THE HOUSE BY THE POOL

For just a moment I was sure it was him. This was so much his setting, and who else knew my name? But as the figure walked forward, I saw I was wrong.

Before me was a tall man certainly but his hair was fair and he had a round face with penetrating blue eyes. He was smiling at us and he had a slight limp which made his head bob up and down as he walked. Bell had turned by now and he addressed him as well. ‘You will be Dr Bell?’ he said, and though it seemed unlikely in this spot, his accent betrayed the fact he was from London. ‘And I gather from Dr Bulweather, whom I met on the path just now, that you are interested in this business of ours here.’

‘I am,’ said Bell. ‘And may I ask your interest?’

It was a strange setting for such a conversation and we started to walk away from the noise of the surf to the path leading inland by which this man had come.

‘My name, sir,’ he said, ‘is Derry Langton, Inspector Langton. I am in charge of the investigation here, which is hardly a boast since so far barely anyone will admit there is one.’

‘I see,’ said Bell with interest. We were back in the trees now, on a broad path leading up and west. ‘Then I would be grateful to hear your views, for I intend to look at the Jefford house this afternoon. You are from Scotland Yard?’

Langton’s smile vanished. ‘I was at the Yard until a little over two years ago. Then I moved down here. You could say I retired, for I have had little to do until this business occurred. Of course, there is a local constable in the village but I was asked to look into it. Since it is not regarded as a serious crime, they have sent nobody from the Yard. But Dr Bulweather told me of your interest in the field and I’m prepared to show you the house, make of it what you can.’

‘So what do you think, Inspector,’ said the Doctor, surveying this man with interest as we walked. ‘Is it a prank as the papers have indicated?’

‘Why no, I take no view on that,’ said Langton, perspiring a little as he walked. ‘I am a newcomer here and bound to be a little critical but it is certainly a diversion. And there are entertaining aspects to the case, I grant you. The “howling man” that people claim to have seen. I tell you, sir, I would love to catch a glimpse of him.’

‘Yet those who do show no signs of amusement,’ Bell observed.

‘If they are speaking the truth,’ said Langton. ‘If they are making it all up, of course, they will still claim to be scared out of their wits. It is part of the tradition.’

‘Then you are not a believer in the legend?’ I asked.

‘No, I cannot say I am,’ said Langton. ‘There are tales, of course, we had them in the East End, but this seems to me too much of a pantomime. I am happy to take it seriously when there are serious matters to consider and as yet I am not sure there are.’

We had emerged from the shelter of the wood now and there were fields in front of us and then another huge swathe of trees, which marked the start of Dunwich forest. To our left the land sloped upwards into heath and we turned in this direction.

‘So you are not treating it as a crime?’ said the Doctor.

‘What?’ said Langton, his head bobbing furiously as we proceeded. ‘Why of course I am, I take my work extremely seriously, if nothing else. For where would I be if it turns out more than it seems and I have done nothing. No, I have made all the investigations I can.’

As we walked, the terrain began to change and the wind got up. It was more exposed here as the fields gave way to heathland with outgrowths of gorse and dead grass. The forest was now only a hundred yards to our right and soon I saw we were approaching a large pool, with two great stones beside it. I stared down at the black and stagnant water, which looked to be quite deep, and then back at the forest with its trees swaying in the wind. In this wild place it was easy to picture the flickering torches reflected by the water with Mary Goddard standing on the far edge of this pool, so furious and defiant, her pursuers frozen with fear, until poor William Bowker stepped forward and became for ever the howling ghost.

It was certainly a memorable spot and Bell took a great interest in it. He circled the pool twice, making a minute study of the water’s edge and all the vegetation around it. There is nothing in there, gentlemen,’ Langton said. ‘It is deep but we have dragged it and Jefford was not to be found.’

‘Then what of the cliffs?’ said Bell.

‘Well now, they are used to seeing human remains at the bottom but I am quite sure we would have found a fresh one. The tide can be fierce but it was not so last week and there would be some trace.’

The far side of the pool was irregular with a curious loop of an edge, forming an inlet almost in the shape of an inverted V. It was noticeable there had been some disturbance of the ground here, as if someone had dug a hole and filled it in. Bell examined this.

‘How recent are these marks?’ he asked Langton, looking up.

‘Yes, we noticed them when we searched,’ said Langton. ‘That was the first time. Nobody we asked had seen them before but there is nothing to indicate what they are, for nothing is buried there. We dug up the earth again to make sure.’

