Death on the Highway Read online

  Death on the Highway

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Part Two

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Copyright

  Death on the Highway

  Clifton Robbins

  To Bensco

  Part One

  Here

  Chapter I

  A Thoughtful Evening

  “A criminal puts his signature to his crime like any other artist,” said Clay Harrison while his audience, mostly composed of women, listened with rapt attention. “And it might almost be said that no man or woman committed a crime contrary to their own nature and instincts.”

  He paused. “Every one of you here has criminal tendencies.” There was a laugh. “Luckily for most of you, or possibly all of you, circumstances have not arisen in which you would feel overwhelmingly forced to follow them. You may humbly thank your stars that is so. But if, by any chance, such a situation arose, your crime would be according to your nature. I can already hear some of you say that you have read of the most atrocious crimes being perpetrated by the mildest of mortals. Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, although it may sound an easy way out, the criminal was not as mild as he appeared. He was wearing a disguise such as most men do. A skilled psychologist would have discovered what was underneath.”

  The good people of Great Crockham, in the county of Surrey, stirred uneasily in their chairs. Was Clay Harrison going to indulge in some uncanny conjuring? For example, was he going to ask one of their number to step up onto the little platform and then, with a piercing glance, lay bare the skeletons, secrets and other lumber hitherto so securely hidden away?

  “Personally I am no great psychologist,” Harrison continued, and there was a slight rustle of relief. “In fact, I should not be surprised if the type of man I am imagining only exists in a much more scientific future. Still, to modify my statement slightly, a knowledge of character may not always mean that one can say at once who actually did a certain crime, but in a very large number of cases, it will enable one to say who didn’t. Quite an important matter when one is eliminating possible suspects.”

  Here Harrison settled down to give instances from his own experience while Henry looked round the hall and wondered again what had possessed his master to come to this diminutive spot to deliver a lecture on “Crime and Personality.”

  The steady growth of Clay Harrison’s reputation as a private investigator had produced a crop of invitations to speak on any subject under the sun. Organisers of meetings had realised that the name of Clay Harrison alone would be sufficient to attract a large audience and very often, such are the untiring efforts of this class of social worker, Harrison was invited to speak on subjects far remote from those he might have been presumed to be acquainted with. One request had been for an address on an international currency. This had rather amused him. He had told Henry he would rather like to have accepted it just to see what he could say without disclosing his ignorance. “You know, Henry,” he said, “I am certain they don’t realise that an international currency would bring tears of gratitude to the eyes of the first-rate forger.”

  The rule, however, had to be kept. Once give way in that direction and heaven knows where it would lead. Sometimes these requests for lectures were accompanied by the offer of tempting fees. Henry smiled to himself as he returned them and thought of earlier days when they would have been amazingly welcome. None of the briefs which had come Harrison’s way, and they were not many, had been marked with a fee as high as was offered for the humblest lecture. Henry had to admit that Harrison had not shone as a barrister. He had worked hard. When he had been in charge of a case, he had been conscientious to the tiniest detail. But somehow he did not impress solicitors, and the barrister’s dream of a steady stream of briefs was never realised.

  It was only when his knowledge of languages and understanding of human character from the international aspect had found their true bent in solving a number of curious crimes where such qualities were essential that the chambers in the Temple, occupied by Henry and himself, had become a satisfactory centre of activity. So Henry had realised. As clerk to an unappreciated barrister, he had found that time had often hung rather heavily, but as confidential assistant to a man of Clay Harrison’s reputation he sometimes confessed that he did not know where to turn. For, although he was expected to deal with all correspondence—no light matter—and use his judgment as to what matters should be referred to Harrison himself, there was no knowing when he would be expected to pack their bags and dash off to any part of Europe for any length of time. When an important case called Harrison away, Henry went with him. They understood one another perfectly. While Henry idolised Harrison, Harrison had a very high appreciation of Henry’s native London shrewdness.

  When Harrison was asked why he had not married he would reply, “What on earth would happen to Henry? I couldn’t let him down like that.” Henry’s answer to the same question would be a contemptuous reference to women as brewers of tea, and a certainty that no wife would be willing to produce a cup of tea at any hour of the night and day with as cheerful a spirit as he was. “One day she would be sure to complain,” he would say, “and it’s not worth taking such a risk.”

  It was therefore a very great surprise to Henry when Harrison decided to visit Great Crockham. He had gone in to Harrison’s room with a batch of letters and, after the more serious matters had been dealt with, Harrison had, as usual, asked what Henry’s post contained. Henry had given a monotonous catalogue of his uninspiring collection until he came to “Julia Docket, of Great Crockham.”

  “Julia Docket?” said Harrison. “What a beautiful name. Let me see it.”

  Harrison had read the letter and smiled.

  “A good letter, too,” he continued. “Do you know, Henry, I’ve a good mind to go.”

