THE FACE AT THE QUARTER MOON

Before he could reach us, however, Bell himself strode forward to meet them, his silver-topped cane in hand. ‘I apologise, Detective,’ he said in his most affable manner, ‘if I have startled your men and I am glad you had the cottage watched. But my business is the same as yours. I am Professor Bell of Edinburgh University, this is my colleague, a medical graduate of the same university, and we have an interest in this terrible case.’

I noticed Bell did not offer my name. No doubt he was being careful, for he had shown concern when I told him it was known to those who had helped me escape.

As it was, the detective looked little reassured, and I reflected how fortunate it was that they had not arrived to find us breaking down the door. ‘What interest could that possibly be, sir?’ he said in an accent with a slight West Country lilt, as another uniformed policeman appeared from the garden. ‘It is a long way to come from Edinburgh and what in the world has this crime to do with Scotland?’

‘Nothing whatsoever,’ said Bell, ‘but you can verify with Inspector Miller at Scotland Yard that it may well have a connection to a case that my colleague here and myself resolved in London with Miller’s help only a few weeks ago. That is what brings us here and Inspector Miller himself or his superior will be able to answer for our bona fides.’

Spoken, as this was, in Bell’s confident tones, it had an altogether different effect. The policeman did not smile or offer his hand, but he looked the Doctor up and down, no doubt reflecting that Bell’s story, while unexpected, was perhaps more likely than the idea of two reckless criminals returning for no apparent reason to a savage crime scene.

‘Well, I am Inspector Randall,’ he said. ‘I am in charge of this matter and if there is any truth in what you say, you should have informed me. How long have you been in the area?’

‘Only two hours,’ said Dr Bell. ‘We arrived by train this afternoon and I would take it as a great favour if you would let me examine the inside of the house.’

Randall paused, considering. ‘Well, I can establish the truth of your claim very easily. I was going to enter anyway to see all was as it should be. You can come in but we are not leaving you here alone.’

‘That suits us perfectly,’ said the Doctor, smiling. ‘I am sorry to have created a false alarm but it is extremely fortunate you arrived when you did.’

The policeman now turned his attention to me. ‘And you are a doctor too, sir?’ he asked, but I could see he was looking at the scar on my neck that had been left by Cream’s knife.

‘I am,’ I said. ‘I qualified under Bell here and now practise in Southsea.’

‘And your name?’

I had been avoiding this of course. ‘It is Arthur Conan Doyle.’ I put the emphasis on my middle name, which I would not normally have used.

He did look at me with more interest than I liked, but in the end it cannot have meant anything to him for he turned back to the padlock.

At once the first uniformed man stepped forward with two keys and the doors were opened. Of course there was no trace at all of the body that had once lain in this space and even the smell was gone, leaving only a faint musty odour.

The policeman went in first but Inspector Randall and the other policeman waited behind for us to enter. And so it was that Bell and I found ourselves walking into the room where I had been kept captive.

It was still a horrible place, dull and cold, but now there was enough light from the open door and the unboarded parts of the window to see the interior. That screen was still there and I moved past it quickly to find my bed had been stripped and was now little more than a bare wooden frame. But, as we had seen from the window, everything else had gone. It was not merely the furniture which had been removed. I could find nothing else at all, not even the breadcrumbs I had swept to the ground when I resisted the food. Even the fireplace was clean.

The Doctor was scrutinising the floor and the walls but I cannot imagine what he hoped to find. Meanwhile Inspector Randall looked round with satisfaction, though why he thought anyone would have had the slightest interest in breaking into this empty space was a little baffling. Perhaps his feelings in this respect were almost proprietorial. He had found serious disorder here, a putrefied body, a filthy bed, a dirty room with rotting food. He had transformed this into the sterile space we found before us, and now merely wished — with a policeman’s love of order — to reassure himself the chaos had not returned.

This was hardly an attitude designed to appeal to Bell, who looked more and more irritated as his examination progressed. ‘As you can see, gentlemen,’ said Randall smugly, ‘we put the place back in order. There is not a great deal to interest you here.’

‘Indeed there is not,’ said Bell, coming back from the far corner. ‘You have cleaned it out so well it can only mean you have solved every aspect of the case and have no need of further clues. My congratulations. What happened here and where is the arrested man?’

