Elizabeth Speller - The Return of Captain John Emmett

their late lamented master, Ralph Liley. Didi was terrificaly happy to find someone who didn't already know the story.'

Laurence knew the hunt from his school days.

'The Old Berks have their stables at Faringdon. The Liley estate is near by; it stretches along the Vale of the White Horse. In fact, do you remember when we used to take picnics out from school and go to Dragon Hil?'

Laurence nodded, memories suddenly flooding in. Legend had it that the hil and guly were where St George had finaly slain the dragon and no grass had grown there since the dragon's blood soaked into the earth. When he was thirteen he had believed this to be fact. Even when he knew it wasn't, the place was stil atmospheric.

'But what's the connection?' he said.

'No connection with Dragon Hil, per se, except that the Lileys lived close by. But also near by, as I'm sure you've realised, is the spot where John Emmett died.' Charles drank his whisky very slowly. Laurence knew he was savouring the moment to come.

'Faringdon Foly.' Laurence said.

'And, indeed, near the smal station at Chalow where, early last spring, Ralph Liley fel to his gruesome death under the London-bound train.'

'Good Lord.'

'Of course you're wondering: did he fal, jump or was he pushed?'

'I suppose so. Which, then?'

'Rather as with Tucker, the official verdict was that it was an accident. They said he fel when somewhat under the influence. He went up most Wednesdays, quite late, to dine with friends in London. It was getting dark. He'd been hunting and had had a stirrup cup or two. There was certainly no hint of suicide. Far too much self-regard, young Liley, and life was going wel for him. He'd just got engaged to the younger daughter of Lord Fitzhardinge, though Didi implied he had rather an eye for women. Plural.'

'But?'

'But there were only four witnesses of any kind. Six, if you count the driver and fireman, though the engine was past the spot by the time Liley went under its wheels. Train almost empty and nobody on that side of that carriage. On the station: a pregnant woman and her mother. Neither woman actualy saw him fal and the one who was with child passed out. The porter was inside and the elderly stationmaster was at the near end of the platform, looking at the engine, not at the people waiting to board, when Liley tumbled on to the line.'

'That's three,' said Laurence.

'Yes. But there's the rub. Liley was talking to another chap just before the accident. That same man jumped down to help the mortaly injured Liley after he fel.

He wasn't yet dead but was not a pretty sight. The driver and fireman stepped down too and the stationmaster ran off to cal for a doctor, though there wasn't much a medic could do with a man who'd gone under a train. By the time they returned, Liley was dead. The doctor had his work cut out, dealing with the pregnant woman and the distressed driver. The stationmaster was trying to keep the few passengers on the train and eventualy the local bobby arrived. By then the other man was nowhere to be seen.

'I actualy drove over on my way back from Bim's to London and had a word with the stationmaster. Both he and the two women had been able to give only the vaguest of descriptions of this other man, and although the stationmaster had a faint feeling he'd seen him travel from there before, he was utterly unable to add to the basic description they al put forward. You'd probably be able to provide it yourself by now: a man in a British Warm and hat. A gentleman, the stationmaster thought.

A soldier, the women had thought. The fireman saw that someone was crouched over, dealing with Liley, but he couldn't describe him at al. He thought it might be the young porter. Nobody got a clear look at his face. The stationmaster thought he was middle-aged, the women that he was quite old.'

'So not an octogenarian grandmother, at least, then?'

'Quite honestly, Laurence, it could wel have been a giraffe for al the powers of observation of those on the platform. The stationmaster said the mystery man hadn't bought a ticket. Not that day, anyway, but he could have had one already.'

'Then Liley wasn't shot in the face?'

'No, but his legs were cut off by the train.'

'So,' Laurence summed up, finding himself indifferent to Liley's horrible end, 'if we assume that Liley was no accident, and that the same man was involved in Liley's death as with the others, which is a bit of a leap but not a huge one, then it seems he manages to avoid attention because he has no particular distinguishing features and he dresses in clothes worn by half the men in England.'

'It has the feel of your man. Your unknown man. Although the police would have liked to speak to him, of course, they believed it was just the typical modesty of a decent Englishman, slipping away to avoid thanks, having done al he could. But this is a smal station. Not many people use it. Liley did, regularly, but did the unknown man know this? And if he did, how did he know it? It could be that he lives near by.'

'And it could, just possibly, be why John ended up where he did.' Laurence heard the excitement in his own voice. 'But this man, he couldn't have used the station regularly or the stationmaster would have recognised him.'

'He did recognise him, of course,' said Charles, 'if only slightly. Perhaps he's got a motorcar.'

Laurence thought for a minute. 'The murder of Jim Byers seems likely to have been committed by a man with a car. No other way, realy. That bit of Devon's pretty isolated. He wouldn't have needed one for Mulins or Tucker. I think we do have to include those two on our list.'

Laurence began to calculate the distance from Fairford to Chalow: fifteen miles or so, he guessed. George Chilvers had a car. Could the fact that the presumed murderer had always been seen in a military greatcoat be a clever ruse? Unlike most men of his age, Chilvers had never been in the forces. However, in al other ways Chilvers seemed an unlikely kiler. He was too fastidious and although a buly and a thief, he didn't seem like a man with the ruthlessness to carry out so many murders and, with some regret, Laurence had to accept that he had no conceivable link with any of the other dead men.

'I'm too tired to think al this through,' he said finaly. 'But I don't think there's much doubt that we're looking at murder now. Probably four murders, maybe more. I'm going to go back and talk to Mrs Lovel. She must know more than she's letting on. To start with, I wondered whether Hart could be her son, but it doesn't fit. Al the same, I do think her son's story may be mixed up with the execution and its aftermath. I might get a picture out of her on some pretext, though I can't think of any now, and she won't be letting any photographs far out of her sight, I imagine.'

Charles nodded, holding his glass with both hands. 'You could say you thought you might have known him, I suppose?'

It was obvious, yet Laurence had more of a problem with the idea of lying to Gwen Lovel than to the others he had deliberately misled. He didn't answer.

'You're thinking, what if the old girl is excited at being able to exchange recolections of her boy?' said Charles.

'Yes, I suppose I am. But also we aren't even absolutely certain he was ever in the army. The records don't show it.'

'Difficult one. Perhaps Lovel lied to his mama? Ran away to avoid being caled up? Perhaps she lied to you? Not impossible. If you want me to come along to see Mrs Lovel, I wil.' He looked at Laurence expectantly.

Although tempted for a moment, Laurence sensed he would get more out of Mrs Lovel if he were alone. Force of numbers might cause her to be suspicious and he thought Charles's jocular confidence might grate on her. Nevertheless, if her son had not been a soldier and she knew it, then she had lied persuasively about receiving the telegram.