Hawing extricated the car from the ditch with the aid of a farm-horse, Charles and Peter drove it into Manfield, the market town that lay some six miles to the east of Framley. Here was the headquarters of the County Police, and in the red-brick police-station they found the District Inspector.
This individual was of a different type from Constable Flinders. He was a wiry man of medium height, with foxy hair and a moustache meticulously waxed at the ends. He had a cold blue eye and a brisk manner, and his air of business-like competence promised well.
He listened without comment to the story Charles unfolded, only occasionally interrupting to put a brief question. His face betrayed neither surprise nor interest, and not even the episode of the discovered skeleton caused him to do more than nod.
"One had the impression," Charles said afterwards, "that such occurrences were everyday matters in this part of the world."
"You say the picture fell," the inspector recapitulated. "You have a suspicion someone was responsible. Any grounds for that, sir?"
"None," said Charles.
"Except," Peter put in, "that we can neither of us see how the falling picture could have knocked the rosette in the panelling out of place."
The inspector made dots on his blotting-pad with the point of a pencil he held. "Very hard to say that it could not, sir, from all you tell me. You haven't tested it?"
"No," said Charles, "funnily enough we haven't. Though there are quite a lot of pictures in the house, and if we'd smashed one in the test we could always have tried another."
The first sign of emotion crept into the inspector's face. The cold blue eyes twinkled. "Very true, sir," he said gravely. "Now there is the entrance into the cellars. You say you heard this move on several occasions, and on the last you went down and saw someone make his escape that way. Did you recognise this person?"
"No," Charles said. "There was hardly time for that."
"Very good, sir. And since you have sealed up that entrance no further attempt has been made to break into the house?"
"On the contrary. My aunt encountered the Monk in the library."
The inspector made more dots. "The lady being, I take it, a reliable witness?"
"Most reliable. Moreover, up till then she had no belief in the story that the Priory is haunted."
"Quite so, sir. And on that occasion you discovered the window into the library to have been open?"
"Unbolted. It was shut, however."
"But I understand it could be opened from outside?"
"Yes, certainly it could."
"And this — Monk - would have had plenty of time to escape by that way, pausing to shut the window behind him, in between the time of the lady's falling into a faint, and your arrival on the scene?"
"Plenty of time. So much so that neither my brotherin-law nor I thought it would be of any use to search the grounds."
"I see, sir. And since that occasion no one has, to your knowledge, been in the house?"
"Not to my knowledge. But last night, as I told you, my sister-in-law distinctly saw the Monk in the grounds. A moment later Mr. Ernest Titmarsh ran up to her."
The inspector nodded. "If you don't mind, sir, we'll take the people who have acted suspiciously in your opinion, one by one. Ernest Titmarsh: that's the first?"
"No. The first was a fellow who's staying at the Bell Inn, in the village."
"Name, sir?"
"Strange, Michael Strange. He is the man whom we found wandering close to the house when we first heard the stone move. He's a man I'd like you to get on to."
"Inquiries will be made, sir."
"He is also the man whom we overheard talking in an exceedingly suspicious manner to James Fripp, traveller for Suck-All Cleaners. About whom I have received the following information." He took a letter from his pocketbook, and handed it to the inspector.
The inspector read the letter through. The inquiry agent had not been able to discover very much about ,James Fripp, for the firm for which he worked had engaged him only a month previously, and knew nothing about his former occupation. But the agent gave, for what it was worth, the information that before the war a man going under the name of Jimmy Fripp, and corresponding more or less with Charles' description of the commercial traveller, had been on two occasions imprisoned for burglary. His last incarceration took place in 1914; he had been released shortly after war broke out, and had joined the army. Since the end of the war he had been lost trace of, nor could the agent discover what type of work, honest or otherwise, he had been employed in. It seemed possible that the Fripp in question might be the same man, but no proof of this was forthcoming.
The inspector folded the letter, and gave it back to Charles. "Thank you, sir. You don't need to worry about him; we've got our eye on him all right."
"The man I'm really worrying about," Charles answered, "is Strange. We know he's in collusion with Fripp, and that being so there can be little doubt that Fripp is working under his orders."
The inspector nodded, but again repeated: "You don't need to worry. We'll look after Mr. Strange too."