When Bell was satisfied he had seen everything, Langton led us away from the pool towards the forest. Soon, just before we reached the more dense woodland, he pointed out a track; at the end of it, stood an ancient red-gabled house, which was the property Jefford had inherited. Some sun was now filtering through the clouds and its rays caught the upper windows. I suppose the building must have dated from the early 1600s and it was surrounded by the remains of an orchard. But the fruit trees had not prospered in the shadow of the great wood, for they were gnarled and stunted, giving the whole prospect a very grim air. The house itself was in good repair and had some of the comforts of a modern dwelling but nothing could compensate for this sombre outlook.

‘The place is very old, though it has been refurbished as you see,’ said Langton as we approached the door and he put the key in the lock. ‘They say The Glebe was a cleric’s house in Elizabethan times, though the church it served is long gone. In recent years it belonged to Jefford’s uncle, a lawyer hereabouts, but he had another dwelling in Saxmundham so he only used it on occasions. Jefford inherited it in the summer and had some work done but he spent most of his time in London. Even when he came down here he was often the worse for drink and stayed at the Ship so, as you will see, it has lacked company.’

We could observe what he meant as soon as he unlocked the door. It was not that the interior was bleak, for the place was quite substantial, and had some appurtenances of luxury. The sparse furniture was good quality, the floors were of polished wood and stone. And there were hangings of some curious Eastern design. But despite all this it seemed unwelcoming and there was about it a sense of desolation.

We walked through the wood-panelled outer hall where on one side a corridor led to a kitchen. On the other there was a staircase and the entrance to a larger room. Bell had a cursory look at the kitchen but it was bare and unrevealing. Rejoining us, he explored the desultory furniture and then the panelling, noticing at once one of the panels in the outer room was unlike the others, in fact it was a very discreet cupboard. Opening it, he found an extensive selection of brandies but nothing else.

Ignoring the stairs, we walked on into the larger room. This had little furniture and the flagstone floor was covered in a dark stain which spread almost all around the centre and in one place up to the wall. There was only a gloomy light from the windows, making the place somewhat dull, and, as I stared down, it was easy to understand the press’s scepticism. For one thing the sheer size of the bloodstain was unnerving, for another now that it had dried, its dark colour looked less like blood than paint.

Low down on the far wall, just as we had been informed, the dark red had somehow been daubed in ugly yet distinct letters. Bell moved forward in an instant to stare at these and to make a record of them.

They were much as the newspaper had indicated, though the shape and texture was erratic.

I could distinctly make out the word witch. And then less easily the word here.

But there was another mark after the the two words, a half-formed letter it seemed.

This letter was different from all the others in that it was unevenly drawn and oddly spaced. It was probably an O but a very hurried one or incomplete. Bell paid the greatest attention to this and to all the marks on the floor. In particular he paused a long time over two small and indistinct shallow imprints on the edge of the stain.

Then he circled the room again, staring at the letters and making a note of them in his book, but always he returned to the edge nearest the writing. Here the stain was different from the rest, for it was less smooth and its perimeter formed a series of V shapes.

As for the rest of the room, though once perhaps grand, for an engraved chair rail circled the wall, there was almost nothing in it. The walls were of plaster, a rarely used fireplace jutted out from the east wall. To the left of this a window gave on to that dank orchard which was another reason the illumination was so poor.

‘And you have not touched anything?’ asked Bell.

‘Other than taking a sample of the blood, which proved inconclusive,’ Langton replied.

‘Yes, that is often the case,’ said the Doctor quickly. ‘Where was the sample taken from?’

The policeman pointed close to where he stood. ‘From here. There is no proof it is human and as you know a pig has gone missing. A big one too, so it could easily have had this much blood. Jefford had no pet incidentally.’

The Doctor spent a long time studying the blood but at last he concluded his examination and moved into the corridor beyond the room. There was little trace of staining here, but it was dark and oppressive with narrow walls and a smell of damp. I have known many hateful corridors in my life. One led to my father’s room in George Square in Edinburgh. Another was in a place called Abbey Mill, where a man had been trampled to death. By comparison, the corridor in The Glebe held no associations other than the mysterious bloodstain in the room, which gave on to it. And yet its atmosphere was horrible. There was a slight chill as you entered and somehow, partly no doubt because it was so narrow, the light hardly seemed to penetrate it. The plaster exuded a smell of damp and, though I made some pretence of observation, I found myself hurrying through the darkness as quickly as I could, almost as though the space were some dangerous railway tunnel.

Not that there was much to see in the next room. It seemed to be little used and was currently housing some surplus furniture including a small and uncomfortable-looking couch that lay against the wall.

