the man who knew too much-第3章

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They　reached　the　great　lodge　gates　of　the　park；　and；　to　March's　surprise；　passed　them　and　continued　along　the　interminable　white；　straight　road。　But　he　was　himself　too　early　for　his　appointment　with　Sir　Howard；　and　was　not　disinclined　to　see　the　end　of　his　new　friend's　experiment；　whatever　it　might　be。　They　had　long　left　the　moorland　behind　them；　and　half　the　white　road　was　gray　in　the　great　shadow　of　the　Torwood　pine　forests；　themselves　like　gray　bars　shuttered　against　the　sunshine　and　within；　　amid　that　clear　noon；　manufacturing　their　own　midnight。　Soon；　however；　rifts　began　to　appear　in　them　like　gleams　of　colored　windows；　the　trees　thinned　and　fell　away　as　the　road　went　forward；　showing　the　wild；　irregular　copses　in　which；　as　Fisher　said；　the　house…party　had　been　blazing　away　all　day。　And　about　two　hundred　yards　farther　on　they　came　to　the　first　turn　of　the　road。

At　the　corner　stood　a　sort　of　decayed　inn　with　the　dingy　sign　of　The　Grapes。　The　signboard　was　dark　and　indecipherable　by　now；　and　hung　black　against　the　sky　and　the　gray　moorland　beyond；　about　as　inviting　as　a　gallows。　March　remarked　that　it　looked　like　a　tavern　for　vinegar　instead　of　wine。

〃A　good　phrase；〃　said　Fisher；　〃and　so　it　would　be　if　you　were　silly　enough　to　drink　wine　in　it。　But　the　beer　is　very　good；　and　so　is　the　brandy。〃

March　followed　him　to　the　bar　parlor　with　some　wonder；　and　his　dim　sense　of　repugnance　was　not　dismissed　by　the　first　sight　of　the　innkeeper；　who　was　widely　different　from　the　genial　innkeepers　of　romance；　a　bony　man；　very　silent　behind　a　black　mustache；　but　with　black；　restless　eyes。　Taciturn　as　he　was；　the　investigator　succeeded　at　last　in　extracting　a　scrap　of　information　from　him；　by　dint　of　ordering　beer　and　talking　to　him　persistently　and　minutely　on　the　subject　of　motor　cars。　He　evidently　regarded　the　innkeeper　as　in　some　singular　way　an　authority　on　motor　cars；　as　being　deep　in　the　secrets　of　the　mechanism；　management；　and　mismanagement　of　motor　cars；　holding　the　man　all　the　time　with　a　glittering　eye　like　the　Ancient　Mariner。　Out　of　all　this　rather　mysterious　conversation　there　did　emerge　at　last　a　sort　of　admission　that　one　particular　motor　car；　of　a　given　description；　had　stopped　before　the　inn　about　an　hour　before；　and　that　an　elderly　man　had　alighted；　requiring　some　mechanical　assistance。　Asked　if　the　visitor　required　any　other　assistance；　the　innkeeper　said　shortly　that　the　old　gentleman　had　filled　his　flask　and　taken　a　packet　of　sandwiches。　And　with　these　words　the　somewhat　inhospitable　host　had　walked　hastily　out　of　the　bar；　and　they　heard　him　banging　doors　in　the　dark　interior。

Fisher's　weary　eye　wandered　round　the　dusty　and　dreary　inn　parlor　and　rested　dreamily　on　a　glass　case　containing　a　stuffed　bird；　with　a　gun　hung　on　hooks　above　it；　which　seemed　to　be　its　only　ornament。

〃Puggy　was　a　humorist；〃　he　observed；　〃at　least　in　his　own　rather　grim　style。　But　it　seems　rather　too　grim　a　joke　for　a　man　to　buy　a　packet　of　sandwiches　when　he　is　just　going　to　commit　suicide。〃

〃If　you　come　to　that；〃　answered　March；　〃it　　isn't　very　usual　for　a　man　to　buy　a　packet　of　sandwiches　when　he's　just　outside　the　door　of　a　grand　house　he's　going　to　stop　at。〃

〃No　。　。　。　no；〃　repeated　Fisher；　almost　mechanically；　and　then　suddenly　cocked　his　eye　at　his　interlocutor　with　a　much　livelier　expression。

〃By　Jove！　that's　an　idea。　You're　perfectly　right。　And　that　suggests　a　very　queer　idea；　doesn't　it？〃

There　was　a　silence；　and　then　March　started　with　irrational　nervousness　as　the　door　of　the　inn　was　flung　open　and　another　man　walked　rapidly　to　the　counter。　He　had　struck　it　with　a　coin　and　called　out　for　brandy　before　he　saw　the　other　two　guests；　who　were　sitting　at　a　bare　wooden　table　under　the　window。　When　he　turned　about　with　a　rather　wild　stare；　March　had　yet　another　unexpected　emotion；　for　his　guide　hailed　the　man　as　Hoggs　and　introduced　him　as　Sir　Howard　Horne。

