“God bless my soul!” ejaculated the Colonel, putting down his coffee-cup. “Who did it? Any idea?”
“No, sir, none. No clues at all so far. The body was found by Constable Dickenson - in the stocks.”
“In the what?”
“Does sound odd, doesn't it, sir? But that's how it was.”
“Do you mean he was put in the stocks and then stabbed, or what?”
“It's hard to say, sir. Not much bleeding, you see: nothing on the ground. Might have been stabbed first, though why anyone should take the trouble to put the body in the stocks I can't make out. He was in evening dress, no hat or overcoat, and the only thing we've got so far that looks like helping us at all is his hands, which were dirty. Smear of motor-oil on one, inference being he'd had to change a tyre, or do some repair on a car. But his car's not there, and not at the garage either. Of course, he may have walked into the village from Riverside Cottage - it's under a mile away - but it seems a funny thing to do at that hour of night. The Doctor doesn't put the hour of the murder earlier than twelve o'clock, or thereabouts. No, it looks like he was motoring down with someone or other for the week-end. What I thought, sir, was that I should go off to Riverside Cottage first thing after seeing you to find out if he was staying there, or expected down last night. Seems to have been a gentleman with irregular sort of habits.”
“Yes, I believe so,” said the Colonel. “Didn't know him myself, but one hears things. A city man - mining interests, so I was informed. I don't fancy it's much of a case for us, Inspector. What do you feel about it?”
“Well, sir, pretty much what you do. Of course, we don't know that it wasn't a local affair, but on the face of it it doesn't look like it. I've got a man out at Ashleigh Green making inquiries, but I don't expect to get much. You know what it is out in the country, sir. Folks go to bed early, and if there wasn't any noise made, barring the car - assuming there was a car - no one would be likely to wake up - or take any notice if they were awake.