The Fatal Garden by John Rhode

Author:John Rhode
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Kestrel Books
Published: 2019-11-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Next morning, after breakfast, Tyning left the house to catch his train to London, Jimmy walked to the sergeant’s house, where very shortly Nobrush joined him. Jimmy repeated what Tyning had told him, Nobrush and Walsham listening incredulously. “I never heard such a yarn in all my life!” the former exclaimed. “You don’t think there’s anything in it, do you, Mr. Waghorn?”

“I’m not sure,” Jimmy replied guardedly. “There may be something in it, but probably not a black bear. In any case, I think we ought to get Mr. Hockliffe to tell us about it in his own words.”

“We’ll go and see him presently,” Nobrush agreed. “But first of all, I’ve got something to tell you. It’s about the boots the chap was wearing. I took them back with me yesterday evening, as you suggested. And when I came to look at them again, it struck me that I’d seen a pair very like them before. I compared them with Don Clobury’s boots, and found the two pairs as like as two peas, exactly the same size and shape. Out of curiosity, I compared the dead man’s boots with the casts I took, and again they corresponded exactly, even to the pattern of the nails. It’s a coincidence, of course.”

Feeling that the time was not yet ripe, Jimmy did not contradict this. “Boots made by the same factory are always very much alike. But there’s just this. We’re told that Somborne hired a car on Wednesday of last week, and returned it next day. He may have visited this neighborhood more than once. Shall we go and call on Mr. Hockliffe?”

Jimmy and Nobrush went out, leaving Walsham to await the arrival of the expected visitors. They walked to Prior’s Farm, where they were admitted by Mrs. Maltby and taken to the lounge. Hockliffe was seated before the fire, writing letters, but raised himself laboriously to his feet as they entered the room. “Why, Mr. Wagstaff, this is indeed a pleasant surprise!” he exclaimed. “You are staying at Willow Lodge again, no doubt? And good morning to you, Superintendent. Do sit down, both of you. My time is entirely at your disposal.”

“We shan’t occupy it for very long, Mr. Hockliffe,” Nobrush replied. “Perhaps you will be able to help us. We have reason to believe that the man found dead in your garden is a certain Stanley Somborne. Is that name familiar to you?”

Hockliffe took off his glasses and polished them reflectively. “Somborne? I’m afraid I’m very bad at remembering names. I never seem able to get them registered in my memory. At the moment I cannot recall having met anyone bearing that name. Nor can I remember having heard it mentioned.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hockliffe,” said Nobrush. “We thought it just possible that the name might convey something to you.” He glanced meaningly at Jimmy, as though suggesting that it was up to him to continue the conversation.

“You guessed quite rightly,” said Jimmy. “I am staying at Willow Lodge. In the course of a chat with Mr.

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