John Carr: Till Death Do Us Part

'A minute ago,' Dick pointed out, 'you were saying they wanted to congratulate us. You intimated they were practically roaring round the country in search of us, just to pour out congratulations.'

'Exactly, my dear chap! That's quite true!'

‘Well?'

'But they do feel — mind, I only wanted to warn you! - they do feel, in a way, that poor old Cynthia,..' '"Poor old Cynthia?'" 'In away. Yes.'

Motioning Major Price to one side, Dick raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The lash of the shot was like a comment, while he noted in an absent-minded way that he had scored a hit on the middle target a little off bull's-eye. Both he and the major spoke in that guarded, conspiratorial tone which men employ to discuss dangerous domestic matters.

But he was conscious of tugging forces, the closing net of the spoken word, moving behind this tiny life at Six Ashes.

'For over two years,’ he said bitterly, 'this whole village has been trying to get Cynthia and me together, whether we like it or not'

' I understand, my dear chap. I quite understand!' Dick fired again.

'There's nothing to it, I tell you! I've never paid any attentions, any serious attentions, to Cynthia. And Cynthia knows that, She can't have misinterpreted it, whatever the others have done.'

' My dear chap,' said the major, regarding him shrewdly, 'you can never pay any attentions to a gal without her wondering whether that might not be behind it. Not that I don't understand your point of view, mind 1'

Dick fired again.

'And, as for getting married just to please the community, I don't see that. I'm in love with Lesley. I've been in love with her ever since she came here. That's all there is to it Though what she can possibly see in me...!'

Major Price chuckled.

'Oh well!', he said deprecatingly, looking Dick up and down, and dismissing this with a wave of his hand. 'After all, you're our local celebrity.'

Dick grunted.

'Or I should say,' amended the major, 'that you're now one of our two local celebrities. Has anybody told you about the fortune-teller?'

'No. Who is the fortune-teller? I mean, it can't be anyone from hereabouts, or everybody would know him and know the whole thing was a fake. But they all seem to think he's outstandingly good. Who is the fortune-teller?'

There was an open box of cartridges on the counter. Major Price picked up a handful idly, letting them run through his fingers back into the box. He hesitated, as though amused at a memory.

'Remind me,' he said, 'to tell you of a devilish good joke I played on Earnshaw this afternon. Earnshaw-'

'Hang it, major, don't evade! Who is the fortuneteller?'

Major Price glanced round cautiously. 'I'll tell you,' he confided, 'if you don't let it get any farther for the moment, because he wants it kept quiet.

He's probably one of the greatest living authorities on crime.'

CHAPTER 2

'AUTHORITY on crime?' repeated Dick.

'Yes. Sir Harvey Gilman.'

'You don't mean the Home Office Pathologist?'

'That's the chap,' agreed Major Price complacently.

As startled as he was impressed, Dick swung round to stare at the red-and-white striped tent, beside whose door the ghostly cardboard hand writhed and beckoned in the wind.

And he saw a weird shadow-play.

It was now so tumultuously dark that he could barely make out the sign which read,

'THE GREAT SWAMI,

PALMIST AND CRYSTAL-GAZER:

SEES ALL, KNOWS ALL',

adorning this gaudy structure. But there was a light inside, an overhead light. Against the darkness it threw on the tent-wall discernible shadows of the two persons inside.

They were smudgy shadows, wavering as the tent belled uneasily. Nevertheless Dick could make out the silhouette of a woman at one side; and on the other side, with some sort of table between, a squat shadow with a curiously bulbous head, which seemed to be waving its hands.

' Sir Harvey Gilman!' Dick muttered.

'Sitting in there,' explained the major, 'with a turban round his head, telling people all about themselves. He's been the hit of the show all day.'

'Does he know anything about palmistry or crystal-gazing?'

Major Price spoke dryly.

'No, my lad. But he knows a lot about human nature. That's the whole secret of fortune-telling, anyway.'

'But what's Sir Harvey Gilman doing here?'

'He's taken Pope's cottage for the summer. You know - in Gallows Lane, not very far from your place.' Again

the major chuckled. 'The Chief Constable introduced him to me, and I got an inspiration.' 'Inspiration?'

' That's right. I thought it'd be an excellent idea if we asked him to play fortune-teller, and not reveal his identity until later. What's more, I think the old boy's enjoying himself.'

'What’s he like, actually ?’

'Little dry old chap, with a glittering eye. But, as I say, I think he's enjoying himself no end. The Ashes know ' about it - he nearly made Lady Ashe faint, last night - and Dr Middlesworth and one or two others.' .

Here Major Price broke off, with another parade-ground hail past Dick's ear. For one of the persons he had just mentioned was hurrying up through the clutter of tents towards Ashe Hall.

Dr Hugh Middlesworth, bare-headed and with a bag of golf-clubs slung over his shoulder, moved at long strides to get ahead of the rain. He had been in charge of the golf hazard at the garden-party: that is, you tried various short shots from an improvised tee, and received nominal prizes in relation to the fewest strokes it took to reach the cup. He shook his head violently at Major Price's hail; but the major became so insistent that he reluctantly came over to the shooting-gallery.

Hugh Middlesworth was both a good doctor and a very popular man.

The reasons for his popularity might be difficult to determine. He was not a talkative person. He was also the mildest-mannered of men, -having a devoted if sharp-tongued wife and a rather large family.

Lean and fortyish, his thin-spun brown hair going thin on top, Dr Middlesworth wore as a rule a vaguely harassed look. There were lines round his eyes and his mouth, with its narrow brown line of moustache. There were hollows in his cheek-bones and temples. But he had, in place of conversation, an understanding smile which suddenly lighted up his whole face. It was unconscious; it was his only bed-side mannerism; yet it worked wonders.

Tramping over towards them now, slinging the golf-bag from one shoulder to the other, he surveyed Major Price in astonishment.

'Aren't you at the cricket match ?' he demanded.

'No,' said the major, both question and answer being a little superfluous.' I thought I'd hang on here, and - well! keep an eye on the fortune-teller. I've just been telling Dick about Sir Harvey Gilman.'

' Oh,' said Dr Middlesworth.

He opened his mouth as though to add something, but changed his mind and closed it again.

'As a matter of fact,' pursued the major, 'Lesley Grant is in there having her fortune told now. If he tells her she's met a fair man and will go on a journey, that's absolutely right' He pointed to Dick. 'Those two are going to make a match of it, you know.'

Dr Middlesworth did not comment He merely smiled and extended his hand, with a grip of strong capable fingers. But Dick knew it was sincere.

'I'd heard something about it,' he confessed. 'From my wife.' His vaguely harassed look returned, and he hesitated. 'As for Sir Harvey...'

'In this lad's profession,' continued the major, tapping Dick impressively on the shoulder, 'he ought to be invaluable. Eh?'

'Invaluable,' Dick said with some fervour, 'isn't the word for it. That man has given expert evidence in every murder case, celebrated or obscure, for the past thirty years. A friend of mine used to live near him in Bayswater; and said he'd come home, as often as not, with somebody's insides in an open glass jar. Ralph says the old boy's a walking encyclopedia about murders, if you can only persuade him to talk. And...'