Langton did not follow us and the policeman was still leaning on the wall of the larger room when we returned to it.

Now, once again, Bell addressed himself to the bloodstain, particularly its edge. After a few minutes, he looked up. ‘And you are sure nobody has attempted to clean this?’ he asked.

‘Nobody has been here,’ said Langton. ‘I have visited once with a constable and once with some gentlemen of the press.’

‘And yet,’ said the Doctor, ‘it is clear someone attempted to wipe this away, while it was still fresh.’

I could see exactly what he meant. The shapes at the edge of the stained area close to the fireplace were exactly what you would expect if someone had begun to scrub the floor with a cloth.

‘So you think someone was trying to conceal it?’ said Langton.

‘Possibly,’ said Bell. ‘The work is quite meticulous, yet what would be the point of cleaning a small amount? They could never hope to remove it all and have not even attempted to do so.’

He had moved to another part of the floor that seemed clear of the blood. ‘And see there are traces here too. The cleaner was more successful in this area.’

At last he walked away and looked out of the window. ‘Tell me, Inspector Langton, you said you had made your investigations. Can you describe them?’

‘Of course, Dr Bell. Firstly I looked everywhere outside the house for traces but found nothing. Next we went all round this house, we tapped walls, made absolutely sure there was no place of concealment but found only that brandy cupboard. Now, Jefford had last been seen on the first of the month, in the last hours of daylight. This was discovered on the second. It seemed to me, therefore, if a crime had been committed, it could only be on the night of the first of December, which of course is the anniversary of the hunt. I made enquiries throughout the village to ascertain if anything unusual had occurred or been seen. It seemed likely the crime was committed by a stranger but I also wanted to know where people had been on that night. It is a small parish so the task was not so hard.’

‘Admirable,’ said Bell. ‘And what did you find?’

‘Well,’ said Langton, ‘it was a bad night so most were indoors. However, those who were out could not easily conceal the fact, for their servants would know.’

‘And were any out?’ I asked.

‘A few were,’ said Langton. ‘But I could easily establish where most of those were, the Ship as often as not. There is a widow here called Mrs Marner who was an actress in London, and moved here some years ago. She was at home but her maid was not there and would hardly say where she was. A young man, I must guess, and I cannot see it is more than that, for the girl is a timid thing.’

He hesitated, then went on. ‘But there was another person who, well, I would just say his story did not satisfy me entirely. However, I may be wrong and, of course, we do not even know a crime was committed.’

‘And who was that?’ said the Doctor.

‘You have met him,’ said Langton, looking at Bell directly with a crooked kind of smile. ‘In fact he introduced us, so to speak. He walks everywhere hereabouts and people worry he will fall off that cliff, for the wind can sometimes take you unawares.’

‘Dr Bulweather?’ Bell was interested. ‘Was he not with a patient?’

‘No doubt you can ask him yourself, sir, it is indeed what he says,’ said Langton. ‘I repeat, since there is no crime I can hardly point a finger. There is talk too of colourful associations in his past and that he has a mistress, but it may just be wagging tongues.’ And it was clear, we would get no more from him.

Naturally we studied every interior in the rest of the house, but there was little more here to interest us. A comfortable bed in an upstairs room had evidently been used quite recently but otherwise, just as Langton said, the place seemed devoid of life.

Once we had satisfied ourselves of that, Bell’s first wish was to talk to Colin Harding, the groundsman who had found the blood and also caught sight of Jefford and others the previous day. Harding, it seemed, was in the employ of a nearby estate owned by a local landowner called Sir Walter Monk, but since today was market day there was no prospect of finding him there.

We bid goodbye to Langton who now had other duties to fulfil, but promised to give us any further help we needed and took the most direct route, a woodland path that led away to the road. From here, it was a pleasant mile’s walk back down to the village, which was bathed in a scarlet and gold sunset.

As we admired the view before us, the Doctor asked what I made of the room and the bloodstain.

‘If it is Jefford’s blood,’ I answered, ‘I can only suppose someone lifted the body and carried it out though what they did with it is open to speculation.’

‘And yet,’ ruminated Bell, ‘there are no marks. It would have taken two men to carry him and surely there would have been traces. The imprints would be deep and Langton is no fool. Also, though it is fantastic to say it, there are distinct signs he moved himself.’

‘What?’ I said. ‘How could he have moved?’

‘Oh that is not in doubt,’ said Bell. ‘Though much else is in darkness. I made out the distinct imprint of a knee and the tip of a toe. He was crawling.’