The Dartmoor Enigma Read Free Page B

disturbed, Henry.”
    â€œVery good, sir.”
    â€œNow sit down, Mr. Richardson, and make yourself at home. This office will always be at your disposal.”
    He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, unlocked a drawer and took from it the top of a heavy walking-stick with a silver band. “You will see the bloodstains on the crook.”
    â€œWith a hair adhering to it,” observed Richardson. “I suppose the bloodstains have not yet been examined to see whether it’s human blood, nor the hair compared with that of the dead man?”
    The Superintendent chuckled in his beard.
    â€œNo, down here I’m afraid we don’t work at such high pressure. The fact is that when the Chief Constable told me on the telephone that you were coming, I thought it better not to interfere with any possible evidence.”
    â€œHave you any doctor in your mind, say from Plymouth, who could make a second examination of the body with Dr. Symon?”
    â€œWell, yes; I thought of calling in Dr. Fraser. He’s a man of about forty-five, well known to the local magistrates, and very cautious when giving an opinion. If you approve I can telephone to him this evening to be up here to-morrow morning.”
    â€œVery well, and now I’ll show you the photographs of the letters.”
    Richardson laid the two photographs on the desk. Superintendent Carstairs took out a pair of glasses, polished them with his handkerchief and bent over the letters, breathing hard. It was clear that he was more at home in dealing with his staff in out-door-work than in comparing documents. Richardson felt, more than saw, that he was waiting for a lead. It was a pathetic spectacle—this weather-beaten, bearded superintendent, who more than filled his office chair, bending over documents on which he knew that he could give no useful opinion. Richardson came to his rescue.
    â€œYou see, Mr. Carstairs, that the letters were written by the same hand and that the writer tried to disguise his handwriting by tilting the characters backward in the letter to the Commissioner. But the misspelling is the same in each.”
    The Superintendent nodded.
    â€œThen, if you look at the postmarks you can see that they were posted in places a good many miles apart. The writer, therefore, must have been in possession of a car or motor-lorry.”
    Superintendent Carstairs acquiesced and handed back the photographs, glad to be rid of them. “Now, Mr. Richardson, you must be tired after your journey. I’ve found quarters for you and your sergeant at the local hotel—the Duchy Arms. If you will come round here at nine-thirty to-morrow morning I will introduce you to Mrs. Dearborn.”

Chapter Two
    O CTOBER 11 was one of those rarely warm and beautiful days that seem to be sent to leave dwellers on the moor with a memory of the dead summer when the pall of mist and rain is due to descend upon them.
    At half-past nine the Superintendent looked in to say that it was not too early to take Richardson over to Mrs. Dearborn. “I telephoned to her this morning, telling her to expect you, so you will find her prepared. Dr. Fraser will be at the house for the medical examination of the body at half-past eleven. Probably you will want to see him.”
    â€œWhat about Sergeant Jago, Mr. Carstairs? Will the lady be prepared to receive two of us?”
    â€œIf you take my advice, Chief Inspector, you will see her alone. She isn’t an excitable person, but I fancy that she will be more communicative if you are by yourself. While you are talking to her, Sergeant Jago might be looking over the car, which is in the private garage at The Firs.”
    Mrs. Dearborn opened the door to them in person. She was a thin, worn woman, who looked older than her age; there was an air of faded gentility about her. She was dressed in black. “This is the gentleman of whom I spoke to you on the telephone,” said Carstairs. “Chief