Death at Hallows End by Leo Bruce Page B

had travelled with Humby and knew his passion for speed, and by driving a little faster than usual, he could gain some knowledge of Humby’s time, provided that Humby did not stop by the way.
    The distance was approximately sixty miles over not very fast roads, with a run of about eighteen miles on one of the great motorways. But just after he came through a village called Sneldon, he was thumbed by a young man with a haversack, and decided to give him a lift. The youth accepted this with a nod, and settled down in taciturnity, but the little incident gave Carolus a suggestion which had not yet occurred to him in relation to Humby. Might he not, too, have been thumbed? And by someone expecting him to come this way? Someone who knew his car? Someone who could drive it if Humby was no longer capable of it? Someone who might be identical with the man seen by Stonegate in Church Lane after he had passed Humby’s car with Humby asleep in it? Guesswork of course, but it could be interesting.
    â€œEver been this way before?” he asked his passenger.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMaking for the coast?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNot very talkative, are you?”
    â€œNo.”
    Carolus desisted and ten miles further on was relieved to hear the hitchhiker say, “Here, please.”
    Carolus reached the Falstaff just before one, and again lunched there, for he did not wish to reach Monk’s Farm till the afternoon, and had time to kill.
    Mr. Sporter was glad to see him.
    â€œThere’s been nothing much doing customer-wise,” he said. “It’s a bad time of year for us. Our business in the spring and early summer is fab. Falls off in September.”
    â€œWhat about Christmas?” asked Carolus, who never discouraged loquacity.
    â€œChristmas-wise we do pretty well. Oh, by the way, did you see Stonegate?”
    â€œYes. I gave him a lift here.”
    â€œSo you did. Only he’s in the public bar now. I thought you’d like to know.”
    Carolus found Stonegate enjoying one of the Farm Fresh Pork Pies advertised on the bar, and washing it down with a pint of bitter.
    â€œNow let’s see,” he said importantly. “Which was you? Television was it, or the old-fashioned radio? No. I remember now. You’re Private Enquiries, aren’t you? I’ve had such a lot of them I can’t remember it all. And the police don’t hardly give me any peace. There was one along this morning with a picture of the chap I saw in the car to see if I recognised it.”
    â€œAnd did you?
    â€œCourse I did. It was him as plain as a pikestaff.”
    â€œMr. Stonegate …”
    â€œYou’re lucky to catch me here. I don’t often come up at midday, only Doll’s gone over to her friend Frede’s at Swanwick. What was it you wanted to know this time?”
    â€œDo you work on Sunday mornings, Mr. Stonegate?”
    â€œDo I work on Sunday mornings? What’s that got to do with it? I was the last to see that chap alive. That’s what I was.”
    â€œI know. I was thinking of something else. You may have other important information without knowing it. I should have said, were you up at Monk’s Farm on the Sunday, the day before you found that car in the lane?”
    â€œI was.”
    â€œWas everything as usual?”
    â€œPretty well. Except this chap Darkin went off to chapel in his boss’s car.”
    â€œMr. Grossiter had a car at the farm then?”
    â€œYes. He came in it. It’s there now as a matter of fact because this chap Darkin’s still up there. Big car, it is. Like a Rolls Royce.”
    Carolus smiled.
    â€œThere’s no car
like
a Rolls Royce,” he said.
    â€œThen it is a Rolls Royce. This Darkin went off to chapel in his boss’s car.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œBecause the missus was Chapel, and Doll takes after her. I don’t hold with it myself. Too much hymn-singing for me,