Read Online The Polo Ground Mystery by Robin Forsythe - Free Book Online Page B

hand.
    â€œBy God, that’s a rare bit of luck!” he exclaimed. “A .45 automatic cartridge case. We must recommend you for promotion for this, Mr. Vereker. I wonder how we missed it on the first search.”
    â€œI can explain, Heather. I found it down the hole which you think Sergeant Goss made with a sharpened stake. Your friend Goss oughtn’t to be trusted with sharpened stakes. He’s dangerous enough with a baton. I’ve made another find, Heather. There’s another hole made by Goss’s sharpened stake some twenty or thirty yards off. There’s nothing in it, I’m sorry to say.”
    The inspector took the empty shell from Vereker and, after examining it carefully, wrapped it in cotton-wool to prevent further scratching or abrasion and placed it in a match-box. Thrusting the box into his pocket with a shade of jubilation, he exclaimed:
    â€œThat ought to settle once and for all whether there was more than one pistol used in this shooting.”
    At this juncture the attention of both men was arrested by the emergence from the stable-yard gate of Sergeant Goss himself. The sergeant was carrying under his arm a brown paper parcel, and on seeing his chief he hurried his pace almost to a run. He was unmistakably excited, which was a most unusual emotional state for Sergeant Lawrence Goss.
    â€œWell, sergeant, got our man wrapped up in that parcel?” asked the inspector.
    â€œTidy bit of him, I think, sir,” replied the sergeant^ as he untied the parcel and displayed to view a well-worn but recently cleaned suit of clothes.
    â€œWhat the devil!” exclaimed the inspector with a puzzled frown as he glanced at the garments. “Where on earth did you find this packet?” 
    â€œBurton, the head gardener, found the parcel tucked away under some bushes near the swimming-pool, not fifty yards from the house,” replied the sergeant. “He thought it was a bit rum and might have something to do with our case so he ’anded the lot over to me.”
    â€œAny tailor’s or cleaners’ marks on them?” asked the inspector.
    â€œNot a hiota, sir,” replied Goss, gravely aspirate.
    â€œMay I have a look at them, inspector?” asked Vereker eagerly.
    â€œCertainly, Mr. Vereker; though I can’t for the life of me see what they’ve got to do with our case at the moment.”
    Taking the suit, which consisted of trousers, waistcoat, and jacket, from the sergeant, Vereker examined them very carefully, turning over the garments one by one.
    â€œThis waistcoat interests me particularly,” he exclaimed at length, as he held the garment close to his face and sniffed at it suspiciously. Then handing the suit back to the sergeant, he added, “Reach-me-downs, recently cleaned. They still smell of benzine or petrol. You have a little line of inquiry there, inspector. I hope you’ll be generous enough to let me know what you discover. I can’t waste my time hunting up old do’ shops and cleaners.”
    â€œI’ll play fair, Mr. Vereker,” replied the inspector, and glancing at his watch remarked, “I think I’ll get back to Nuthill police station. Any other news, sergeant?” 
    â€œThere was a ’phone message from headquarters for you, sir. I took it. Sir William Macpherson reports that he is almost certain that the bullet extracted from Mr. Harmadale was not fired from the Colt pistol found in the dead gentleman’s ’and.”
    â€œGood. So you see, Mr. Vereker, we can safely take it that Armadale was murdered and didn’t commit suicide. The cartridge case you found just now ought to confirm, and then for the weapon itself! By the way, Goss, did you mark the spot here on the polo ground with a sharpened stake?”
    â€œNo, sir. I marked it temporary with my ’andkerchief and a pair of ’andcuffs,” replied the sergeant.
    At this information Vereker was