The Case of the Somerville Secret Page 5

  “Like finding Severn.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. I wanted to find him and we did, more easily than I thought we would, but that proved to be a dead end, so now we’ll have to go on to other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Finding Somerville’s brougham. If or when we do, that may give us some clue as to who took it—which in turn may tell us who killed Polk. Then I’m afraid we’re going to have to come back to Somerville himself.”

  “Why do you say you’re afraid?” asked Andrew.

  “Because it’s an awkward situation. Sergeant Tucker and I both feel that he was not completely honest with us. That there were things he was not telling us. However I don’t want to accuse him of that until I have some idea of what it is he’s hiding.”

  “And how will you find that out?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  5

  The Barred Windows

  “Well?” asked Andrew.

  It was the next morning, and he and Sara were standing under a large beech tree and looking at the Somerville house from the open ground across the street.

  “There is something funny about it,” said Sara. She frowned as she studied it. “I know! It’s the wall!”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, the house isn’t very big—it’s about the same size as most of the villas around here. And the grounds aren’t very big either. But the wall around it is higher than the one around Three Oaks, and the grounds there are as big as a park with a lake and greenhouses and all.”

  Three Oaks, home of the Marchioness of Medford and one of the largest estates in St. John’s Wood, was next door to the Tillett house. Sara had said exactly what Andrew had thought himself, but he played the devil’s advocate.

  “Maybe the wall around Three Oaks isn’t as high because it goes on forever and it would cost a mint to make it higher.”

  “The wall around Three Oaks is high enough to keep anyone from looking in or getting in unless they use a ladder. No, I say there’s something funny about this wall. Look at the spikes on top of it. And the broken glass.”

  “Well, according to Wyatt, Somerville did have some things he was worried about—jewelry and things he’d dug up in Mesopotamia.”

  “But he’d keep those in the house, wouldn’t he? And the wall doesn’t go round the house, just around the grounds.” The wind tugged at her hat, and she clutched it as she looked at him sharply. “You’re just trying it on with me, aren’t you? Because you think there’s something funny about it, too.”

  “Yes, I do. I’d like to get inside and see what’s there. Or even just look inside.”

  “That’s what somebody else wanted. At least, that’s what Wyatt thinks—why the watchdog was killed.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, if we think there’s something funny about it, Wyatt certainly must. Why doesn’t he go back in and look around?”

  “Perhaps he will. But it’s not going to be easy for him. Because the murder didn’t take place inside the house or the grounds but outside, here in the street. And Lord Somerville didn’t ask him if he wanted to look around when he was in there.”

  “But he can still get in if he wants to, can’t he? Even if he has to get a search warrant.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think he’ll do that. As he said, he doesn’t want to get into a row with Lord Somerville. He’ll probably think of some very clever way of getting in.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” He had been looking around as he talked. Then, as another gust of wind shook the branches over their head, a strange expression came over his face. “Do you like kite flying?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done any.”

  “Well, this is a good day for it. Where can we buy a kite?”

  “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

  Andrew grinned.

  “I can see you are. I shouldn’t help you till you tell me what it is, but … there’s a shop on the Wellington Road that probably has kites.”

  “Let’s go see.”

  The shop did have kites. Andrew bought one and a ball of twine, and they took them both back to Alder Road. The wind was rather erratic and not too strong, but he thought he could get the kite up. As Sara watched, he went to the downwind end of the open ground and, balancing the kite on the palm of his right hand, he began to run. When the kite lifted, he let it go, paying out twine. Several times the kite wavered, hesitated, but each time he was able to steady it, keep it in the air, by jerking on the line, and finally it had mounted to well above the trees and was flying steadily and pulling strongly.

  “Coo! That’s lovely!” said Sara. “Can I try it?”

  “Of course. Here.” He gave her the ball of twine.

  “What do I do?”

  “Let out more line if you want it to go higher. Jerk on the line if it starts to wobble or fall.”

  She played the kite for some time, letting out more and more line until there was almost none left on the ball.

  “It’s not half pulling,” she said, looking up to where it flew much higher than the steeple of St. John’s. “Maybe you’d better take it.”

  “Right.” Andrew had picked up a short piece of stick and, tying the end of the twine to it, he began winding the line on to it.

  “Are you bringing it down?” Sara asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer but began moving slowly out toward the street on the upwind side of the large beech tree. Sara watched, a little puzzled.

  “Look out!” she said finally. “If you’re not careful it’ll land in the tree.”

  Andrew jerked hard on the string, the kite swooped, then as she had predicted, dived into the topmost branches of the tree.

  “Well, that did it,” said Sara. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t want to lose it,” said Andrew, his face expressionless. “If Fred gave me a hand with a ladder, I think I could climb up and get it.”

  Frowning, Sara looked at him, at the tree, then across the road at the Somerville house.

