Complete works of peter.., p.439
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 439
"And who else?" asked Peabody.
Kenkins grinned. "Etienne O'Farrel," he said, with a cynical smile. "I have been thinking about O'Farrel and I have realised why he refused his assistance. The fact of the matter is he didn't want to be associated with me in this business; he doesn't like me; I'm much too logical for that scintillating young Irishman—too heavy. It would be like O'Farrel to come down here immediately after you left him last night and interview this mysterious lady who has a predilection for wearing gold kimonos, and, if he thought sufficiently of her, assist her in removing the bodies.
Peabody said nothing. He had a decided idea that the logical Kenkins might be right.
"Now, look here," Kenkins continued, "let's take it that O'Farrel did come down here, and that, at least, he knows something about the removal of these bodies. Knowing that the young man is very fond of comfort, I will wager that at the present moment he is doing himself very well as regards breakfast at the nearest hotel or inn. Do you know of one?"
"That would be the Crown Inn at Stranover," said Peabody, "there's nowhere else."
"All right," said Kenkins, "let's go over there. If we find O'Farrel there we can, at least, discover what he's been doing since you left him last night."
Peabody nodded. He was thoroughly discomfited at the turn which events had taken. The tangled skein was becoming more tangled, and he could see no way out.
They left the farm, and started on their long walk across the damp moorland. They had walked two miles, and were passing a thick coppice, when, suddenly, Peabody stopped and put his hand on Kenkins' arm. From the coppice there emerged an individual—the man in plus-fours. He was looking as cheerful as ever, although very wet, and the little chubby pipe was hanging out of the corner of his mouth as it had been when Peabody first saw him. Peabody commenced to speak, but the man in plus-fours stopped him with a gesture.
"Now, look here," he said, "I told you last night in the train, Captain Peabody, that wise men mind their own business. I told you that Sepach Farm at the moment was a particularly unhealthy place, and I told you that if you went to the police and told them your story they would tell you that you were suffering from hallucinations. Well, you went to the police, and they told you that, but, in spite of my warning, I find you hanging about here again. I have had enough of you, and I'm going to take steps to insure that your interference is at an end."
Four particularly stalwart individuals appeared out of the coppice. Peabody attempted to struggle as two of them approached him, but he was soon overpowered. Kenkins, always logical, noticed the stalwart and somewhat disciplined bearing of the men. He thought that they might have been soldiers, or sailors possibly.
Within five minutes Peabody and Kenkins, with their hands trussed behind them, were being led towards a deserted shed which stood at the bottom of Deep End field, two miles from the farm. Arrived at the shed, they were unceremoniously pushed inside, and the door locked behind them. Peabody sat down on a pile of wood with a muttered curse. The whole thing had got beyond him, but Kenkins, always observant, noticed that the lock on the shed door was entirely new, almost as if someone had known that the shed was to receive prisoners.
CHAPTER XVI
WHEN he had locked the door of the shed at Deep End the man in plus-fours stood, with his hands in his pockets, thinking deeply. One would have imagined that he was as perplexed as Peabody. After a minute he spoke a few words to the four men who, touching their caps, walked off across the moor towards Stranover. The man in plus-fours, who looked very tired, shook some of the rain from his coat, and struck off diagonally towards the large patch of gorse which stood on the south side of Deep End field. As he approached, two men came out to meet him.
"I have just locked the enterprising Peabody and another fellow in the shed," said the man in plus-fours. "What they are doing down here I don't know. Peabody went along to Scotland Yard and interviewed Sir John Scarrell. Scarrell rang through to the Chief Constable at Stranover. I was there and told him what had happened at the farm. I told him, too, that the matter must at all costs be kept out of the hands of the local police; that, somehow, he must persuade this Peabody that the whole thing was a myth or a matter of nerves, or something; rather a difficult thing to do, I grant you. The whole thing is beyond me," the man in plus-fours continued. "I think..."