He　looked　rather　older　than　his　boyish　portraits　in　the　illustrated　papers；　as　is　the　way　of　politicians；　his　flat；　fair　hair　was　touched　with　gray；　but　his　face　was　almost　comically　round；　with　a　Roman　nose　which；　when　combined　with　his　quick；　bright　eyes；　raised　a　vague　reminiscence　of　a　parrot。　He　had　a　cap　rather　at　the　back　of　his　head　and　a　gun　under　his　arm。　Harold　March　had　imagined　many　things　about　his　meeting　with　the　great　political　reformer；　but　he　had　never　pictured　him　with　a　gun　under　his　arm；　drinking　brandy　in　a　public　house。

〃So　you're　stopping　at　Jink's；　too；〃　said　Fisher。　〃Everybody　seems　to　be　at　Jink's。〃

〃Yes；〃　replied　the　Chancellor　of　the　Exchequer。　〃Jolly　good　shooting。　At　least　all　of　it　that　isn't　Jink's　shooting。　I　never　knew　a　chap　with　such　good　shooting　that　was　such　a　bad　shot。　Mind　you；　he's　a　jolly　good　fellow　and　all　that；　I　don't　say　a　word　against　him。　But　he　never　learned　to　hold　a　gun　when　he　was　packing　pork　or　whatever　he　did。　They　say　he　shot　the　cockade　off　his　own　servant's　hat；　just　like　him　to　have　cockades；　of　course。　He　shot　the　weathercock　off　his　own　ridiculous　gilded　summerhouse。　It's　the　only　cock　he'll　ever　kill；　I　should　think。　Are　you　coming　up　there　now？〃

Fisher　said；　rather　vaguely；　that　he　was　following　soon；　when　he　had　fixed　something　up；　and　the　Chancellor　of　the　Exchequer　left　the　inn。　March　fancied　he　had　been　a　little　upset　or　impatient　when　he　called　for　the　brandy；　but　he　had　talked　himself　back　into　a　satisfactory　state；　if　the　talk　had　not　been　quite　what　his　literary　visitor　had　expected。　Fisher；　a　few　minutes　afterward；　slowly　led　the　way　out　of　the　tavern　and　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　road；　looking　down　in　the　direction　from　which　they　had　traveled。　Then　he　walked　back　about　two　hundred　yards　in　that　direction　and　stood　still　again。

〃I　should　think　this　is　about　the　place；〃　he　said。

〃What　place？〃　asked　his　companion。

〃The　place　where　the　poor　fellow　was　killed；〃　said　Fisher；　sadly。

〃What　do　you　mean？〃　demanded　March。

〃He　was　smashed　up　on　the　rocks　a　mile　and　a　half　from　here。〃

〃No；　he　wasn't；〃　replied　Fisher。　〃He　didn't　fall　on　the　rocks　at　all。　Didn't　you　notice　that　he　only　fell　on　the　slope　of　soft　grass　underneath？　But　I　saw　that　he　had　a　bullet　in　him　already。〃

Then　after　a　pause　he　added：

〃He　was　alive　at　the　inn；　but　he　was　dead　long　before　he　came　to　the　rocks。　So　he　was　shot　as　he　drove　his　car　down　this　strip　of　straight　road；　and　I　should　think　somewhere　about　here。　After　that；　of　course；　the　car　went　straight　on　with　nobody　to　stop　or　turn　it。　It's　really　a　very　cunning　dodge　in　its　way；　for　the　body　would　be　found　far　away；　and　most　people　would　say；　as　you　do；　that　it　was　an　accident　to　a　motorist。　The　murderer　must　have　been　a　clever　brute。〃

〃But　wouldn't　the　shot　be　heard　at　the　inn　or　somewhere？〃　asked　March。

〃It　would　be　heard。　But　it　would　not　be　noticed。　That；〃　continued　the　investigator；　〃is　where　he　was　clever　again。　Shooting　was　going　on　all　over　the　place　all　day；　very　likely　he　timed　his　shot　so　as　to　drown　it　in　a　number　of　others。　Certainly　he　was　a　first…class　criminal。　And　he　was　something　else　as　well。〃

〃What　do　you　mean？〃　asked　his　companion；　with　a　creepy　premonition　of　something　coming；　he　knew　not　why。

〃He　was　a　first…class　shot；〃　said　Fisher。　He　had　turned　his　back　abruptly　and　was　walking　down　a　narrow；　grassy　lane；　little　more　than　a　cart　track；　which　lay　opposite　the　inn　and　marked　the　end　of　the　great　estate　and　the　beginning　of　the　open　moors。　March　plodded　after　him　with　the　same　idle　perseverance；　and　found　him　staring　through　a　gap　in　giant　weeds　and　thorns　at　the　flat　face　of　a　painted　paling。　From　behind　the　paling　rose　the　great　gray　columns　of　a　row　of　poplars；　which　filled　the　heavens　above　them　with　dark…green　shadow　and　shook　faintly　in　a　wind　which　had　sunk　slowly　into　a　breeze。　The　afternoon　was　already　deepening　into　evening；　and　the　titanic　shadows　of　the　poplars　lengthened　over　a　third　of　the　landscape。

〃Are　you　a　first…class　criminal？〃　asked　Fisher；　in　a　friendly　tone。　〃I'm　afraid　I'm　not。　But　I　think　I　can　manage　to　be　a　sort　of　fourth…rate　burglar。〃

And　before　his　companion　could　reply　he　had　managed　to　swing　himself　up　and　over　the　fence；　March　followed　without　much　bodily　effort；