Detective and mystery stories, English; Private investigators -- Fiction
"I wandered about the village for some little time, and presently got
hold of a boy. I made a simple excuse for asking about the
Garthews--wanted to go for a sail to-morrow. The boy, with many grins,
confided to me that both of the Garthews were 'on the booze.' I should
find them at the Smack Inn, where they had been all day, drunk as
fiddlers. This seemed a likely sort of thing after the haul they had
made. I went to the Smack Inn, determined to claim old friendship with
the Garthews, although I didn't know Peter from David. There they
were--one sleepy drunk, and the other loving and crying drunk. I got as
friendly as possible with them under the circumstances, and at closing
time stood another gallon of beer and carried it home for them, while
they carried each other. I took care to have a good look round in the
cottage. I even helped Peter's 'old woman'--the lady with the broom--to
carry them up to bed. But nowhere could I see anything that looked like
a bullion-case or a hiding-place for one. So I came away, determined to
renew my acquaintance in the morning, and to carry it on as long as
might be necessary; also to look at the garden in the daylight for signs
of burying. With that view I fixed that little gimlet in my
walking-stick, as you saw.
"This morning I was at Lostella before ten, and took a look at the
Garthews' cabbages. It seemed odd that half a dozen, all in a clump
together, looked withered and limp, as though they had been dug up
hastily, the roots broken, perhaps, and then replanted. And altogether
these particular cabbages had a dissipated, leaning-different-ways look,
as though _they_ had been on the loose with the Garthews. So, seeing a
grubby child near the back door of the cottage, I went towards him,
walking rather unsteadily, so as, if I were observed, to favour the
delusion that I was not yet quite got over last night's diversions.
'Hullo, my b-boy,' I said, 'hullo, li'l b-boy, look here,' and I plunged
my hand into my trousers' pocket and brought it out full of small
change. Then, making a great business of selecting him a penny, I
managed to spill it all over the dissipated cabbages. It was easy then,
in stooping to pick up the change, to lean heavily on my stick and drive
it through the loose earth. As I had expected, there was a box below. So
I gouged away with my walking-stick while I collected my coppers, and
finally swaggered off, after a few civil words with the 'old woman,'
carrying with me evident proof that it was white wood recently buried
there. The rest you saw for yourself. I think you and I may congratulate
each other on having dodged that broom. It hit all the others."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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