  “I’m afraid it’s against the rules, sir,” said Henry, solemnly.

  “But, Henry,” pleaded Harrison, “Miss Docket—I think she must be ‘Miss’—writes so charmingly. She says that the good people of Great Crockham really must restore their church, and she is certain they would pay to come and hear me. Thus they would not only gain instruction from me but they would be helping in a good work at the same time. You see, she must have a high opinion of my powers, Henry.”

  “I know, sir—” started Henry.

  “She does not offer any fee, Henry,” Harrison went on. “She feels that I should be willing to help restore Great Crockham church, too. She offers a bed—in fact, two beds, for she has heard of you, Henry—mighty nice of her, I call it. And she leaves the subject to me. What more can I ask?”

  “But, sir—” began Henry again.

  “And the postscript, Henry,” continued Harrison. “You couldn’t be stony-hearted after reading that. She says it is going to be one of a series. She thinks a good name for them is ‘a series of thoughtful evenings.’ People might be attracted by a name like that. ‘Are you coming to our thoughtful evening this week?’ A marvellous i
dea, Henry. It is surely a great compliment to be asked to speak at a thoughtful evening, don’t you think so?”

  “It may be, sir,” said Henry, grudgingly. “But we have talked all this over before. It would be creating too much of a precedent.”

  “At Great Crockham, Henry?” asked Harrison, incredulously. “By the way, where is Great Crockham?” Henry very reluctantly studied a map of Surrey and explained to Harrison that it was a small town—if the dignity of such a term could be applied to it—in the heart of the county. “Obviously impossible to get back the same night by train, Henry,” said Harrison. “That is why she so very thoughtfully offers to put us up.”

  “If you did go, sir,” said Henry,” you could come back by car.”

  “That would be very ungrateful, Henry, and almost bad manners,” was the reply. “No, if we go at all, we both accept Miss Docket’s hospitality.”

  Henry groaned.

  “I’ll swear Miss Docket’s worth meeting, Henry,” said Harrison. “Her handwriting’s splendid. And besides, we both like Surrey and we don’t remember to have seen Great Crockham church.”

  Henry was still obdurate, and suggested that Harrison should postpone sending an answer until he had thought the matter over again. He had little hope of any change, for could see that Harrison was interested and the same night a letter was sent accepting Miss Docket’s very kind invitation and suggesting that the subject of the address should be “Crime and Personality.”

  Henry’s wandering thoughts were brought back to the hall by a burst of applause. Harrison had explained some point which had particularly appealed to his hearers and the good residents of Great Crockham had quickly shown their appreciation. The women present were mainly of the comfortable middle-class. Great Crockham was obviously a prosperous spot. Retired people, thought Henry, and those families who can afford to live well out of London.

  He then turned to the platform which, small as it was rather tightly packed. Harrison was flanked by local celebrities. On his left, taking the chair was Miss Julia Docket herself. Harrison was right in guessing that she was an interesting woman. She was middle-aged and of the type which seems to grow more attractive in later years. Somewhat grey, she had a keen eye and a commanding presence, with a smile that it would be almost impossible to resist. The reluctant giver of charity in Great Crockham must have been hard put to find a reasonable excuse for refusal when the full power of that smile was turned upon him. Her spinsterhood was undoubted, but it is possible that she had grown into the perfect aunt instead of the normal wife and mother.

  On Harrison’s right was a little old lady in conventional black with white hair and piercingly blue eyes. She was following everything Harrison said with the greatest keenness, and Henry mentally noted her as the undisputed leader of Great Crockham society. “The lady of the manor,” “Countess somebody or other,” the sort of person countryfolk touch their hats to, was his idea. Next to her was a striking-looking girl in the middle twenties. She seemed to be sending forth a protective atmosphere around the little old lady. She was continually turning to her and doing little things for her comfort. Might be a daughter, thought Henry, at any rate, a relation rather than a hired companion. Very good to look at, too. Quite a charming pair.

  On the left of Miss Docket was a man in clerical costume. He radiated fellowship as he sat, and Henry placed him as the local incumbent. He continually stressed any point made by Harrison with an emphatic, “Hear, hear,” and was always the first to laugh when such were required, or the first to applaud when he felt a show of enthusiasm was indicated.

  The professional mover of the vote of thanks, thought Henry, I can almost guess what he is going to say. And again, Henry wondered why Harrison had taken so much trouble to be present.

  By this time, Harrison was nearing the end of his remarks and Henry glanced round the audience behind him to see whether their interest was still being held. He was gratified to notice that the eyes of each individual seemed to be riveted on the speaker, sufficient evidence that Harrison had gained a hold on his hearers. He was struck, however, by the incongruity of the very shabby clothes of two men sitting right at the back of the hall as compared with the general well-being displayed by the rest of the audience. Still they seemed even more interested than the others, judging by the manner in which they were looking and listening, and Henry summed them up in his mind as “villagers,” with the rider that if the English countryside provided even two such intelligent men to listen to Harrison, the country could not be really decadent.

