Adventures of Martin Hewitt, Third SeriesMorrison, Arthur
General
Adventures of Martin Hewitt, Third Series
Morrison, Arthur
Detective and mystery stories, English; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
“It’s in regard to _that_ business,” Hewitt replied, indicating by a
nod the row of houses a hundred yards ahead. “But it will be clearer
if we go over the whole thing together and take what I have found out
in its proper place. You’re not altogether satisfied with your
capture of Foster, are you?”
“Well, I mustn’t say, of course. Perhaps not. We’ve traced his
doings yesterday after he left the house, and _perhaps_ it doesn’t
help us much. But what do you know?”
“I’ll tell you. But first can you get hold of such a thing as a
boat-hook? Any long pole with a hook on the end will do.”
“I don’t know that there’s one handy. Perhaps they’ll have a garden
rake at the house, if that’ll do?”
“Excellently, I should think, if it’s fairly long. We will ask.”
The garden rake was forthcoming at once, and with it Hewitt and the
inspector made their way along the path that led towards the railway
station and stopped where it came by the ditch.
“I’ve brought you here purely on a matter of conjecture,” Hewitt
said, “and there may be nothing in it; but if there is it will help
us. This is a very muddy ditch, with a soft bottom many feet deep
probably, judging from the wet nature of the soil hereabout.”
He took the rake and plunged it deep into the ditch, dragging it
slowly back up the side. It brought up a tangle of duckweed and
rushes and slimy mud, with a stick or two among it.
“Do you think the knife’s been thrown here?” asked the inspector.
“Possibly, and possibly something else. We’ll see.” And Hewitt made
another dive. They went along thus very thoroughly and laboriously,
dragging every part of the ditch as they went, it being frequently
necessary for both to pull together to get the rake through the
tangle of weed and rubbish. They had worked through seven or eight
yards from the angle of the path where it approached the ditch, when
Hewitt stopped, with the rake at the bottom.
“Here is something that feels a little different,” he said. “I’ll
get as good a hold as I can, and then we’ll drag it up slowly and
steadily together.”
He gave the rake a slight twist, and then the two pulled steadily.
Presently the sunken object came away suddenly, as though mud-suction
had kept it under, and rose easily to the surface. It was a muddy
mass, and they had to swill it to and fro a few times in the clearer
upper water before it was seen to be a linen bundle. They drew it
ashore and untied the thick knot at the top. Inside was an Indian
shawl, also knotted, and this they opened also. There within, wet and
dirty, lay a sextant, a chronometer in a case, a gold watch and
chain, a handful of coins, a thick gold ring, a ship carved in ivory,
with much of the delicate work broken, a sealskin waistcoat, a door
key, a seaman’s knife, and an iron hook screwed into a wooden stock.
[Illustration: “THEY HAD TO SWILL IT BEFORE IT WAS SEEN TO BE A LINEN
BUNDLE”]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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