“I say, old thing,” said Ned, “I’m quite conscious that I’m not up to Brews’ form, but I think I see a little light. All the time I have been asking myself how the bodies were brought here. The theory is by car. Then Brews quite justifiably says his people cover all the routine jobs perfectly. Among them would be tracing tyre tracks down the lane to my gate here.”

  She nodded, “That would be elementary.”

  “But Brews never mentioned it to us.”

  “No, but we can have a look at the lane now. You mustn’t forget that you drove down here several times, you drove here again that night, and twice since. In other words you must have muddled the tracks a bit.”

  He smiled, “Yes, that’s my point. “Why wasn’t I warned off the grass, as I would have been if I had persisted in trampling all round the pond after the police came?”

  “Let’s have a look before we go any further,” said Nancy, getting off the window ledge.

  They left the house, and went through the gate into the lane where the two-seater stood. Then they crept between it and the hedge, and made a careful examination of the roadway.

  “The tracks here are distinct enough, and there has been no rain for a week,” Ned observed, “that’s odd.”

  “You may both have newish Dunlops,” said Nancy, “we can check that.”

  “You’re right,” said Ned, and they turned back into the house, to take up their former possessions on the window ledge.

  “On the whole,” said Nancy, after a pause, “it seems that Mr. Habershon did not need to worry about a will. He was melting down solid property into fluid cash.”

  “Bearer Bonds—fluid enough for any one.”

  “He then decided to dispose of his nephew and niece, making it look like suicide,” she went on. “He had a chance that few guardians have; since his wards wished to marry, and he was able to oppose it on the ground that they were cousins.”

  “Perhaps—if you admit that theory—he made the objection so that Rainy and Miss Rowe would have something to get worried about,” said Ned.

  “Go on.”

  She frowned, “But, even if he was able to dope them both, and carry them separately to the side of the pond here, he was obviously incapable of carrying them from the spot where the car was found abandoned.”

  “A man of sixty-six; no. Out of the question.”

  Grisly as the affair was, and terribly shocked as she had been when the bodies were found in the pond, Nancy was discovering a curious odd pleasure in her ratiocination now.

  “But the car needed a driver, or it could not have been found some distance away. Then we must assume that Habershon drove the car to the gate here, did his foul job, got in again, and drove away.”

  “Afterwards rushing back, intending to make out that he was in pursuit of his wards, who had given him the slip, and manifested suicidal tendencies.”

  “Quite. He rushed back here afoot, meant to rush off again seeking help, when it was too late, but slipped, and went in. Once in the pond, he was caught by the weeds, and drowned.”

  “That seems to be the police theory so far, and it had some good points,” remarked Ned, “but if the old chap’s car has tyres which are neither Dunlops, nor of the same size as mine, then there is a hole in the jolly old ballad. My tyres made a good many marks, and there are no others.”

  “But the ambulance came and the police came in a car.”

  “Can’t help that, old thing. They must have stopped them at the point where the lane joins the main road. You saw for yourself.”

  As he spoke, he slipped off the sill, and tucked her arm in his.

  “Come along to the car again. I must have a map to look at. Unless, as you hinted, Brews is wantonly stringing us, it was quite impossible for old Habershon to have driven the car here with the bodies—with Rainy and the girl, driven back to where the car was found, and then walked here once more, and slipped in.”

  “I don’t see that,” she objected, as they left the house once more.

  “I do, Nance. It’s as plain as a pikestaff. Say it only took old Habershon ten minutes to drive the car to where it was found, but add to that the time it took him to walk back, and go in. It is presumed that Rainy’s watch stopped because he was in the water, and Habershon’s for the same reason. But Habershon’s watch was stopped only four minutes after Rainy’s. Got that?”

  Nancy stared at him admiringly, “That is clever of you. Let’s run over and surprise Brews.”

  He shook his head, “You never know if Brews will be surprised. That man is no fool. Besides I want to work out another bit of my theory.”

  Inwardly Nancy took back what she had said to herself about the uselessness of the amateur sleuth in real life. She followed him to the car, where he searched for a large scale map, found it, and spread it out on the bonnet.

  “This is an ordinance map I bought specially,” he told her. “Now let me see, here is my watery demesne. Keep your eye on it. Now I want to find the exact spot where Habershon’s car was left.”

  “In a short lane leading to a field near Pudstey cross-roads, wasn’t it?” she said.

  He nodded, scanning the map. “Here we are, this must be it. A blessing on the white head of the man who first ordinanced, also a cheer for me, for my first-time shot! Nancy, do you see this wandering ribbon going serenely from west to east.”

  “Of course I do. It’s the Lum.”

  “Exactly. It is the far-from-noble river Lum. And it was the proximity of the river Lum that led the estate agents to say that fishing was among the amenities on my estate.”

  Nancy excitedly studied the map, “Oh, here it runs by that field the lane runs into.”

  “It does, and it is not five yards from the gate. Now if the old savage wanted cheap and easy transportation, foul ruffian that he was, here it is. Can’t you picture it? Draw the car up into the lane, bring out the flask for a little refreshment, serve out cigarettes all round, and wait for the mordinal to do its work. I needn’t harrow your feelings with a description of the other events.”