Not knowing Bell and being, from what I could see, a somewhat unimaginative man, Randall had no idea he was being insulted. At the same time the words did make him a little uneasy. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you are aware we found the proprietor of this cottage bludgeoned to death between the two doors. Lucas Weltham was a strange man who kept himself to himself. There were rumours he had a miser’s hoard, though I am very doubtful it was true. In any case, he had been dead for around two weeks when the body was found and there was certain evidence his attacker had been living here for several days after his death. No doubt the man wanted to make as thorough a search of the place as possible in the hope of finding more than he did. There was food, and we also discovered laudanum. The criminal was clearly a degenerate individual, for not only was the place rank and filthy, but he engaged in quite pointless destruction.’

‘Of what kind?’ said Bell. And I marvelled, not for the first time, at the Doctor’s ability to assume authority even in the most unpropitious circumstances. A few moments ago he had been considered a possible felon, now it was as if he were interrogating a junior officer and the other policemen hung on his words with respect.

‘Well, the window was needlessly smashed,’ said Inspector Randall, indicating the boards. ‘We know he was not breaking in for the glass was on the outside, so what conceivable reason could he have for the destruction?’

‘Tell me,’ said Bell mischievously, since of course he knew the answer, ‘were both doors open when you got here?’

‘No,’ said Randall. ‘The outer had been broken but the inner was firmly secured. We also found a key to the inner hidden inside, so our man must have had a duplicate and come out and locked it behind him.’

‘Why?’ said Bell.

‘I can only suppose he felt it might delay the discovery of his crime.’ Not surprisingly Randall’s tone was uncertain.

‘But there was a body,’ said Bell, ‘lying in almost open view through the unlocked outer door. What possible good could it do for the criminal to lock the inner door but not the outer one, which was the only way of concealing his crime?’

‘This had occurred to me and it is not easy to say,’ admitted Randall.

‘Not,’ said Bell, ‘as long as you persist in describing the broken window as an act of pointless destruction. If, however, you consider the strong possibility that someone was breaking out of the place, all becomes clear. The inner door afforded the prisoner no possible passage, the key was hidden. The only means of escape was the low window on the back. At once both the locked door and the window fit a perfectly reasonable pattern.’

‘But it is a strange kind of idea,’ said Inspector Randall, who had clearly never thought of it. ‘Who could such a prisoner be?’ Everyone’s attention was now on Bell and he looked at me with a half-smile on his face, which fortunately they could not interpret. ‘I think you must tell us everything you know, sir,’ Randall added more sternly. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he saw the looks of admiration for Bell on the faces of his men. For once, of course, these were utterly undeserved since the Doctor had the inside story, but I had been with him enough on such missions to know he would have reached the same conclusion without any help. Quite inadvertently I had created exactly the kind of puzzle he had solved so many times.

And now he became effusive. ‘Then I will,’ he said. ‘In London we were hunting a murderer, a man who to our certain knowledge has killed many times. His name was Cream and he was using a seaman called Hanbury to further his own ends. The seaman made mention of a cottage such as this where Cream intended to mount a murderous assault on a man who was thought to have money. However it was only part of his plan. He also intended to use this isolated place to imprison another. Unfortunately we knew nothing of the other man’s identity but, as soon as we saw this case in the newspaper, it seemed very likely there was a strong connection and we made our way here.’

‘That is remarkable,’ said Inspector Randall eagerly, ‘and I must talk at once to this Hanbury.’

‘Alas it is impossible,’ said Bell. ‘He was drowned some weeks ago. And as yet we can find nobody who can tell us more of Cream’s intention.’ The essentials of this story were true but I am afraid its detail was not. Hanbury had indeed been Cream’s henchman and he had drowned. Randall could verify that and no doubt would. But the rest was invented. Even so, where Cream was concerned, the Doctor was always prepared to dissemble and his words had a very good effect.

Inspector Randall looked extremely impressed, for he must have known it would be relatively easy for him to establish that Hanbury had featured in a Scotland Yard investigation. His own case, too, had now been elevated in importance and all his suspicions seemed to evaporate on the spot. ‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘this is all most interesting. You may examine what you will here and outside and then I would be very grateful if you would tell me everything you know about this Cream while we will tell all we know of what happened here. I believe it is true to say we were extremely close to him at one point but the devil lost us.’

Bell spent another hour or so examining the ground. Meanwhile, contrary to my fears, our cab dutifully returned and was discharged with suitable recompense, for the police had already indicated they would transport us to the nearest inn. It is my suspicion Bell discovered almost nothing that interested him at the site, other than a first-hand glimpse of the actual terrain. The place had been cleaned out too thoroughly and so, as the light began to fade, we found ourselves in a police cab trundling back down that road while Randall recounted his side of the story.

‘As I said, sir, we nearly had him. The man must have doubled back, for a while after we first chased him he was seen on the hill about half a mile from the cottage. He left a very obvious trail. And we followed it too next morning. We were not far behind.’

