Read Online The Dartmoor Enigma by Basil Thomson - Free Book Online

reminiscence. “If I’d seen him I’d have told him off, I dare say, but I didn’t.”
    â€œNo, but you saw his car standing at the Duchy Hotel, so you thought of waiting for him down the road.”
    Pengelly’s hands clenched; the hunted look returned to his eyes. “I wasn’t going to waste my time waiting for a swine like that.”
    â€œSo you just drove on and left him at the Duchy Hotel?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou know that he had an accident on the way down Sandiland Hill and was picked up unconscious?”
    â€œI heard something about it.”
    â€œThank you, Pengelly. That’s all I want to ask you for the present.”
    When they were alone Jago remarked, “That man was lying.”
    â€œUp to a point he was telling the truth, I think.”
    â€œYes, because you dragged it out of him, but what puzzles me, Mr. Richardson, is how you knew that Dearborn had left his car standing outside the Duchy Hotel.”
    â€œI didn’t know it. It was just a lucky shot.”
    â€œAnd that statement you got him to make? It struck me that you worded it in a funny way.”
    â€œThat was because you didn’t notice that it had one or two of the words used in those anonymous letters. I wanted to get a specimen of his handwriting; that was all. Now let’s have a look at his statement and compare it with the photographs of the letters.” Richardson laid the three documents on the table and pored over them. He shook his head. “No. Pengelly never wrote those letters. He spells ‘business’ right; not ‘bisness’ as in both anonymous letters. Then look at the word ‘accident’—it’s in much heavier writing than the same word in the letter to the Chief Constable.”
    â€œI see that. But it never entered my head that he was the writer of the anonymous letters. I think we’ve got him cold on the murder, though; he had a motive—he admits that he saw Dearborn’s car standing outside the Duchy Hotel. He went down the road to wait for him. Short of absolute proof what more can you want?”
    â€œWe haven’t done with our inquiries yet. Here comes the foreman. Pack up these papers quick. I don’t want him to see them.”
    â€œWell, gentlemen,” said the foreman, “how did Pengelly shape when you put him through the hoop?”
    â€œHe admitted driving a car without a licence, and I suppose that the county police will have something to say about that. Otherwise he came out all right. I’m sorry to have taken up your time. We may have to see him again to clear up one or two minor points in his statement, but not for a few days. If he’s a competent workman, in your place I should keep him on. Good day.”
    They entered the police car and Richardson gave the order to drive to the Duchy Hotel, Duketon. The driver went like the wind, covering the five miles in six minutes. The officers jumped down, entered the bar and asked to see the manager.
    â€œPolice officers, are you?” questioned this functionary. “I don’t remember seeing either of you before.”
    â€œNo?” said Richardson. “Well, we won’t waste time over explanations. I have a simple question to ask you. Did Mr. Dearborn, who was injured in a motor accident last Saturday week and has since died, call in at this hotel late in the afternoon?”
    â€œLord! I thought when I saw you that you were gentlemen of the Press. Is that the new wheeze—to call yourselves police officers? I suppose you represent the London newspapers. You’ll find a couple of your colleagues of the Plymouth Press in the bar parlour. I see the papers want to make a mystery out of that poor gentleman’s death; they’re not content with the verdict of the coroner’s jury.”
    â€œWe’ve nothing to do with the Press. As I told you we’re police officers; you might oblige me by