The Chestermarke Instinct

"I telephoned Polke to keep an eye on him, anyway, if he did arrive at either Scarnham or the Warren," answered Starmidge, still grimly determined. "And it's my impression that he has come down-to see that nephew of his. Easleby!-they're both in at it. Both!"

Again the elder detective made no answer. He was obviously much impressed by the recent developments as related in the newspapers which they had just read, and was deep in thought about them and the possibilities which they suggested to him.

"Well!" he said at last, as the high roofs of Scarnham came in view, "we'll hear what Polke has to tell. Something may have happened since those inquest proceedings this afternoon."

But Polke, when they reached his office, had little o tell. Lord Ellersdeane, Betty Fosdyke, and Stephen Hollis were with him, evidently in consultation, and Starmidge at once saw that Betty looked distressed and anxious in no ordinary degree. All turned eagerly on the two detectives. But Starmidge addressed himself straight to Polke with one direct inquiry.

"Seen him?-heard of him?" he asked.

"Not a word!" answered Polke. "Nor a sign! If he came down by that train you spoke of, he ought to have been in the town by four o'clock at the outside. But he's never been to the bank, and he certainly hadn't arrived at his house three-quarters of an hour ago. And since ten o'clock this morning t'other's disappeared, too!"

"What-Joseph?" exclaimed Starmidge.

"Just so!" replied Polke, with the expression of a man who feels that things are getting too much for individual effort, "He was at the bank at eight o'clock this morning-one of my men saw him go in by the back way-orchard way, you know. The clerks say he went out-that way again-at ten, and he's never been seen since."

"His house!" said Starmidge. "Have you tried that?"

"Know nothing of him there-the old man and old woman said so, at any rate," answered Polke. "He seems to have cleared out. And now here's fresh bother, though I don't know if it's anything to do with this. Mr. Neale's missing-never been seen since six yesterday evening. Miss Fosdyke's anxious-"

"He was to see me at nine last night," said Betty. "No one has seen him. His landlady says he never returned home last night. Do you think anything can have happened-"

"If anything's happened to Mr. Neale," interrupted Starmidge, "it's all of a piece with the rest of it. Now, superintendent!" he went on, turning to Polke, "never mind what news I've brought-we've got to find these two Chestermarkes at once! We must go, some of us, to the Warren, some to the Cornmarket. See here!-Easleby and I will go on to the Cornmarket now-you get some of your men and follow. If we hear nothing there-then, the Warren. But-quick!"

The two detectives hurried out of the police-station; Lord Ellersdeane and Betty, after a word or two with Polke, followed. Outside, Starmidge and Easleby paused a moment, consulting; the Earl stepped forward to speak to them.

"As regards Mr. Neale," he began, "Miss Fosdyke thinks you ought to know that-"

A sudden searching flash, as of lightning, glared across the open space in front, lighting up the tower of the old church, the high roofs of the ancient houses, and the drifting clouds above them. Then a crash as of terrible thunder shook the little town from end to end, and as it died away the street lamps went out, and the tinkle of falling glass sounded on the pavements of the Market-Place. And in the second of dead silence which followed, a woman's voice, shrill, terrified, shrieked loudly, once, somewhere in the darkness. CHAPTER XXVII

THE OLD DOVE-COT

On the previous evening, Wallington Neale, who had spent most of the day with Betty Fosdyke, endeavouring to gain some further light on the disappearance of her uncle, had left her at eight o'clock in order to keep a business appointment. He was honourary treasurer of the Scarnham Cricket Club: the weekly meeting of the committee of which important institution was due that night at the Hope and Anchor Inn, an old tavern in the Cornmarket. Thither Neale repaired, promising to rejoin Betty at nine o'clock. There was little business to be done at the meeting: by a quarter to nine it was all over and Neale was going away. And as he walked down the long sanded passage which led from the committee-room to the front entrance of the inn, old Rob Walford, the landlord, came out of the bow-windowed bar-parlour, beckoned him, with a mystery-suggesting air, to follow, and led him into a private room, the door of which he carefully closed.

Walford, a shrewd-eyed, astute old fellow, well known in Scarnham for his business abilities and his penetration, chiefly into other people's affairs, looked at Neale with a mingled expression of meaning and inquiry.

"Mr. Neale!" he whispered, glancing round at the panelling of the old parlour in which they stood, as if he feared that its ancient boards might conceal eavesdroppers, "I wanted a word with you-in private. How's this here affair going? Is aught being done? Is aught being found out? Is that detective chap any good?-him from London, I mean. Is there aught new-since this morning?"

"Not to my knowledge, Mr. Walford," answered Neale, who knew well that the old innkeeper was hand-in-glove with the Scarnham police, and invariably kept himself well primed with information about their doings. "I should think you know nearly everything-just as much as I do-more, perhaps."

The landlord poked a stout forefinger into Neale's waistcoat.

"Aye!" he said. "Aye, so I do!-as to what you might call surface matter, Mr. Neale. But-about the main thing, which, in my opinion, is the whereabouts of John Horbury? Does yon young lady at the Scarnham Arms know aught more about her uncle? Do you? Does anybody? Is there aught behind, like; aught that hasn't come out on the top?"

"I don't know of anything," replied Neale. "I wish I did! Miss Fosdyke's very anxious indeed about her uncle: she'd give anything or do anything to get news of him. It's all rot, you know, to say he's run away-it's my impression he's never gone out of Scarnham or the neighbourhood. But where he is, and whether dead or alive, is beyond my comprehension," he concluded, shaking his head. "If he's alive, why don't we hear something, or find out something?"

Walford gave his companion a quick glance out of his shrewd old eyes.

"He might be under such circumstances as wouldn't admit of that there, Mr. Neale," he said. "But come!-I've got something to tell you-something that I found out not half an hour ago. I was going on to tell Polke about it at once, but I remembered that you were in the house at this cricket club meeting, so I thought you'd do instead-you can tell Polke. I'm in a bit of a hurry myself-you know it's Wymington Races tomorrow, and I'm off there tonight, at once, to meet a man that I do a bit of business with in these matters-we make a book together, d'ye see-so I can't stop. But come this way."

He led Neale out into the long sanded passage, and down through the rear of the old house into a big stable-yard, enclosed by variously shaped buildings, more or less in an almost worn-out and dilapidated condition, whose roofs and gables showed picturesquely against the sky, faintly lighted by the waning moon. To one of these, a tower-like erection, considerably higher than the rest, the old landlord pointed.

"I suppose you know that these back premises of mine partly overlook Joseph Chestermarke's garden?" he whispered. "They do, anyway-you can see right over his garden and the back of his house-that is, in bits, for he's a fine lot of tall trees round his lawns. But there's a very fair view of that workshop he's built from the top storey of this old dove-cot of mine-we use it as a store-house. Come up-and mind these here broken steps-there's no rail, you see, and you could easy fall over."