Bell’s smile was a little too broad for my liking, but they took it as a smile of congratulation. For my part I was shocked they had been so close. ‘What happened then?’ he asked.

‘What happened then!’ said Randall in a disgruntled tone. ‘Why, he seemed to disappear off the face of the earth. To this day we are unable to understand it. Perhaps he outran us but it is unlikely, for we had other police looking further ahead. The man is the very devil. I was sure we would have him.’

The Doctor gave a murmur of sympathy and now they asked him to tell his whole story. He did this well, leaving out, it is true, far more than he put in but still amply providing what was needed by the police. He never once touched on our personal involvement, merely suggesting we had come upon this man in the course of an Edinburgh investigation. He dwelt on Cream’s recklessness and his cunning, his ability to do the utterly unexpected, yet he also gently raised the possibility that Randall’s men might have been chasing not Cream himself, but the man he had abducted. Of course the policeman stoutly rejected this theory and the Doctor did not pursue it, but I think he was trying to be fair with the detective, not wishing to deny him anything that might help.

As we came into a village, and turned at a crossroads by a green, the surroundings started to seem familiar to me and soon we were turning into the Quarter Moon, the very establishment where we had changed horses while I was huddled in the back of Mrs Herne’s fly, only days earlier. I felt extremely fortunate now that I had been seen by nobody on that occasion, not even the stable boy.

Inspector Randall agreed he would contact Scotland Yard about the Hanbury case the next day, but he recalled something as we got down in front of the inn.

‘Oh, before you go for some refreshment, there is one thing,’ he said. ‘We do have an inspector — his name is Ian Yates — who got quite a good look at your fellow. It so happened he saw him in the moonlight that night on the hill after he doubled back. It was Ian who gave the alarm. He had a clear view of his face and claims he would recognise him again, even when he was not unshaven. I believe him too for Ian has a sketch-artist’s memory. We will send him over to the inn later and you can talk to him.’

This was appalling luck. Just as we seemed effortlessly to have cleared the serious hurdles, a major new one had appeared. ‘Thank you,’ said the Doctor smartly. ‘If you would ask him to meet me downstairs at eight o’clock, for I have much to do.’ And, after saying our farewells, we entered the inn.

The interior of the place was comfortable and sprawling. The police had already sent word of our arrival and we were greeted by a cheerful if somewhat garrulous landlord who introduced himself as Mr Hodder and showed us to pleasant bed chambers on the third floor, arranging for some food to be brought to us shortly in the downstairs sitting room. Bell’s room was near the stairs while mine was right at the end of a long corridor and, as I soon saw, overlooked an enclosed graveyard of the adjoining church. There had been little frost here in recent days but the damp weather had made the place into a sea of rotting vegetation and dank grass, while the graves themselves were ancient and covered in lichen. I stared at it for a while before I turned to wash in the basin that had been provided.

Later, the Doctor and I sat in armchairs before a roaring fire in the inn’s large sitting room, enjoying tea and sardine and cucumber sandwiches while we reconsidered our position.

‘The first thing I ask myself,’ said the Doctor, closing his eyes and swallowing a last mouthful of sandwich, ‘is how Cream came to that place at all.’ The room behind us was entirely empty so we could talk quite freely. ‘Of course I can see the cottage represented a useful opportunity. The owner was easily dispatched, it is isolated and he knew there was every chance he could use it undetected for weeks. He thought there would be money and that may have saved your life, Doyle, for he meant to keep you alive and torture you while he searched. But the point remains there are isolated cottages all over England, so why here? It must be extremely doubtful he had heard of this place in London. The chances are all against it. I assume, therefore, he was travelling around in an opportunistic way, talking to local people. He would need somewhere to stay, which could well mean—’

‘That he came to this inn,’ I said with excitement.

‘It is more than possible.’

‘But how can we discover?’ I looked around me, considering.

The Doctor was very still, thinking. ‘I will come to that,’ he said. ‘But first we must try to establish exactly the point our enemy has reached now. We seem to have one vital piece of information out of all this, other than the fact he is truly here in England. Namely that he desires money.’

‘He seemed always to have means,’ I said.

‘Then he risks exhausting them. Which is hardly surprising,’ the Doctor leant forward, his face eager in the firelight, ‘given his preferred activities and constant travel.’

‘Also,’ I added, ‘I cannot imagine him eschewing any comfort. It was obvious he found even spending time in that cottage an irritation.’

‘Therefore he must spend considerable sums,’ said Bell, getting to his feet. ‘If you wait here I will see what we can find out about recent visitors.’

