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Clevedon Case

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<h2>CHAPTER XII RONALD THOYNE DISAPPEARS</h2> The next move in this very curious game was made by Pepster who called on me a few days after my interview with Ronald Thoyne. “I have a warrant for Tulmin’s arrest,” he announced. “Yes,” I said, “I am not surprised.  I could see you were edging that way.” “It’s the right way.  Tulmin has disappeared.” “Has he?  That is interesting at least.” “Yes, he went from White Towers to Lennsdale—that is Mr. Thoyne’s house, you know.  Thoyne engaged him the day after the inquest and he went at once.  And now he has gone altogether.” “Engaged him as what?” “Same as Clevedon—valet, and so on.” “How do you know?” “I put someone on to watch him of course.  I wasn’t going to let him slip away.  But he has managed it, at least so my man reports and he must be a damned fool, as I told him.  He hasn’t been seen for two days.” “Your man hasn’t?” “No, I mean Tulmin.” “Thoyne should know where he is.” “He says he doesn’t but I haven’t seen him myself.  I am going up to Lennsdale now to question him.  Would you care to come?” At first I thought not, and then I altered my mind.  After all, Thoyne really was right in the thick of it. When we reached Thoyne’s house Pepster took the lead and rang lustily at the bell, which was one of the old-fashioned type with a long, hanging handle of cast-iron.  He had to ring three times before he obtained any response and then the door was slowly opened to disclose a very old, white-headed man standing blinking at us with watery eyes.  To Pepster’s question as to whether Mr. Thoyne was at home he only shook his head, but whether in negative reply or merely in stupidity we could not quite make out.  The old man’s face at all events was devoid of expression. “Do you mean he is not at home?” I demanded sharply. “We will see for ourselves,” Pepster said, pushing past the old man into the hall.  “Now, then, who else is in the house, and be careful what you say or we may be taking you with us.” Pepster was very angry that Tulmin had slipped through his fingers and apparently regarded the old man as an ally of the enemy. “Taking me with you!” the old fellow cried, in the quavering accents of age.  “Taking me where?” “To prison, old chap,” Pepster replied cheerfully.  “People who won’t answer questions often find themselves in gaol.” It was pure bluff and Pepster’s superiors would probably have had something rather drastic to say had they overheard it.  But the detective knew pretty well how far to go, and with whom it was safe to go even that distance. “But, dear sir, I have done nothing wrong,” the old man said, manifesting a sudden fluency which caused Pepster to turn on him with a sharp glance.  “I am a very old man, gentlemen, seventy-seven, and I have never been in any trouble of that sort, never, gentlemen.” “You are making for it now,” Pepster rejoined dryly. “But, gentlemen, I—” “Look here,” Pepster said, “we asked you a question—where’s Thoyne?  If you mean to answer that, get going, and quick.  If you don’t mean to answer it, don’t talk at all.” “But, sir, I—” “Where’s Mr. Thoyne?” “But, gentlemen, if you would—” “Where’s Mr. Thoyne?” “He—I don’t know.” “Is he in the house?” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean, you don’t know?” “I don’t know who Mr. Thoyne is, I—I never heard of him.” “You are in his house.” “Yes” “Where are the other people—the servants—the housekeeper—?” “There is nobody here but me, gentlemen, truly there is nobody here.  I am alone in the house, me, Silas Ballaker, seventy-seven—” “How long have you been in this house?” “Not long—I came to-day—” “Came to-day—what do you mean, you came to-day?” “Sir, I am Silas Ballaker and—” “Yes, you said that before, and you are seventy-seven years of age.  Neither statement interests us.  We want Mr. Thoyne.” “Hallo! hallo!” cried suddenly a new voice.  p. 149“Silas, who are these gentlemen?  Ha! Mr. Pepster, I did not recognise you.  Have you come to take my house?” “No, Mr. Bannister,” Pepster replied slowly.  “I haven’t come to take any house.” He paused, a little irresolute, knowing that Mr. Bannister was a different proposition from old Silas Ballaker and that he would have to be a little more careful. “May I ask what you are doing here?” Pepster went on. “Now is that a kindly personal inquiry from a friend or is it asked in an official capacity?” Mr. Bannister was a little fat man, with two small, keen eyes peering out of a sallow, bearded face. “Oh, purely personal,” Pepster replied, a little impatiently.  “We came to see Mr. Thoyne.  I was merely surprised to see you where we expected—someone else.” “Oh, Thoyne, yes, he was my tenant.  But he has gone.  Gave me notice some days ago, paid me up and cleared out.  A good tenant, very good.  I was sorry to lose him—yes.  He said he was going back to America and he left this morning.  I sent old Silas here as caretaker.  Good old chap, Silas, but—” He tapped his head significantly with the forefinger of his right hand.  The old man did not see the movement but he caught the words. “They have come to take me to prison,” he said mournfully. “To prison!” cried Mr. Bannister.  “Nonsense!  What for?  What have you been doing, old Silas?” “I haven’t been doing nothing,” Silas quavered.  “But this stout gentleman seemed mortally offended and—” “Oh, we’ll see, we’ll see,” Mr. Bannister said.  “Now, Mr. Pepster, what does all this mean?” “We want to see Mr. Thoyne and—” “He isn’t here.” “Well, we should like to look through the house—” “Yes, yes, and no doubt you have a search warrant?” “I have no search warrant,” Pepster said patiently.  “I am asking your permission.” “No, no, let’s do everything in order.  No warrant, no search.  An Englishman’s house, et cetera, you know.  Can’t be done, Mr. Pepster, can’t be done.  Think what would happen if the papers got hold of it.  High-handed action by a Peakborough detective—eh?” “The papers will not get hold of it if you don’t tell them,” Pepster said quietly. p. 151“Oh, one never knows.  How do these fellows get hold of things?  It’s wonderful, but, you know, it’s their job.  And your Chief is just a bit nervous, isn’t he?” “I could get a warrant in an hour,” Pepster said. “Well, why not?  The house won’t disappear in an hour.  It will still be here and so will old Silas.  But if it’s Thoyne you want, a warrant’ll not help you.  He isn’t here.” “His furniture is,” I interposed. “No,” Mr. Bannister replied, with an oily smile, “you are wrong there also.  The furniture’s mine.  I let it furnished.” “Did you see Mr. Thoyne go?” I asked. “Yes, I was here.  He handed me the key.” “Had he a man named Tulmin with him?” “He had a servant, a little man, but I don’t know what his name was.” “They have gone away together,” Pepster said, turning to me.  “Come along, there’s nothing more to do here!” “If you want to go through the house—” Mr. Bannister began. “We don’t,” Pepster rejoined promptly.  “We’ll take your refusal and if anything occurs we’ll call you as a witness.” “But—” p. 152“Is Thoyne in the house?” “He isn’t.” “Then good day to you.” We turned away and though Mr. Bannister did not quite seem to like it, he made no effort to detain us. “Yes, they’ve gone away together,” Pepster repeated, as we strolled towards Stone Hollow.  “Why has Thoyne taken Tulmin out of the way?” “It may be only a coincidence,” I observed. “It would be a curious coincidence,” Pepster remarked.  “Not that I rule coincidences out myself.  They happen.  I have run up against some very queer instances in my time.  I once had a case in which a man prepared a dose of poison for another man.  The latter died of poison and the other gave himself up to justice.  A clear case—but when the post-mortem took place it was found that the victim had died of quite another sort of poison altogether.  He had, in fact, committed suicide and had never taken the dose prepared for him by the would-be murderer!” “But if this isn’t a coincidence, then there must be an explanation,” I said.  “How would this do?  Ronald Thoyne quarrels with Sir Philip Clevedon over Miss—over a woman. Then Thoyne pays Tulmin to assassinate Sir Philip.  That is why Thoyne took the man into his service so promptly.  But they find the chase getting too hot for them and so they clear out.  What?” “Is that the story?” Pepster demanded, evidently impressed. “No,” I replied, “I am quite sure it isn’t.  But it would fit the facts up to date, wouldn’t it?” “I shall go after Tulmin, anyway,” Pepster rejoined. I nodded smilingly, but did not further discuss the matter though I divined Thoyne’s move.  He had taken Tulmin away in order to divert suspicion from young Clevedon.  How far Thoyne had taken Tulmin into his confidence I did not know.  Perhaps he had bluffed him as he had tried to bluff me.  And at all events he would have paid him well.  Whatever faults Thoyne may have possessed any form of parsimony was certainly not one of them. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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