Free The Sussex Downs Murder by John Bude Page A

been William—”
    â€œHe visited you on Saturday, July 20th, didn’t he?”
    â€œHow could he when he’s gone abroad for his health?”
    â€œNo. No,” protested Meredith. “I mean William.”
    â€œBut he didn’t go abroad. It was John. William came and saw me here only a short time back.”
    â€œOn Saturday, July 20th?”
    â€œWas it? Really you policemen seem to know everything. It’s wonderful how you find out so much about other people’s business.”
    â€œPerhaps your maid might recall the date?”
    â€œBut why ask her when you know already? That’s very stupid.”
    â€œBut I don’t, madam. I’m asking you.”
    â€œWell, why didn’t you say so at once instead of pretending to be clever. You’re a very unintelligent man to be a policeman, aren’t you? I thought most of you came from the Universities these days. Are you a B.A.?”
    Meredith commented inwardly: “I feel more like a B.F.” Aloud he went on in wheedling tones: “Now please, Miss Rother, I must ask you to answer these three questions. Firstly—did your nephew, William Rother, visit you one Saturday evening?”
    â€œOf course he did. I’ve told you that already.”
    â€œBut you’re sure it was a Saturday?”
    â€œI’m as sure as you are, young man. Some madman had the audacity to send William a wire to say that I was in hospital. I believe it was that fool Dr. Wakefield. He drinks, you know. He denied it when I tackled him on the front the other day—but when a man drinks you really can’t rely on his word, can you? I insist on it—when I die I shall die in my bed and not in a hospital ward.”
    â€œWhat time did your nephew arrive?”
    â€œAt 8.17,” was Miss Emily’s prompt and surprising answer.
    â€œYou’re very certain,” commented Meredith with a smile.
    â€œI can still read the clock, young man. Do you think I’m decrepit? I happen to have just looked at the clock before William came in.”
    â€œAnd did you look at it when he left?”
    â€œNo—I didn’t,” crowed Miss Emily. “But William looked at his watch and said it was time he was going.”
    â€œYou’ve no idea, I suppose—”
    â€œOh yes, I have!” was Miss Emily’s triumphant rejoinder. “The St. Swithin’s clock struck nine just before my nephew left. I’m not such a fool as you take me for, Sergeant. No. No. Don’t protest. You’re a nice man but stupid. I can never understand why foreigners make such a fuss about our British policemen. Another cup of tea?”
    Cursing himself for having wasted so much valuable time, Meredith drove back to Lewes in a really bad temper. Miss Emily Rother had certainly fixed the time of her nephew’s departure from Littlehampton, but what about the all-vital period between 9 and 10:30? Would anybody familiar with William Rother have recognized him on the road? At Findon, for example, before he turned off to drive along Bindings Lane? He would have reached Findon about 9.20 p.m. and returned through Findon with the body of his brother at any time, say, between 9.45 and 10.15. Coming to a decision he reached out for the ’phone and in a few minutes was in touch with the Findon sergeant.
    â€œLook here, Rodd, I’ve got some routine work for you. Yes, this confounded Rother case. I want you to find out if anybody in your locality saw William Rother on the night of July 20th pass through Findon or along Bindings Lane at any time between 9.20 and 10.15. What’s that? His car? No—a Morris Cowley. Oldish saloon painted dark blue. Got it? Good. Let me have any information as soon as possible, will you?”
    Just as Meredith was about to hang up, the sergeant’s voice recalled him to the receiver.
    â€œHalf a mo’ sir. Funnily enough I was just going to get on to