Peter was not quite satisfied with this. "Yes, I know, but what do you propose to do? We're getting a little tired of this mystery, and we'd like a stop put to it."
"Well, sir, I'm sure I can understand that, and you may depend upon it we shall do our best. And if I might suggest something, I wouldn't advise either of you gentlemen to mention to anyone that you've been to see me about this. Whoever it is that has been annoying you, we don't want to put him on his guard, and once you tell one person a bit of news it has a way of spreading."
"Quite so," Peter said. "We have been rather careful all through not to talk of what has happened. But you still haven't told us what you mean to do. Are you going to but a man on to watch the Priory?"
"Yes," Charles said, flicking a speck of cigarette ash off his sleeve, "and if you do, need he smash the cucumber frames? It isn't that they contain any cucumbers, but…'
The inspector's lips twitched. "I quite understand, sir. But…'
"And he's not to frighten the housemaid," Charles continued. "Also, I may be unreasonable, but I have a constitutional dislike for being arrested in my own grounds. If I can't come and go unchallenged I shall become unnerved, and the consequences may be hideous."
"My brother-in-law," said Peter, thinking it time to intervene, "is referring to the well-meaning efforts of Constable Flinders."
"Yes, sir. Very annoying, I'm sure. But you won't be worried in that way again. If you will leave the matter in our hands, I think I can promise we shall be able to clear it all up in a very short while."
"Well, I must say I hope so," Peter remarked, gathering up his hat and stick. "We came down to Framley for a quiet holiday, and so far we've had no peace at all."
Just a moment," Charles said. "What about Duval?"
The inspector fingered the tips of his moustache. "I've made a note of all you told me about him, sir."
"Yes, I know: I saw you. But doesn't it strike you that he might, if interrogated skilfully, throw a good deal more light on the matter?"
"He might, sir, and of course we shall have to consider that. But on the other hand you never know with these dope-maniacs. Still, I shall go into it. You can safely leave it to me."
Peter looked at Charles. "I think that's all, isn't it? There's nothing else we wanted to ask the inspector?"
Charles' expression of rather sleepy boredom had been growing steadily more marked. "I can't remember anything else," he replied. "Unless you think we might invite him to come and take part in our seance to-night? Or do you think the presence of a stranger might make the Monk shy?"
"Yes, I do," said Peter hastily, and edged him towards the door.
The inspector held it open for them, and they went through into the charge room. A man in a felt hat and a light raincoat was standing by the counter that ran across the end of the room, and as the door opened he glanced over his shoulder. For a fleeting instant his eyes encountered Charles', then he turned his back again, and bent over some form he appeared to be filling in. But quickly though he moved Charles had had time to recognise him. It was Michael Strange.
"Oh, half a minute!" Charles said. "I think I've left my gloves on your table, inspector."
"Gloves? You didn't have any, did you?" Peter asked.
"Yes, I did," Charles said, and went past him, back into the room. He motioned to the inspector to close the door, and as soon as this had been done, he said softly: "No gloves at all, but I've just seen the very man we've been discussing. Strange."
"Have you, sir? Here?" the inspector asked.
"Outside, filling up some form. He didn't want me to recognise him, for he turned his back at once. I should like very much to know what he's doing. It looks to me as though he followed us here, to find out what we were up to.
The inspector nodded. "Good job you saw him, sir. Now you go out, will you, quite naturally, and I'll have a word with this Mr. Strange, just casually, you understand. I shall soon find out what he came for." He pulled the door open again. "That's right, sir. And you'd be surprised the number of pairs of gentlemen's gloves that get lost. Not but what you could hardly leave them in a better place than the station-house, could you? Good morning to you, sir."
Outside Charles looked round for Strange's car, but it was not visible. Since it seemed improbable that he had walked to Manfield it was clear that he had parked it somewhere where it would not be seen. Charles got into his own car, and waited for Peter to take his place beside him. As he let in the clutch Peter said: "Well, where are the gloves?"
"In the top right-hand drawer of my dressing-table so far as I know," Charles answered. "That, my boy, was a blind."
"Was it indeed? Why?"
"Did you see that fellow who was waiting in the charge room?"
"No - that is, yes, I believe I did notice someone, now you come to mention it. I can't say I paid much attention to him, though. What about him?"
