The Dartmoor Enigma Read Free Page A

for a half-educated writer of anonymous letters.”
    â€œYou think the same man wrote both?”
    â€œI feel sure of it and if I’m right we have something to go upon. First the misspelling. He spells ‘burial’ with two r’s in the Commissioner’s letter, and ‘buried’ in the Chief Constable’s also has two r’s.”
    â€œBut I don’t see why he should have wanted to appear to be two different people.”
    â€œOnly because he thought that more notice would be taken of two people than one, and he wanted notice taken, which makes me think that he knows something and that it’s not merely a hoax.”
    â€œBut if he knows something, why shouldn’t he come openly to the police and tell them?”
    â€œAh, that’s what we’ve got to find out. For the moment we’re only speculating. Suppose, for instance, that the writer is an ex-convict lately released on licence and that he saw a crime committed; he might think that he wouldn’t stand a chance with his bad record if he were accused of committing the crime.”
    â€œYes, I see that, sir.”
    â€œAt any rate, you with your local knowledge have given us something to work upon—the motor-lorry theory.”
    They had passed Okehampton and were nearing Tavistock. Richardson packed up his papers and took his modest luggage down from the rack. The train slowed down; a constable in uniform was on the platform; Richardson approached him.
    â€œI’m Chief Inspector Richardson from Scotland Yard.”
    The constable saluted. “We’ve been sent to meet you, sir, by Superintendent Carstairs. He had a telegram this afternoon.”
    â€œThis is Detective Sergeant Jago—a native of Tavistock.”
    The constable shook hands. “I know your family well, Sergeant,” he said.
    The drive from Tavistock to Winterton by the main road which skirts the moor was rapidly covered. The car drew up at the police station.
    They were met on the steps by Superintendent Carstairs, who shook hands warmly with Richardson.
    â€œI’m very glad you’ve come down, Chief Inspector. The fact is that with my limited staff I could never have undertaken to solve the case.”
    â€œBut I shan’t be able to get on without you, Superintendent,” said Richardson. “It’s true that I’ve brought with me Sergeant Jago, who was born and brought up in Tavistock and has knowledge of the locality, but naturally he has no acquaintance with the dead man’s affairs and you would have.”
    â€œThat is the trouble, Chief Inspector. No one knows anything of the late Mr. Dearborn’s affairs—not even his wife. What I propose to do for you is this. I’ll show you the broken stick which was picked up by one of my officers about a quarter of a mile from the scene of the accident, and then, tomorrow morning I propose to introduce you to the widow and let you question her in any way you please. I want you to remember that whenever you require transport the police car will be at your service. In fact, I am turning over the case to you entirely.”
    â€œThe body has not been buried yet?”
    â€œNo. Dr. Symon, who was called in by the widow to attend the deceased just before he died, is a young man without very much experience, and the verdict at the inquest was given on his evidence. You will probably desire to have a second medical opinion in view of the finding of the broken stick and the anonymous letter written to me.”
    â€œThat was not the only one, Superintendent. The Commissioner in London also received one in the same handwriting. I have brought photographs of the two letters for you to see. Now may I have a look at the broken stick?”
    â€œStep into my office, Mr. Richardson. We can dispose of all these questions now.” He led the way to a little room, scrupulously tidy, and called for his clerk. “See that we’re not