Free The Sussex Downs Murder by John Bude

have to be a pretty speedy worker to do that, surely? You can’t get rid of blood-stains without a great deal of trouble, you realize that?”
    â€œThen it looks—” began Meredith in disgruntled tones.
    â€œAs if William Rother is not the murderer,” concluded Major Forest. “I say, it looks . I’m not precluding his name as a possible suspect. I merely suggest that we’re in no position to make an arrest at the moment.”
    â€œThen what’s your advice now, sir?”
    â€œSee that aunt. See Wakefield. Check up in Littlehampton. Examine that Morris Cowley. Have a nose-round in all the outhouses at the farm. See if you can find out where the body was cut up. Enough to get on with, eh?”
    â€œPlenty,” laughed Meredith.
    Major Forest put a hand on the Superintendent’s sleeve.
    â€œAnd for God’s sake don’t get disheartened, my dear fellow. We’ve had cases a hundred per cent more complex than this. To my mind you can only tackle a difficult investigation in one way.”
    â€œAnd that, sir?”
    â€œWorry it like a terrier worries a rat.”
    But for all the Old Man’s encouragement Meredith had a tiring and unprofitable day. He left his office about ten o’clock that morning and went direct to Chalklands. As luck would have it William Rother had been driven by a friend into Pulborough on business and his wife had gone to Worthing by bus on a shopping expedition. He was able, therefore, to search the outhouses and examine the Morris Cowley without arousing any curiosity. But at the end of three hours he had to acknowledge that neither the car nor the outhouses seemed likely to render up a clue. The mat and the flooring at the back of Rother’s car were all in order. There was no sign of either the mat or the boards having been scoured of stains, neither did he find anything to arouse his suspicions in the various cow-sheds, stables, granaries and barns in the near locality of the farm.
    He then drove to Angmering, had lunch, and went on to Littlehampton, arriving there about 3.30. Dr. Wakefield was in his consulting-room busy with a patient, but the moment he was free he readily gave the Superintendent all the information he wanted. But negative again. He had seen William that evening shortly after eight o’clock. He knew nothing whatsoever about the telegram which, to his mind, was an extremely callous form of practical joking. He attended Miss Emily Rother but he claimed that she was more than normally hale and vigorous for her seventy-odd years. He then gave Meredith the address of her flat and assured him that the old lady never went out in the afternoon.
    Miss Emily Rother accepted the Superintendent’s arrival with perfect aplomb. Sitting very upright in her tall-backed oak chair before a little tea-table, she waved Meredith into a seat and told the maid to bring in another cup and saucer. She then mounted a most awe-inspiring trumpet to her ear and asked Meredith in a raucous voice what he wanted to know.
    â€œIt’s about the visit of your nephew to this flat on Saturday, July 20th,” replied Meredith in equally strident tones.
    â€œAll right! All right!” contested Miss Emily. “There’s no need to shout. I can hear you perfectly well, thank you, if you’ll just speak in your natural voice.”
    Meredith hastily apologized.
    â€œWhat time did he arrive that evening?”
    â€œEh?”
    Meredith repeated the question a little louder.
    â€œAll right! Do please keep your voice down, my dear man. What time did he arrive? What time did who arrive?”
    â€œYour nephew.”
    â€œJohn?”
    â€œNo, William.”
    â€œBy the way,” said Miss Emily, “they tell me that John has had to go abroad for his health. Do you know anything about it?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œOnly it seems funny to me—a great, hulking, red-faced man like John. Now, if it had