  “Well, aren’t you Roger, the artful dodger,” she said admiringly.

  “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Will Fred give us any trouble?”

  “If he does, I’ll give him some. Come on.” But, as Andrew dropped the ball of twine at the foot of the tree. “Wait a bit. Maybe we won’t need Fred.”

  He turned. Wyatt, not looking very happy, was coming down Alder Road toward them. Sergeant Tucker was with him.

  “Hello, you two,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “We were flying a kite,” said Sara, “and it dived into the top of that tree.” She looked at him with a significant eye. “Do you think the sergeant could give Andrew a leg up? If he did, Andrew thinks he could probably climb the tree and get it.”

  Wyatt frowned, not in puzzlement as Sara had, but with impatience.

  “Now look,” he said, “fun’s fun, but …” The steadiness of her gaze made him break off. He looked from her to the tree, across the street at the Somerville property, then back to the tree again. “Well, well,” he said. “We were just going to see Somerville. There were some questions we wanted to ask him, but I think we could take a few minutes to help a chap get his kite, don’t you, Sergeant?”

  Tucker may have been large and slow-moving, but he was not slow-witted.

  “I think so too. Come on, young ’un.”

  He walked over to the beech tree with Andrew, picked him up, and lifted him to the full stretch of his arms. This was high enough for Andrew to grasp the tree’s lowest branches and, pulling himself up, he began climbing. Sara, Wyatt, and the sergeant moved back and, since the buds were only beginning to show and the tree had no leaves yet, they were able to follow his progress until he was more than halfway to the top.

  “He’s a good climber,” said Tucker. “He’s goi
ng up like a naval cadet.”

  “Yes,” said Sara. “Any news?”

  “About what?” asked Wyatt.

  “The Somerville case. Or the Polk murder case, if that’s what you’re calling it.”

  “We’re calling it the Somerville case, and … yes, there is some news. We found the carriage Polk rented.”

  “Where?”

  “Hampstead.”

  “Were there any clues, anything that could tell you who had stolen it?”

  “No. The horses had been driven hard—they were all lathered—but they hadn’t been hurt and the brougham was undamaged. And of course the chest Somerville talked about and all the luggage was gone.”

  “Then you’ve still got no lead.”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Too bad.” She stepped back, peering upward. “I’ve lost Andrew. Can you see him?”

  “Yes,” said Tucker. “He’s almost at the top of the tree, but he’s not climbing at the moment. He’s looking off that way.” And he pointed toward the Somerville house.

  “I wonder why,” said Sara.

  “I can’t imagine,” said Wyatt.

  “He’s going on again,” said Tucker. “There, he’s got the kite.”

  Andrew had come around to their side of the tree now, and they watched as he pulled the kite free and tossed it wide so that it dangled from the lower branches of the tree by its string. Tucker pulled it down and began winding up the line. By the time he had finished, Andrew had reached the lowest large branch, hung from it for a moment, then dropped to the ground.

  “There you are,” said Tucker, giving him the kite. “A few holes in it that you can patch, but outside of that as good as new.”

  “Thank you,” said Andrew. Then, conversationally, “You know, while I was up there, I found I could look over the wall of the Somerville property.”

  “Did you?” said Wyatt in the same offhanded manner.

  “Yes. And it was quite interesting.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, the wall encloses a fairly good sized bit of land, large enough to make a very nice garden. But while there are a few trees and some grass and flower beds, the most important thing there, right in the center, is a small house.”

  “A summer house?”

  “No. It’s a very solid house, built of brick. It has a heavy wooden door and there are bars on the windows.”

  “Oh?” said Wyatt.

  “Maybe that’s where Lord Somerville used to keep his valuables,” said Sara. “The things he was worried about. They’d be pretty safe there, especially if he had a watchdog wandering around loose at night.”

  “That’s what I thought at first. And that may be the reason for the house. But there was something else that was a little strange.” Andrew pointed toward the wall. “You see those spikes on top of the wall that curve out so that no one can climb in from the outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, there’s another set just like them on the inside that are curved in. And that made me wonder if Lord Somerville or whoever built the wall wasn’t just as concerned about keeping someone or something in as keeping people out.”

  “I see,” said Wyatt soberly. “Curiouser and curiouser as a certain young person remarked ungrammatically.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Tucker. “Do you think Lord Somerville might explain it if we asked him about it?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Wyatt. “As a matter of fact, I think we’ll forget about talking to him right now. Because I’ve a feeling we might find out a good deal more from him if we knew a bit more.”

  “About what?” asked Sara.

  “About several things. Thank you, Andrew. As usual, you’ve been both ingenious and helpful. Come on, Sergeant. Let’s go back to the station house.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Sara. “You mean you’re not going to tell us … Inspector!”

