about what took place that night. Can you give me any proof that your present statement is true?”

Domlio squared his shoulders.

“I can’t,” he admitted. “I can show you the letter and you can ask Mrs. Berlyn, but I don’t know that either of those would constitute proof.”

“They wouldn’t in themselves, but from either I might get some point which would. Now I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll see first whether Sergeant Daw has made any further discoveries; then you can show me the letter and we’ll drive out to the place where Mrs. Berlyn fell.”

“That’s easily done.”

They returned to the well, and there, to French’s satisfaction, found the missing duplicator parts laid out on the coping of the wall.

“Excellent, Sergeant. That’s all we want. I take it you will get the pump away? You needn’t wait for me. I’m going out with Colonel Domlio.”

While Coombe was bringing round the car the two men went to the study for the letter. It was just as the colonel had described, and French could see no clue to the sender.

They ran out then to the Upper Merton glen and Domlio pointed out the spot at which the alleged incident had taken place. French insisted on his describing the occurrence in the most minute manner. He wished to form an opinion as to whether the man was relating what he had seen or inventing the details as he went along.