  Nancy gave a little shiver, “Don’t! But how does that account for the bodies being in the pond afterwards? And would they all float down the river so far. It’s very slow running, and weedy in places.”

  He agreed, “That is so, but there are boats. There is a leaky old punt moored near Fen Court. There are no doubt other boats on the way.”

  “But Mr. Habershon would know that the car was here, and would be found.”

  “Only for the fact that he did not expect to die there and then, my dear. He fully expected to get back to the car.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that is why he left the bodies in the pond. If he had tossed them into the river near here——” Ned paused, folded up the map, and added hastily, “We’ll drive over, and have a look. This is where an ounce of practice is worth a pound of speculation. Get in and I’ll crank her up. I expect she’s cold.”

  Nancy climbed into the car, the engine was started, and they backed out of the lane and started for Pudstey crossroads.

  As they discovered when they reached their destination, the spot where Habershon’s car had been found was not so much a short lane as an embayed entry to a field. The gate itself was one of those that are fastened by a spring contrivance. On the ground there still remained the tyre tracks made by the standing car.

  “Just the same as mine,” said Ned, when they had descended to look, and there’s the river. “And more than that, if my eyes do not deceive me, there is a punt.”

  They opened the gate and went into the field. The punt was moored to an alder standing on the bank. A strong old rope was fastened to a ring in the stern, and the other end tied to the trunk of the sturdy tree.

  “No chain or padlock, nothing to do but slip the knot,” said Ned, “Eureka!”

  “Not so much Eureka either!” murmured Nancy, who was sorry to break in upon his innocent triumph, but felt that truth came first, “If Mr. Habershon took them down in this boat, how did it come back? The whole thing is very mysterious, but not miraculous.”

  He grinned, “You are crushing, but not without warrant. A boat is certainly not a boomerang. H’m. I wonder who owns it.”

  Nancy had caught a glimpse of an old farm-house two fields higher up, “Perhaps the farmer.”

  “Good. Then the farmer for us. He may have heard something.”

  Ten minutes found them in the farm-house, and interviewing the farmer’s wife. She was full of the Fen Court affair, and not averse from supplying comment and gossip about it. But Ned mendaciously cut her short.

  “We didn’t come about that,” he said. “We wanted to know if we could buy your punt. We want a cheap one. But perhaps that isn’t yours.”

  The farmer’s wife said that it was. Her husband had bought it to fish from years ago, but he was a bit rheumatic now (worried with the screws, was how she put it), and did not use it. She added that other people did, without hiring or paying for it either.

  Ned professed indignation. Who had the impudence to do that sort of thing?

  She shook her head. She did not know. But a couple of days ago, in fact, just about the time of the poor young folks suiciding themselves, it was taken away, and found floating some miles down.

  “My husband sent one of our men to bring it back this morning,” she added. “Farmer Datchett, down at Poljohn sent word up it was down opposite his place.”

  Ned and Nancy were now greatly excited, but contrived to hide their feelings. They agreed to have another look at the punt and let the farmer know if they could make an offer. Then they rushed back to the car, to canvas this new discovery.

  “Boomerang or no boomerang, I think this was Charon’s boat,” said Ned. “The old chap no doubt intended to bring it back, or perhaps he thought it would drift on to the sea, and be lost. Now we will race back and examine the bank of the beautiful Lum, to see if we can find any signs that a landing was made there.”

  “I give you back your Eureka, with my compliments,” said Nancy, contritely.

  “Thank you,” he replied, as he started the car. “But if you hadn’t been doubtful we should not have interviewed the farmer’s wife and got the actual facts.”

  Ned drove back rather faster than he had come. He felt that he had made a considerable discovery. Signs of a boat or punt having been moored alongside his garden at Fen Court would pretty well prove that the bodies in the pond had not been brought there by car but by water.

  Nancy was as eager as he. She believed that Ned was going to become a very considerable rival to Inspector Brews. What a reclame this would bring him, if he pulled it off! Why, his novels would sell like hot cakes; not only, as they did now, like competently made bread.

  They pulled up the car at the gate, and jumped out. There was a little gate in the hedge at the side along which the river ran, and it gave on a stretch of grassy bank twenty feet wide. The river itself was fringed with reeds, and they studied this vegetable barrier with interest as they emerged from the gate, and stood on the bank.

  “Jove!” cried Ned, “some one has been here. Look! There are broken reeds and that patch of water-weed is torn up. Let’s get on and see.”

  They went down to the water’s edge. There they had further evidence of the soundness of their theory. The grass was beaten down, as if something heavy had been dragged along it, and there was a mark on the clay bank that suggested the impact of a broad-nosed punt.

  “That’s done it,” said Ned. “Habershon, of course, expected to tell his story of the young people’s bolt to commit suicide, and his futile pursuit. He would make it appear that he had followed them along the road, and down the lane here. Had he lived to do that, no one would have thought of looking for a punt here.”

  “No,” said Nancy, “Let’s get back to the car now, and see what Brews thinks of it.”