  Harrison was concluding by a reference to sentimentalising over crime. He agreed that, in some cases, crime might be regarded as a disease. That many people who had committed a crime were better fitted for the hospital than the jail. That drink and slums bred crime there could be no doubt. He thought that all those who were working for the reform of the prison system and for the elimination of bad conditions were doing a power of good. But sentimentalism could go too far. Pity for the criminal because he was the victim of circumstances and forces beyond his control could be carried too far. He had always been suspicious of generalisations, and he could not agree that every man or woman who committed a crime deserved such tender consideration for their feelings.

  “Some crimes are definitely evil,” he said, “and some criminals are definitely evil-doers. Their whole mental make-up is evil, and no amount of sympathy or well-intentioned reform is going to make the slightest difference to them. The more I investigate the more convinced I grow of this. The world we know is a little patch of light surrounded by dark shadows, and in those shadows lurks the unspeakable. This room is a brightly-lit oasis of kindly, law-abiding people, but who knows what is hidden by the night around us? Please do not think I am dealing in the supernatural. I am not trying to make your hair stand on end, and I am certainly not talking like this just to make you all think how remarkable my own work must be. It is more than likely that none of you here may ever have to realise the truth of my remarks, that the shadows may always be just beyond the patch of light for every one of you. If that should be the case, and this is my final word, you may fervently thank your stars for it.”

  There was a hush as Harrison sat down. The ring of sincerity in his voice had impressed even Henry. Then the little old lady with the white hair smiled and began to applaud. This was the signal for a general demonstration, and the act of applauding certainly relieved the tension.

  Miss Docket rose, made a brief and business-like reference to the admirable nature of Mr. Clay Harrison’s address and asked if there were any questions.

  After an embarrassing silence during which Miss Docket made several efforts to galvanise friends in the hall into activity and had her attentions nervously repudiated, one or two bolder individuals did their duty, including a portentous gentleman who asked whether the use of a universal language like Esperanto would help the police in dealing with international crime. It was a long and rambling effort, and Miss Docket explained to Harrison in an undertone that this particular fanatic managed to drag his pet subject into every discussion they held.

  Harrison replied that he would not be surprised if such a reform proved very useful, but he would remind the questioner that the international criminals themselves used a universal language which they had found quite effective, not Esperanto, and he did not feel he was at liberty to disclose the secret of it.

  The questions over, it was obviously time for the vote of thanks. Henry looked expectantly towards the gentleman in the clerical garb but Miss Docket said that she was certain they would all like to hear Mrs. Crewe and, to Henry’s surprise, up rose the little old lady. She seemed quite at home, no trace of nervousness, and Henry admitted she could make a witty speech. He did not quite like her references to Harrison as a bachelor. She said that she was certain that the reason why he had never married was his fear of being found out by an intelligent woman. He was admired, respected and possibly flattered as a successful crime investigator, but she had a shrewd su
spicion that all his famous reasoning would be useless in a home, and that he would be the despair of any woman who expected from him the normal attributes of a domestic life.

  Henry looked angrily round the hall, and wondered why the foolish people were laughing so heartily. Harrison was laughing, too, but then, thought Henry, that was only good manners. Mrs. Crewe, however, ended with a well-worded tribute to Harrison’s effort and Henry was somewhat mollified.

  She was followed by the clerical gentleman, and Henry was quite satisfied with his own penetration. The clerical gentleman felt he must echo the sentiments so charmingly put by Mrs. Crewe. They were lucky to have Mr. Harrison with them. They were also lucky in the presence of Mrs. Crewe. Henry felt the atmosphere of good luck was becoming almost overpowering. The clergyman then looked extremely wise and solemn and said he must join issue with Mr. Harrison on one point. Possibly Mr. Harrison knew much more about criminals than he did. But he had had a great deal to do with human nature himself and it might be that Mr. Harrison’s views were, should he say, just a little one-sided. It might be indulging in platitudes, although he never shirked his duty even if it meant dealing in the obvious, but he felt that there was still some truth in the old saying that there was some good in the worst of us. He could not accept Mr. Harrison’s idea that any man was wholly wicked, and he hoped nobody else in the room would.

  These remarks were greeted with a vigorous “hear, hear” from the little old lady, who received, in return, a particularly rich smile from the speaker. Henry could see that Harrison was not impressed, and Miss Docket was tapping her foot impatiently on the ground. A dissertation on the need for a new social outlook brought the long-winded speech to an end and Miss Docket declared the meeting closed.

  “Our worthy vicar takes rather a long time to explain his worthiness,” said the little old lady, turning to Harrison with a twinkling eye.

  “I appreciate his worthiness,” said Harrison; “but I think he has a very poor opinion of the Devil.”