"Michael Strange."
"No!" Peter said. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. He turned his head as I came out of the inspector's room. That inspector-fellow is going to ask what his business is. With all due deference to Inspector Tomlinson I could have told him the answer. He'll dish up some cock-and-bull story of having lost something, but if he didn't follow us to try and find out just what we were going to tell the police, I'm a Dutchman." He hooted violently at an Austin Seven which was wavering undecidedly in the middle of the road. "And I wouldn't mind betting that he overheard every word we said in that room."
"It does look like it, but wasn't there a bobby in the charge room?"
"There was when we came out, but do you suppose a clever fellow couldn't have got rid of him for quite as long as he wanted?"
"Might, of course. But how the devil did Strange know we were coming here to-day?"
"Well, we've talked about it pretty freely, haven't we?"
"In our own house, Chas!"
"Also while we were getting the car out of the ditch. You said: "If they don't buck up with that horse we shan't have time to get to Manfield and back before lunch."'
"I didn't say anything about the police-station, did I?"
"I don't remember. But whatever you said it looks as though you were overheard, and Mr. Michael Strange thought it worth his while to follow us."
Peter sat pondering it for a while. "Of course he might have been concealed in the wood, but, dash it! he must be pretty acute if he connected a visit to Manfield with the police! Why, half the countryside goes to shop there! No, it looks to me as though someone told him."
"Who?"
"The housemaid! She could have heard us talking at breakfast."
"My dear Peter, she's no crook's accomplice!"
"She's a dam' silly girl though, and if Strange wanted to pump her he could."
They had emerged from the outskirts of the town into the open country, and Charles put his foot on the accelerator. "Yes, that's possible, of course. One thing that seems to me quite obvious is that Strange is going to be more than a match for Inspector Tomlinson."
Peter waited until the car had swung round a bend in the road before he spoke. Charles' driving, skilful though it might be, kept his passengers in a constant state of breathlessness. "Do you think Tomlinson means to do anything, or does he discount all we say in favour of the ghost theory?"
"The impression I got was that he gave us the benefit of the doubt, but privately considered us a fanciful pair who'd got the wind up. He'll send a man over to lurk about the place for a couple of days, and that'll be the end of it."
"Give him a trial," Peter said. "I must say he didn't seem to be overburdened with ideas, but he may have kept them to himself."
They reached the Priory to find the others just getting up from lunch. "Oh, Charles!" Celia exclaimed, "the tennis-net has arrived, and Bowers and Coggin have been putting up the stop-netting all the morning. And if you'll come and do the measuring I'll mark the court out, and we can play after tea."
This programme was faithfully carried out, and not even the depressions and the bumps in the court damped Celia's enthusiasm. "It adds to the fun," she said, when Charles failed to reach a ball that bounced unaccountably to the right.
When they came off the court after a couple of hours play they were pleasantly weary, and, as Margaret said, were beginning to get to know the peculiarities of the ground. It was just as Charles had announced his intention of spending a lazy evening that Celia remembered to break a piece of news to them all which put an end to such dreams.
"I forgot to tell you," she said guiltily, "that I've given Bowers leave off, and I said they could have the car. They're going to the cinema in Manfield, and I said it would be all right if they just put a cold supper on the table - and - and we'd clear it away, and wash up."
"Did you indeed?" said Charles instantly. "Now isn't that a pity? Because I've just remembered that I shall have to go out directly after supper, so I shan't be able to…"
"Liar," said Celia, without heat.
"Besides," Margaret put in, "you can't go and desert us. We've promised Aunt Lilian we'll try out her planchette."
Celia's face clouded. "Margaret, if we talk hard about something else, don't you think she might forget about it?"
"No," said Margaret, considering this. "It would only be a case of putting off the evil hour. I think we'd better do it once, just to please her, and then when nothing happens she'll probably get bored with it."
"But supposing something did happen?" Celia pointed out.
"Well, it 'ud be rather interesting, I think," Margaret said coolly.
Celia was so far from agreeing with her that she did her best to keep Mrs. Bosanquet's mind off the subject all through supper. But it was to no avail. When the meal had been cleared away, and the family had repaired to the library, Mrs. Bosanquet produced her board, and said: "Well, my dears, shall we have our sitting?"