"It seems simple enough to me, Grant," said one of the other men. "You know that Steitlin was coming to Sepach Farm. It is fairly obvious that he was going to meet somebody. That somebody apparently saw him and Philipson. If this fellow Peabody walked into the farm casually, it is fairly obvious that he would go to the police about it, and if, after Scarrell had told him that he was suffering from hallucinations, he still believed in his own story, what is more logical than that he should return and bring somebody with him to verify it?"
Grant grinned. "There will be precious little verification!" he said. "I had the bodies taken to the Stranover police mortuary this morning, but I wish to heaven I had seen and spoken to Philipson before they got him. Philipson was the only man who really knew anything about this Steitlin business. My instructions were to follow Steitlin from the time he left Helsingfors until he arrived in England, I was on the same boat. Directly Steitlin landed I telephoned Philipson, who told me to meet him at Sepach Farm at 6 o'clock. He told me also that Steitlin would make direct for the farm. I stuck to Steitlin as far as Stranover, but I lost him there, and made up my mind that I would get on to the farm ahead of him. On the road I passed this fellow Peabody, and, thinking that he might be one of Philipson's men, I asked him the code question: 'Do you know a man named Truesmith?' His replies convinced me that he knew nothing of the matter. I left him, and cut across the moorland towards the farm, but a mist came up, and I lost my way. I walked back to the cliff road, and, as I arrived, there were two shots at Sepach Farm. This fellow Peabody was just coming up the steps from the Turkish Café. He thought I had not seen him, and stood up from the rain under a tree. I went down the café steps and found at the bottom a black georgette gown lying in the rain. Then I made up my mind I would go up to the farm and report to Philipson, but this Peabody was ahead of me. He went into the farm, and came out just at the moment that the woman came up the road from, the Turkish Café. When she saw him she turned tail and went back. Peabody, after a bit, cut across country for Salthaven Junction. I was not certain at the time, as to whether he had anything to do with the woman or not, so I went to the station on my motor-cycle, went up to town by the same train, and en route advised him to keep his mouth shut.
"One thing stands to reason," he continued, "something's going to happen at this farm. What it is only Philipson knows, but he's dead, but I'm going to hang on here until it does happen, and Mr. Peabody, who, if our London people know what they're talking about, is quite an innocuous individual, is going to stay in the tool-shed with his friend until I do know.
"I've got to find out why Philipson was at the farm waiting for Steitlin; I've got to find out what Steitlin wanted at the farm."
"You know all you want to know about Steitlin," said the man who had not yet spoken.
"I don't," said Grant. "I know that Steitlin is a member of the Thirteenth International, the most select murder-club employed by the scum of Soviet Russia. I know that he was responsible for the blowing-up of the Lithuanian Embassy last year, and I know that there are about fifteen murders tacked on to his name, but I don't know what he wants at a deserted, empty farm, stuck here on the English sea-coast, and I wish I did. He was a dangerous man, was Steitlin."
He knocked out his pipe on the palm of his hand.
"Bracknell," he said, "go back to Stranover and keep that fat station-inspector amused and happy. Hang on there till you hear from me. You, Tesswood, go over to Salthaven Junction and keep your eye on any new arrivals. I rather fancy we shall have some company at Sepach Farm before the day is out. So long!"
The two men went off. Grant, his hands in his pockets, moodily walked back towards the farm. He was very perturbed, although he was not of a nature—as no man is after fifteen years in the Secret Service—to be upset by unimportant happenings, but the situation at the farm worried him; he was in the dark.
He approached the farm from the moorland side, pushed his way through the gap in the fence, and walked across the courtyard towards the door. As he reached the farm door it opened, and, with a beneficent smile on his face, Etienne O'Farrel stepped out. O'Farrel looked quite pleased with himself. He was getting quite a kick out of life.
"Well," said Grant, his hands in his pockets, his feet wide apart, "what the devil do you want here, and who are you, anyway?"
O'Farrel examined his fingernails of his right hand with care.
"You funny little man," he said. "I'm getting rather tired of you. I've heard that you've been hanging about this farm since last night. I don't like people who hang about."