  He shook his head as they went into the garden and closed the gate, “Not yet. I want to see Hench now. I promised to look at his illustrations, and we may get some information about Rainy from him. You remember Rainy was so busy blowing eggs, and that sort of thing, when Huston invited them to tea that he came late. Can you imagine the fellow worrying about bird’s eggs, when he and the girl had determined to commit suicide.”

  “It might have been a brainstorm,” she murmured, as they got into the car.

  “’Ware false psychology!” said he, “brainstorm is a grand excuse for crime; just as Freud and Fraud often figure in the police courts when the swindler had a brainy barrister to defend him. Rainy and Miss Rowe weren’t mad. But Hench can tell us about Rainy anyway. When we’ve seen him we’ll give Brews a turn.”

  Chapter X

  HENCH was in deep dejection, and his room dark, when they rang the bell of Pear Cottage. According to him the tragedy at Fen Court had not confined itself to the three persons most intimately concerned, but had wrecked and ruined his own prospects.

  His patron had gone, and the money for the ornithological work with him, while his treasured hen harrier had taken flight and deserted her nest, so that he had had reluctantly to fill up the “hide,” and abandon his investigations before they had borne proper fruit.

  “It’s very hard, Mr. Hope,” he complained to Ned, rubbing his head slowly with his hand, and staring mournfully at Nancy, who sat by. “Publishers won’t spend all the money this thing needs unless you are a big bug with a famous name. But do let me show you the illustrations. They are mostly photographs, with a few sketches.”

  “We came over specially to see them,” said Ned, not quite veraciously, “I know my publisher does a little general work, as well as fiction, and I might put it up to him.”

  Rather to his embarrassment, Hench seized and wrung his hand. “If you would, my dear sir, I shall be everlastingly grateful.” He offered a cigarette-case to both, and lit up himself excitedly. “Wait a moment. I will clear the table,” here he swept some papers on to the floor, “and lay them out.”

  “Another batty bird-man,” Ned said to himself as he glanced amusedly at the little man, who had now mounted on a chair to reach a high cupboard, and descended again with an immense pile of mounted photographs.

  He was less inclined to scoff when he saw the photographs. They were works of art in their way, and marvellously well-taken. He and Nancy were loud in their admiration of the little man’s skill and patience. The last photograph, of a skua, taken in the far Scottish isles, was perfect.

  “If you draw as well as you do this sort of thing, we shall be glad to see the sketches too,” cried Nancy.

  He beamed, and went to fetch them.

  He was evidently a splendid draughtsman, if not particularly good as a colourist, and Ned was impressed.

  “Well, Mr. Hench, I have an idea my man will give you an opening if you let me show him a few of these,” he said. “I had no idea you were really up to this. I only thought you were a gifted amateur, so to speak.”

  “It’s been the passion of my life,” said Hench, slowly. “I am very grateful to you, very. I was beginning to feel that I had wasted my life.”

  “Well, I’ll see what can be done,” Ned skated on hastily over this sentimental ice, “Young Rainy would have been another like yourself, if he had lived, Mr. Hench. He was very keen, wasn’t he?”

  Hench nodded, “According to his uncle he thought of little else.”

  “Except Miss Rowe,” said Nancy quietly.

  Hench turned to look at her. “I am beginning to wonder. Inspector Brews has unsettled me. He seems to make it so clear that Mr. Habershon was at the bottom of this tragedy. If he is right, what am I to believe? He even suggested that Mr. Habershon pretended to the young man that I had asked him here that evening. As if I should have gone out when I was expecting guests.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” said Ned. “It was as well for you in the circumstances, though, that you met Constable Hoggett when you were out.”

  Hench stared at him in a puzzled way, “I don’t quite see that.”

  Ned shrugged, “We’re all under suspicion, even your humble servant has had a temporary shadow. The light in my house that night did it, of course.”

  “I wish I hadn’t mentioned it,” said Hench. “I was very restless that evening, and I went out at half-past seven for a long walk. But in any case as I said to Brews, if Mr. Habershon had been coming here, why go to the café in Upperton? You might say to wait till I had had my supper. But he knew I have it at eight, and he might in that case have had his own dinner early in town and then come on.”

  “Of course, he could,” agreed Ned. “By the way, he gave you the impression that the young people were mad to get married. Isn’t it possible that all he said about them to outsiders was meant only to work up to a suicide fake?”

  Hench wrinkled his brows. “If we concede Brews’ theory it may have been so. And that letter, or scrap of a letter, found on the girl’s dress may have been torn out of some letter she wrote on some other subject. The idea is distressing.”

  “But not improbable,” said Ned. “We form many judgments from what people say. I know a man I once regarded as a bit of a miser, from what acquaintances said about him. When I got to know him I found he was secretly very charitable. Neither young Rainy nor Miss Rowe looked the kind of people to get into a state of hysteria.”

  Nancy bit her lip. “If it means that, then Habershon simply told a lie about the invitation here to get Rainy to come. You know, Mr. Hench, Mr. Hope left Fen Court at a quarter to ten that night. He was only a few minutes in the house. But if the time the watches stopped is to be taken as a guide those poor things must have been thrown into the pond a very short time before Mr. Hope arrived.”