"I wish you wouldn't talk as though we were a collection of fowls," Charles complained. "Provided I am supplied with a comfortable chair I don't mind lending what I feel sure will be powerful assistance."
Celia looked at him suspiciously. "If that means that you're going to fool about…'
"Hush!" said her husband reprovingly. "For all you know I may be a strong medium. In fact I shouldn't be surprised if I went into a trance. Time will be as nothing to me. All the secrets of the future will be revealed to me."
"Yes, dear, quite possibly you are a natural medium," Mrs. Bosanquet said. "But when people come out of trances they don't remember anything that happened to them while they were in the trance. At least, so I have always understood."
"In that case," said Charles, "I charge you all the instant you see me fall into a trance to ask me what's going to win the 3.20 to-morrow. And see you write down the answer."
"If you go into a trance," said Peter, "that isn't the only thing we'll ask you. There are lots of things about your past I've long wanted to know."
Mrs. Bosanquet was arranging chairs round a small table. "That will do, my dear," she said. "You know it is no use approaching this in a spirit of levity. Now let us all take our places round the table, and then I'll turn the light down."
Celia was already showing a tendency to cling to Charles' hand. "Not right out, Aunt!" she implored.
"No, I will leave just a glimmer. I don't think we need draw the curtains, do you, Margaret? There doesn't seem to be any moon to-night. And it will make the room so stuffy. Now, are you all ready?"
"Wait a moment!" Celia begged. "Charles, you've got to sit by me!"
"Celia, you goose!" Margaret said softly. "You don't really expect anything to happen do you?" She took the seat on her sister's left, and Peter sat down beside her.
Mrs. Bosanquet turned the central lamp out, and lowered the wick of the one that stood on a table by the fireplace, until only a tiny flame showed. Then she groped her way to the empty chair between her nephews and sat down.
"Oh, isn't it dark and horrible?" shuddered Celia.
"You'll get used to it," Margaret said soothingly. "Already I can just see, vaguely. What do we have to do, Aunt Lilian?"
Mrs. Bosanquet, happy in having induced them to take part in the seance, at once assumed the role of preceptress. "First, you must be quite comfortable in your chairs," she said.
"That knocks me out," Charles interrupted. "No one could be comfortable in a chair like this. There are already three knobs pressing into my spine."
By the time he had solemnly tested three other chairs, and decided in favour of a Queen Anne upholstered chair with slim wooden arms, even Celia had begun to giggle.
With unimpaired patience Mrs. Bosanquet started again. "Now, are you all settled?"
"Yes," Margaret said, before Charles had time to speak. "Go on, Aunt, what next?"
"We all lay just the tips of our fingers on the board, taking care not to press or lean on it."
"Here, who's going to hold my arms up?" demanded Charles, having tried the effect of obeying these instructions.
"No one, my dear. You just sit with them extended. Now you must all of you try to make your minds a blank…'
"That oughtn't to be difficult for some of us," said Peter.
"True," agreed Charles, "but to think this was the one occasion when Flinders would have been really useful, and we weren't warned in time to call him in!"
"Shut up, Chas!" Margaret said severely. "All right, Aunt. Anything else?"
"No, dear. Only when the board begins to move you must on no account push it, or in any way seek to influence it. Think of something else, and just keep your hands perfectly steady. Have you all got your fingers on the board? Then we will be quite quiet now, and wait."
Dead silence fell. In the dim light they could just perceive one another, but Celia could not keep her eyes from peering fearfully into the darkness beyond. After perhaps three minutes, Charles said suddenly: "What happens if I sneeze?"
"Sh!" said Mrs. Bosanquet.
Another silence fell. This time it was Peter who broke it. "I say, are you sure this is right?" he asked. "Isn't it only one person who manipulates a planchette? Or am I thinking of a Ouija board?"
"Sh!" said Mrs. Bosanquet again.
Time crept by. Margaret's arms began to feel rather numb, and still the board did nothing but tremble slightly with the involuntary muscular twitches of all their hands. She became aware of a sound, and listening intently, identified it as somewhat stertorous breathing. She tried to see the faces of her companions, and at that moment Mrs. Bosanquet herself spoke: "My dears!" she said impressively, "I do believe Charles was right, and he's gone into a trance. His hands are no longer on the board, and he is breathing just like a medium did whom I once visited. Charles! Can you hear me?"