"You don't," said Grant. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"
O'Farrel did not reply, but he acted very promptly. Closing his fist, he hit the unfortunate Grant squarely between the eyes. The man in plus-fours went down like a log, and O'Farrel, whistling cheerfully to himself, went inside the farm. He returned after a moment, carrying a piece of rope with which he trussed up the unfortunate Grant. In the far end of the courtyard, on the moorland side, stood a dilapidated barn, and into this O'Farrel dragged the unconscious Secret Service man, whom he placed on a pile of old sacks which stood in the corner. Then, with his cap over one eye, and whistling more cheerfully than ever. O'Farrel walked off in the direction of the Turkish Café.
In thus disposing of Grant, O'Farrel had carried out his usual routine of doing things first and considering them afterwards. He was suspicious of Grant, and yet he had no means at the moment of finding out exactly where Grant fitted into the jigsaw of events at Sepach Farm. He believed, however, that within the next few hours he would put his finger on some point from which he could start a real investigation, and he considered that this investigation would be easier with the man in plus-fours out of the way. Too many people were curious about the murders at the farm, O'Farrel thought, and he believed in the elimination of the unimportant.
That Grant might be on the side of the forces of law and order had occurred to the young Irishman; yet he believed the chances that he was in league with the murderer or murderers were just as great. He was taking no chances and he felt relieved that—at any rate for the moment—there would be no further interference from the individual who now lay, cursing quietly to himself, in the barn.
CHAPTER XVII
IT was the logical Kenkins who discovered a means of escape from the tool shed in Deep End field.
Peabody had contented himself with sitting down and cursing and then glumly considering the hopelessness of the situation, but Kenkins, having managed to wriggle his feet out of the cords which had bound his ankles, wandered about the tool-shed looking for some means to free his hands, which were tied behind his back.
Eventually he found a jagged nail sticking out from the side of the shed which suited excellently, and, by standing with his back to it, and working, the ropes against it, after three-quarters of an hour's work he succeeded in getting his hands free. He then freed Peabody from his bonds, and they jointly considered how they might get out of the tool shed. This was fairly easy, for the boards were old and rotten, and in one corner of the shed had already begun to crack.
A determined onslaught on this weak spot with a chopper, which they found in the shed, soon made a hole large enough for Peabody to wriggle through. Kenkins followed with difficulty, and arrived on the other side bathed in perspiration after his struggles. Outside they stood looking at each other; neither had any set plan in his mind.
The mist had now risen, and the sun was trying to shine through the clouds. Peabody, walking round the shed, saw something, and signalled to Kenkins. To their left about a hundred yards away, and almost between them and Sepach Farm, stood another of the old-fashioned barns, which had evidently been used for storage purposes when the farm was inhabited. Approaching this barn furtively, and with occasional glances over his shoulder, was the young man whom Peabody immediately recognised as the young Russian he had met on the Salthaven road the afternoon before. He drew Kenkins back behind the cover of the tool-shed, and, looking round the corner, he saw the young man enter the barn. Kenkins, after Peabody had told him who the young man was, considered for a moment. "Look here, Peabody," he said eventually, "it's ten to one that this fellow was actually in the farm at the time those murders took place, and I think that it's very probable that he either committed them himself, or he knows who did. Let's capture him! We are two to one, and, after all, if he thinks that the game's up, he may talk."
Peabody agreed. He was feeling so hopeless about the whole business that he was prepared to take any steps which might bring them to some definite conclusion.
After a short consultation they separated. Peabody, making a wider detour, worked his way over the moorland and round to the other side of the barn, whilst Kenkins, taking advantage of such cover as the bracken and gorse provided, took the direct line. When they arrived they saw that the barn door was slightly open. They listened, but not a sound came from within, and, after a moment, Peabody pushed open the door, and they entered. The barn was quite dark inside except for a patch of light which came through the open doorway. They peered into the darkness, but heard and saw nothing. Suddenly an electric torch was flashed into their eyes.
