Death on a Branch Line(78)

I came after a while to a straight track bordered by evergreens, but this one didn’t lead to the Piccadilly Circus of the woods. I kept imagining that I’d struck the railway line, which would give me my bearings, but it refused to appear however much I crossed and recrossed in the ferns, nettles and brambles.

As I heard the chimes for eight o’clock, I was in a district of giant trees, where the largest of the lot had toppled over onto some of its fellows and was held up leaning, like a drunk. There then came a while sitting on a low branch, smoking one of Mr Handley’s Woodbines, thinking hard about the Reverend Ridley and listening for human sounds. But I heard only the birds ascending to and descending from the treetops, from which drops of a light rain swirled down spiral-wise.

It was getting on for nine before I gave it up, and began looking for a way out, which brought me, half-dazed, to the first village green, and the silent cottages and stores. Crossing the station yard in my clammy coat, I walked onto the ‘up’ platform.

Here I made out the figure of the station master moving in the station house behind lace curtains, and I heard the clatter of pots. Hardy was a bachelor of course, and it appeared that he had no servant, and was making his own tea. I walked along to the waiting room, where the great black horsehair bench faced the dead fireplace. A picture on the wall showed ‘The Ruins of Rievaulx Abbey’, and a horseless cart sat in the middle of these ruins, as though to pile on the misery. The walls were bare and white, and I pictured in my mind’s eye Hugh Lambert in his cell. I stepped out of the waiting room, and looked at the platform clock: 9.20. Well, very likely the condemned man had done it – and it suddenly struck me that young Mervyn might be seeking forgiveness not for himself but for Master Hugh. By going to church he might be trying to put a word in for his friend, keep him from the fires of hell.

Another possibility was that Mervyn himself had shot Sir George Lambert, and this neither I nor the wife had felt able to put into words.

I was ambling up the narrow road that led back to The Angel when I heard voices coming around the corner. It was the Chief and Captain Usher. Now this might be ticklish. We’d seen off Cooper so easily that I’d put him from my mind completely. Yet here were his governors.

The Chief wore a waterproof; Usher carried a tightly rolled umbrella. As we closed, I tried to return the Chief’s gaze without looking at his nose, which was still not right. They both looked wearied out.

I gave them good evening.

‘Not so good for Cooper,’ said Usher.

‘He chased a fellow onto the train,’ I said. ‘… Thought it was John Lambert.’

A beat of silence.

‘I don’t suppose it was,’ I ran on.

‘That’s not really any of your business, is it, Stringer?’ said Usher.

He was being cagey as usual, but there was no doubt that John Lambert was still at liberty.

‘Might I ask about friend Cooper, then?’ I said. ‘I saw him clatter his leg.’

‘Nasty bruise, that’s all,’ said the Chief. ‘I dare say you’ve been searching for Lambert yourself, in spite of instructions.’

Instructions, not orders. The Chief was on my side over this, but it was necessary for him to disguise the fact.

‘I’ve just been dangling about, really,’ I said. ‘I watched a bit of the cricket game this afternoon.’

‘And what happened there?’ said the Chief, folding his arms.

‘First side in got fifty-two – no, more like thirty-six. They weren’t up to much, anyhow. The second lot were on about three, maybe four, when the ball was lost. Then rain stopped play.’

‘I wish I’d been there to see it myself,’ said the Chief.

Usher was looking at his watch.

‘We ought to be pressing on, Chief Inspector,’ he said.

‘Could I ask one last question, sir?’ I asked Usher, and we eyed each other levelly. ‘Is it known for an absolute fact that Hugh Lambert is… that way?’

‘We’ve no hard evidence … thank God,’ said Usher.

I nodded to the pair of them, and carried on up to The Angel as the chimes came for nine-thirty.





Chapter Thirty-One

I heard no stir from The Angel as I came up to it, and I saw no light at our window. I went through the front door, climbed the stairs and knocked with a light knuckle on the door. No answer. I pushed the door open. The half-closed curtains dusked the room, which smelt of lamp oil and lavender. The wife lay under the covers in her night-dress, and I took her at first to be fast asleep, but I knew she could not be in the circumstances and, as I entered the room, she rose and propped her head on her arm.