A slight, but unmistakable snore answered her. "Kick him, Celia!" said Peter. "The blighter's gone to sleep."
Celia promptly shook her husband, who grunted, yawned, and sat up. "Charles, you're not to go to sleep! It's too bad of you!" she scolded.
"Asleep?" said Charles. "Did I seem to you to be asleep?"
"You did," said Peter grimly. "Snoring like a pig."
"Nonsense," Charles replied. "And I warned you what might happen! You've gone and roused me out of what might have proved to be a valuable trance."
Mrs. Bosanquet said worriedly: "We shall never get any results like this!"
"It's all right, Aunt Lilian," Celia reassured her. "I'll see he stays awake."
"Well, I do trust there will be no more interruptions," Mrs. Bosanquet sighed.
Under her breath Celia said: "It isn't fair to tease her, Chas. Do behave decently!"
Thus adjured Charles again placed his hands on the board, and they sat in another hopeful silence.
This time the silence was of such long duration that even Mrs. Bosanquet began to feel sleepy. But just as she had decided that her arms were aching too much, and she had better suggest a postponement of the seance, the board moved quite an inch across the paper underneath it.
"Peter, you pushed!" Margaret said.
"I swear I didn't!"
"Sh!" Mrs. Bosanquet begged.
Once it had started the board seemed to grow quite energetic, and began to describe circles, and make jerky darts in every direction.
"It keeps on leaving me behind," Charles complained. "There it goes again! Now I've lost it."
"Charles, you must keep your hands on it!" Mrs. Bosanquet told him.
"I can't; it doesn't seem to like me."
"It's all jolly fine," Peter remarked, as the board made a dash to one side, "but it can't be writing! It keeps going backwards."
"It's drawing a plan of the Priory," Charles prophesied. "Yes, I thought so; that's that corner by the garden-hall, I'll bet."
"It often starts like this," Mrs. Bosanquet said. "It will settle down, if we are patient."
"I hope you may be right," Charles answered. "I've taken enough exercise to-day without having to chase this blinking board all over the table now. Ah, the beggar nearly got away from me that time!"
"You know, if no one is pushing it, it really is rather wonderful," Margaret said.
"Listen! What was that?" Mrs. Bosanquet exclaimed. "Did you hear a sharp sound rather like a rap?"
"Sorry," Celia said. "It was me. One of my earrings has dropped on to the floor."
At that moment Peter cried: "Ouch!" and Mrs. Bosanquet said quite excitedly: "There! I knew something would happen! Did you feel anything, Peter?"
"Feel anything?" he exploded. "That brute…'
"Fancy Peter being singled out!" marvelled his brotherin-law. "Sit still, Peter: the Monk is probably trying to attract your attention. You may feel something else if you wait."
"If I feel anything else," said Peter savagely, "I'll scrap you!"
"But my dear, what has it got to do with Charles?" Mrs. Bosanquet asked. "You really must try and keep calm."
"You don't suppose any spirit was responsible, do you?" Peter said. "That brute Charles kicked me on the shin."
"If you did do anything so inconsiderate, Charles, I must beg you not to repeat it. And please don't talk any more!"
She sounded so hurt that Charles repented, and relapsed once more into silence.
The board continued to move jerkily over the paper. Celia began to yawn. Then, startling them all into rigidity, two sharp raps sounded somewhere in the room.
Celia drew in her breath sharply, and shrank against Charles.
"Quiet, all of you!" whispered Mrs. Bosanquet. "I will speak to it!"
Two more raps sounded: Peter's chair slid softly backwards.
Mrs. Bosanquet uplifted her voice. "Whoever you may be, I charge you, answer me! Rap once for Yes, and twice for No, and then we shall understand you. Do you wish to communicate with us?"
"Oh don't! Please stop!" Celia gasped.
An apologetic voice spoke out of the darkness, and both Charles and Peter sprang up. "Well yes, Mum, in a manner of speaking I do," it said. "But if I got to stand rapping on this 'ere window, I don't see as how I shall ever get much forrader, as they say."
A shout of laughter broke from Charles. "Flinders!" he cried. "I might have known it!"