"Come in, gentlemen," said a quiet voice, "but don't try any tricks. I have you covered, and I should not mind shooting either or both of you in the slightest degree."
As their eyes became accustomed to the darkness, they saw the young man, this Russian who spoke English so well, sitting on an overturned wheel-barrow on the other side of the barn, a large automatic in his hand, smiling.
"May I introduce myself?" he said. "My name is Irietoff."
Peabody started involuntarily. So this was Irietoff, one of the names which the man in the fawn rain coat had signalled before he died.
"I should put that gun down if I were you," he said. "You won't gain anything by any more shooting."
Irietoff smiled, and, in spite of the fact that neither Peabody nor Kenkins had any reason to like him, they felt irresistibly drawn to this insouciant young man who sat there dangling the heavy automatic between his fingers with a particularly good-humoured smile playing across his well-cut features. He extracted a cigarette case from his pocket with his free hand, then a matchbox, deftly struck a match, lit his cigarette and threw the case to Kenkins.
"Help yourself, gentlemen," he said. "Incidentally may I know the reason for this visit?" His smile became even more bland.
"Now, look here, Irietoff," said Kenkins, "don't you think it's time that all this play-acting ceased? My friend here saw you coming down the Salthaven road yesterday afternoon. Immediately after two shots were fired and two people killed at Sepach Farm. You said that you didn't hear those shots. We know that you must have heard them. Although it was raining hard, your clothes were not wet, and the only place where you could have sheltered from the rain was at the farm. You either killed those men yourself, or you know who did it. The best thing you can do is to tell the truth."
The young man considered for a moment; then, still smiling, he looked up.
"I don't know if you are police-officers," he said, "and I don't care very much. Perhaps I killed somebody at Sepach Farm; perhaps I didn't; but, if you are police-officers, I would like you to know that the lady who keeps the Turkish Café had nothing to do with these killings. I mention this because I may have been seen talking to her, and I should not like her to be mixed up in this affair."
"That's very nice of you," said Peabody. "May I ask why you are so careful of this lady's reputation?"
Irietoff grinned. "That's my business," he said, "and I don't wish to discuss it with you. Personally, I quite realise that I must be captured sooner or later. I am a stranger in England, I have been here only a few days. I have no friends, and my work is done."
His face became serious for a moment.
"I came to this country for a purpose," he continued. "I came to kill Steitlin and I have killed him."
During the time that Irietoff had been speaking Kenkins had been edging imperceptibly towards him. Irietoff, concerned with what he was saying, his hand, which held the automatic hanging listlessly by his side, was taken by surprise as Kenkins, with a sudden leap, sprang upon him, knocking him off the wheel-barrow. Peabody sprang to his friend's assistance, and in a moment, the Russian was disarmed. He appeared to accept his capture with equanimity, and made no attempt to struggle, which, indeed, he could not do, seeing that the large Kenkins was sitting comfortably on his chest. Within a few minutes their captive was trussed up as securely as possible with the pieces of rope which Peabody fetched from the tool-shed. Kenkins, quite satisfied with the proceedings, wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"Well, Peabody," he said, "what's the next move?"
Peabody considered. "Well, we've got the man who murdered Steitlin," he said, "although, I must say, I prefer the murderer to the murdered. If this fellow didn't kill the other man I'd like to know who did. I think the best thing I can do is to leave you here with this fellow while I get over to Stranover as quickly as possible and try to find out what O'Farrel's been up to."
"All right," said Kenkins, "but be as quick as you can; I'm not too keen on being left in the middle of moors with murderers."
Peabody grinned, "I won't be long," he said, and made off across the moor towards Stranover.
CHAPTER XVIII
ONCE out of sight of the barn and Kenkins, Peabody changed direction, and, turning to the left, made his way away from the moor towards the cliff road. He struck the road about five hundred yards from the Turkish Café, in the direction of which he now walked rapidly. Peabody was feeling better. Irietoff's remark that the woman had nothing to do with the murders at the farm had cheered him, and he felt that the time had come for an explanation.