  If Wyatt heard her, he gave no sign of it, but walked back toward Wellington Road with Tucker.

  “Well, I like that!” said Sara. “Do you know what he was talking about? What he wants to find out?”

  “No,” said Andrew. “At least … no.”

  He may not have known then, but an idea must have come to him soon afterward, for when Sara went looking for him later that afternoon, she found him in the library-studying a thick book.

  “What are you reading?” she asked.

  “Bradshaw.”

  “What’s Bradshaw?”

  “The railway guide. It gives timetables for all the railways in England.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Where?”

  “Ansley Cross.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s where Lord Somerville’s country place is—where he lived before he came to London.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Does this have anything to do with what Wyatt was interested in? What he wanted to find out about?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Of course it is. When are we going?”

  “We?”

  “You go without me and see what happens!”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” he said smiling. “I thought we might go tomorrow. There’s a train out of Paddington at three minutes after nine.”

  “I’ll tell Mum.”

  “What will you tell her?”

  “That we’re going down to the country for the day.”

  “Will that be all right with her?”

  “If I’m going with you, it will.”

  “What have I done to deserve such trust?”

  “I don’t know, but it does come in handy at times.”

  As Sara had expected, Mrs. Wiggins raised no objection to the trip. They caught the 9:03 from Paddington, and all went well until the train stopped at Reading where they had to change. Andrew opened the door of the compartment, then paused.

  “What is it?” asked Sara.

  “Look up there, at the other end of the platform.”

  “Wyatt!” she said, peering out. “He must be going to Ansley Cross, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he’ll be angry if he sees us?”

  “He might be.”

  “What’ll we do?”

  “Well, if he is angry, he might insist that we go home. Theres’ a train back to London in about a half hour. But if he doesn’t see us till we get to Ansley Cross, there won’t be anything he can do about it because the only train from there back here is at three-thirty.”

  “Behind that baggage cart?”

  “Yes.” He peered out again, then, since Wyatt had his back turned, walking up the platform, he said, “Now!”

  They jumped out of the compartment, ran around behind the baggage cart, which was piled high with crates and trunks, and waited there. When the branch line train came in, they waited to see which car Wyatt got in and got in the one behind it.

  It took about twenty minutes to get to their station, and though they had started out feeling quite pleased with themselves, by the time the train stopped, they weren’t so sure that what they’d done was a good idea. Wyatt got out, walked to the end of the platform and stood there looking up the road. They got out more tentatively, hesitated for a moment, uncertain as to how to approach him.

  “Well, come on,” he said, his back to them. “The trap’ll be here any minute.”

  “How did you know we were here?” asked Sara.

  “Next time you’re trying to hide from someone, remember that it’s very easy to see underneath a baggage cart. Your two pairs of legs, taken in conjunction, are quite unmistakeable.”

  “Oh,” said Andrew. “Then you’re not angry?”

  “If I was, I’ve had twenty minutes to get over it. I take it that you didn’t follow me—that you thought of coming down here by yourselves.”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Owen thought that I took you around with me to distract people, make them forget who I am and what
I’m after. But you know that’s not true. You distract me more than you do anyone else.”

  “But you’ve got to admit that we’ve helped you,” said Sara.

  “Yes. That’s why I’m not sending you packing.” Then, as a trap appeared around a curve in the road and approached the station. “This should be our transportation.”

  The trap drew up at the station, and the driver—an alert, grey-haired man in uniform—said, “Inspector Wyatt?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Constable Lowrie. Sorry if I kept you waiting, but we only got your telegram late this morning.”

  “It doesn’t matter. These are colleagues of mine, unofficial plainclothes agents, Sara Wiggins and Andrew Tillett.”

  “Unofficial? They look quite official to me,” said Lowrie gravely. “I think there’s room for all of you.” He waited till they had all climbed into the trap, Wyatt sitting beside him and Sara and Andrew behind them. Then, shaking the reins, he sent the horse trotting down the road. “You said in your wire that you were on a case that involved Lord Somerville.”

  “That’s correct. He was robbed, and the caretaker of his London house was killed.”

  “I read about that. He wasn’t hurt himself?”

  “No. But although he told us a good deal about himself and his background, there were some things I thought I’d like to look into myself down here.”

  “Naturally, I’ll be happy to do anything I can to help. Have you any idea of where you’d like to begin?”

  “I think at the Somerville estate.”

  “Greyhurst? We may have a little trouble there. The house has been closed up for years, and I doubt if old Duncan, who looks after it, would let even you in without specific instructions from his lordship.”

  “I’m afraid it never occurred to me to discuss that with him. What about the grounds?”

  “Duncan knows me, so I think we can manage that.”

  “Good. I take it you know Somerville.”

  “Yes, I do. Not well, of course, but better than most folks in these parts. My father was gamekeeper, first for his father and then for him.”