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They drove on in silence until they reached the churchtown. Inspector Dawfield steered the car to the modest dwelling of Sergeant Pengowan, whom they found at his gate awaiting their arrival a shaggy figure of a rural policeman of the Cornish Celtic variety, with no trace of Spanish or Italian ancestry in his florid face, inquisitively Irish blue-grey eyes, reddish whiskers, and burly frame.
Sergeant Pengowan does not strike me as the kind of man capable of bringing to light any mystery which may be hidden behind my brother's supposed suicide. He does not look at all intelligent. I thought of sending a telegram to Scotland Yard, but I decided to see you first." The hint was not lost on Inspector Dawfield, but it was unnecessary.
"Thalassa told Pengowan that Robert Turold kept the revolver in the drawer of his writing table," Dawfield remarked. "I have read Pengowan's report," returned Barrant impatiently, "and I am assuming that Robert Turold's daughter knew where it was kept. This is a purely constructive theory of her guilt, and we have to assume many things.
"The local man seems certain that it is suicide," he said, "but the sister's statement certainly calls for further investigation. How far away is this place?" "Flint House? About five miles across the moors. I've hired a motor-car to drive you up. Nothing has been disturbed so far. As soon as I learnt you were coming I telephoned to Pengowan to leave things as they were until you arrived."
The body would have to be turned over before it was lifted, and the grip might have been made in pulling it over. We must find that out." "It's a point which can be settled at once by questioning Thalassa. He helped Pengowan carry the body into this room." "That is the very thing I do not wish to do," rejoined Barrant quickly. "We have to remember that Thalassa is, for the time being, suspect.
The rather breathless entrance of Inspector Dawfield put an end to Barrant's reflections. He explained that Sergeant Pengowan, in his anxiety to maintain the correctness of his official report, had taken him to various breakneck positions at the back of the house and along the cliffs in order to demonstrate the impossibility of anybody entering Robert Turold's rooms from outside.
They heard a shuffling footstep and the drawing of a bolt, and the door was opened by a withered little woman who looked at them with silent inquiry. "Where's your husband?" asked Sergeant Pengowan. She glanced timidly up the stairs behind her, and they saw Thalassa descending as though in answer to the question. He scanned the police officers with a cautious eye.
"Pengowan wants us to look at the outside first," said Dawfield, but Barrant was already mounting the stairs. "You do so," he called back, over his shoulder. "I'll go up." At the top of the staircase he waited until Thalassa reached him. "Where are Mr. Turold's rooms?" he asked. Thalassa pointed with a long arm into the dim vagueness of the passage. "Down there," he said, "at the end.
"Sergeant Pengowan regards it as a case of suicide, does he not?" asked Mrs. Pendleton rigidly. "Well, yes, I believe he does," replied Inspector Dawfield. "There is no doubt on that point, is there? Your brother's revolver was lying near him, and the door was locked on the inside." "There is the greatest doubt in my mind," returned Mrs. Pendleton vehemently.
We must also remember that there were several people in the room after the door was burst open, including the dead man's brother. It seems that it was he who first propounded the suicide theory to Dr. Ravenshaw, and subsequently to Pengowan. Do you know anything about the brother?" "I know nothing personally.
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