‘No, sir, I should say he hadn’t an enemy in the world. A bit keen on money, and a bit of a martinet—wouldn’t stand for any slackness or incivility—but bless my soul, he was respected for that.’
‘No enemies,’ said Narracott thoughtfully.
‘Not here, that is.’
‘Very true—we don’t know what enemies he may have made during his naval career. It’s my experience, Sergeant, that a man who makes enemies in one place will make them in another, but I agree that we can’t put that possibility entirely aside. We come logically now to the next motive—the most common motive for every crime—gain. Captain Trevelyan was, I understand, a rich man?’
‘Very warm indeed by all accounts. But close. Not an easy man to touch for a subscription.’
‘Ah!’ said Narracott thoughtfully.
‘Pity it snowed as it did,’ said the Sergeant. ‘But for that we’d have had his footprints as something to go on.’
‘There was no one else in the house?’ asked the Inspector.
‘No. For the last five years Captain Trevelyan has only had one servant—retired naval chap. Up at Sittaford House a woman came in daily, but this chap, Evans, cooked and looked after his master. About a month ago he got married—much to the Captain’s annoyance. I believe that’s one of the reasons he let Sittaford House to this South African lady. He wouldn’t have any woman living in the house. Evans lives just round the corner here in Fore Street with his wife, and comes in daily to do for his master. I’ve got him here now for you to see. His statement is that he left here at half past two yesterday afternoon, the Captain having no further need for him.’
‘Yes, I shall want to see him. He may be able to tell us something—useful.’
Sergeant Pollock looked at his superior officer curiously. There was something so odd about his tone.
‘You think—’ he began.
‘I think,’ said Inspector Narracott deliberately, ‘that there’s a lot more in this case than meets the eye.’
‘In what way, sir?’
But the Inspector refused to be drawn.
‘You say this man, Evans, is here now?’
‘He’s waiting in the dining-room.’
‘Good. I’ll see him straight away. What sort of a fellow is he?’
Sergeant Pollock was better at reporting facts than at descriptive accuracy.
‘He’s a retired naval chap. Ugly customer in a scrap, I should say.’
‘Does he drink?’
‘Never been the worse for it that I know of.’
‘What about this wife of his? Not a fancy of the Captain’s or anything of that sort?’
‘Oh! no, sir, nothing of that kind about Captain Trevelyan. He wasn’t that kind at all. He was known as a woman hater, if anything.’
‘And Evans was supposed to be devoted to his master?’
‘That’s the general idea, sir, and I think it would be known if he wasn’t. Exhampton’s a small place.’
Inspector Narracott nodded.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘there’s nothing more to be seen here. I’ll interview Evans and I’ll take a look at the rest of the house and after that we will go over to the Three Crowns and see this Major Burnaby. That remark of his about the time was curious. Twenty-five past five, eh? He must know something he hasn’t told, or why should he suggest the time of the crime so accurately?’
The two men moved towards the door.
‘It’s a rum business,’ said Sergeant Pollock, his eye wandering to the littered floor. ‘All this burglary fake!’
‘It’s not that that strikes me as odd,’ said Narracott, ‘under the circumstances it was probably the natural thing to do. No—what strikes me as odd is the window.’
‘The window, sir?’
‘Yes. Why should the murderer go to the window? Assuming it was someone Trevelyan knew and admitted without question, why not go to the front door? To get round to this window from the road on a night like last night would have been a difficult and unpleasant proceeding with the snow lying as thick as it does. Yet there must have been some reason.’
‘Perhaps,’ suggested Pollock, ‘the man didn’t want to be seen turning in to the house from the road.’
‘There wouldn’t be many people about yesterday afternoon to see him. Nobody who could help it was out of doors. No—there’s some other reason. Well, perhaps it will come to light in due course.’
They found Evans waiting in the dining-room. He rose respectfully on their entrance.
He was a short thick-set man. He had very long arms and a habit of standing with his hands half clenched. He was clean shaven with small, rather piglike eyes, yet he had a look of cheerfulness and efficiency that redeemed his bulldog appearance.
Inspector Narracott mentally tabulated his impressions.
‘Intelligent. Shrewd and practical. Looks rattled.’
Then he spoke:
‘You’re Evans, eh?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Christian names?’
‘Robert Henry.’
‘Ah! Now what do you know about this business?’
‘Not a thing, sir. It’s fair knocked me over. To think of the Capting being done in!’
‘When did you last see your master?’
‘Two o’clock I should say it was, sir. I cleared away the lunch things and laid the table here as you see for supper. The Capting, he told me as I needn’t come back.’
‘What do you usually do?’
‘As a general rule, I come back about seven for a couple of hours. Not always—sometimes the Capting would say as I needn’t.’
‘Then you weren’t surprised when he told you that yesterday you wouldn’t be wanted again?’
‘No, sir. I didn’t come back the evening before either—on account of the weather. Very considerate gentleman, the Capting was, as long as you didn’t try to shirk things. I knew him and his ways pretty well.’
‘What exactly did he say?’
‘Well, he looked out of the window and he says, “Not a hope of Burnaby today”. “Shouldn’t wonder,” he says, “if Sittaford isn’t cut off altogether. Don’t remember such a winter since I was a boy.” That was his friend Major Burnaby over to Sittaford that he was referring to. Always comes on a Friday, he does, he and the Capting play chess and do acrostics. And on Tuesdays the Capting would go to Major Burnaby’s. Very regular in his habits was the Capting. Then he said to me: “You can go now, Evans, and you needn’t come till tomorrow morning.”