I waited as he left the room. The effect of the food and warmth was already making me lazy. I was also quite tired from the journey. I had, therefore, almost dozed off when I heard the voice.

‘Excuse me, sir, I am looking for Dr Bell and his colleague, though I am an hour or two early. I am Inspector Yates.’

The figure was at the door of the room and I was just moving round to face him as I heard the last words and instantly turned back to the fire. I stared into it so he could only see my back.

‘You will find Dr Bell with the landlord, I believe,’ I said.

Heaven knows what he made of this rudeness. There was a pause. ‘Ah, with the landlord, you say?’ To my alarm this reply came from far closer.

It was blazingly hot but I got down on my knees and started to stoke the fire with the poker, so he could only see my back, anything rather than look straight at him. Perhaps he might not recognise me but I was hardly prepared to take the risk. If this man had the abilities Randall claimed, and proceeded to swear I was the one he had seen in the woods, our position here could very quickly become desperate. There was no way I could account for my movements and the Doctor would have to change his story or perjure himself, which he would never do. In the end we might, I suppose, have convinced the police of the truth but it would be a battle, during which I might well spend time in prison and our chances of finding Cream would vanish.

Therefore, although the flames were burning my face, I continued to poke the fire as if it were going out. I told myself it did not matter how peculiar my behaviour seemed, the man would never guess its reason as long as I did not face him.

‘Well then I must find them,’ he said in a faintly irritated voice. And I heard some movement and the sound of the door closing.

My face was red and sore as I turned away from the fire. The room was empty but now I had to think very hard. The inn was a veritable labyrinth of corridors and rooms and I was quite sure I could evade this man once I was upstairs. But here was the problem: there was no other door to this sitting room except the one he had taken. It led to a corridor. Turning left, which I assumed Yates had done, would lead him to the landlord’s office and then to an open hall which gave access to the front bar and dining room as well as the stairs.

I could not risk encountering Yates with Bell in the landlord’s office, so I was forced to turn down the corridor to my right. This ended in an outside door with a glass panel. I started to open it, thinking I would stay outside until Yates was gone, when suddenly through the panel I saw that, only a few feet away, two uniformed men stood by a police cab. I recognised both of them at once, they had been with us all afternoon and had now evidently escorted Yates to the inn. There could be no avoiding them if I went out there and they would be almost certain to inform me Inspector Yates had arrived and expect me to go back inside to meet him. Meanwhile, the Doctor might well dispatch Yates promptly on the assumption he was helping me and in that case I would meet the inspector outside.

On balance, I decided this option seemed even worse than the inn itself and I turned around. There was still nobody in the corridor. I moved stealthily back along it, thinking if I could just get past the landlord’s office I would be safe. As I drew closer to it, I heard voices and realised to my irritation the door to the room was wide open. ‘I think,’ this was Bell’s voice, ‘you have given me a clear idea, sir.’

‘And it is the man you seek?’ This was Yates’s voice.

I was close enough to see how dangerous it would be to slip past. The Doctor would try to ignore me but the landlord had made a great fuss of me on our arrival, asking about Edinburgh and other matters. What if he called out to me? There was a limit to the amount of odd behaviour we could expect Yates to tolerate.

A pretty servant girl entered the corridor, smiling at me, but as she passed the door a cry went up from the landlord, calling her in, proving at once I had been wise not to try to pass it myself. ‘Ah, Peggy,’ said the landlord, ‘I think we should offer our policeman friend some tea in the sitting room. Inspector, you will have some with Dr Bell, will you not? And where is Dr Doyle? Surely he wants to hear the policeman’s story?’

As if in a nightmare, I moved back towards the sitting-room door. Meanwhile they were all coming out of the office into the corridor and I made out Yates’s voice talking. ‘Yes, as I say, I pride myself on it and I am absolutely convinced I would know the man’s face anywhere but I have two men waiting and cannot be much longer, Mr Hodder.’

This was maddeningly ambiguous. Was he leaving now or accepting tea? He had probably nodded or shaken his head to Hodder’s offer and I had no possible way of knowing which it was or where he would go. Even if he were leaving, he might well drop into the sitting room on his way to look for me. But outside would be an even worse option for me if he exited the inn.

In the hope he was leaving I darted back into the sitting room but the voices grew louder. I moved to the window but it was stoutly locked with no sign of any key. There was indeed no place to hide in here and any attempt to do so would only draw attention to myself. So, for want of anything else, I went back to my position in the fireplace, bent down with my back to them. For a moment nothing happened and I thought I was safe. But then, with a sinking heart, I heard them all enter the room.