The Dartmoor Enigma by Basil Thomson

position to advance to Mrs. Dearborn all that she may require for current expenses.”

Chapter Eight
    R ICHARDSON left The Firs in deep thought. Quite unconsciously the bank manager had given him what might prove to be a new and most important clue; the dead man had had a legal training in a solicitor’s office. But a fraudulent solicitor who had robbed his clients of £35,000 could scarcely have got away with it without being arrested and prosecuted; yet here was this man Dearborn depositing £25,000 in the bank.
    Was the man who attacked him on the moor a guilty confederate who had chanced to recognize him? It could not have been a client whom he had robbed; a client would have gone direct to the police as soon as he discovered the hiding-place of the thief. What was to be the next step?
    Sergeant Jago was at the door of the police station; he had been with Superintendent Carstairs to the court.
    â€œPengelly gave no trouble,” he said. “He pleaded guilty and they fined him five pounds. He couldn’t pay that amount so we brought him back.”
    â€œI’m glad of that. I want to see him again. Can you get him up here?”
    â€œI’ll see. Mr. Carstairs is away, getting his dinner, but the sub-inspector won’t make any difficulty.” Five minutes later Pengelly was brought into the office. He was bursting to impart his grievance, but Richardson was too quick for him.
    â€œI’ve only one question to ask you, Pengelly. What sort of age was the man who attacked Dearborn with a stick—a very young man, not much more than a boy?”
    â€œA boy? Not a bit of it. He seemed to me a man of about Dearborn’s age, or even older, as far as I could judge at that distance. But look here, sir, I don’t know what these police are up to. I’ve told them that if they let me go back to the quarry, I can raise the money for my fine, partly from my mates and partly from an advance on my wages. But this Superintendent won’t listen to that. The magistrates gave me a month’s imprisonment if I didn’t pay, and if they shut me up for a month my job will get filled up. I wish you’d have a word with the Superintendent.”
    â€œAll right, Pengelly, I will.”
    As soon as he had left the room Jago explained the situation. “Mr. Carstairs is counting upon holding Pengelly until there’s sufficient evidence for charging him with wilful murder. That’s why he won’t let him go back to the quarry to raise the money for his fine.”
    â€œIt’s going to be a ticklish business. Either the Superintendent leaves the case entirely to me, as he said he would, or I’ll have to throw up the case because he will keep butting in.”
    â€œI’m afraid Mr. Carstairs belongs to that breed of men you find in South Devon who turn mulish if they’re not carefully handled. It would be a thousand pities if you chucked the case up just when we seem to be on the point of getting home.”
    â€œI’ve never chucked a case yet and I don’t want to start now. I’m going to sit in this chair until Mr. Carstairs has finished his lunch and smoked his pipe, and then I’m going to have it out with him,” said Richardson. “But I won’t tread on his South Devon toes more than I’m obliged to.”
    â€œBut you’ll get no lunch, Mr. Richardson.”
    â€œOh, never mind about lunch: that can wait.” Jago lifted his head to listen. “I think I hear the Superintendent. Shall I tell him you would like to speak to him?”
    â€œYes, and see that we’re not interrupted.”
    In the Superintendent’s expression and bearing there was much that reminded Richardson of a small boy whom he had caught stealing apples from his father’s orchard in Scotland. He rose hurriedly from his chair. “Let me give you your own seat, Mr. Carstairs. I hear that Pengelly pleaded guilty this morning and