Page 106 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

Constable Sharpe left off glaring at Mr. Weston to reply. “The investigation is ongoing, but it could be that the person who wrote it was a smuggler like Larkins, and would therefore know where the evidence was stashed.”

“If so, that person is a criminal and hardly a reliable source of information,” said Mr. Weston in a disapproving tone. “Therefore, it seems premature to accuse Mr. Larkins of murder, when he may have been set up by this anonymous person for reasons unknown.”

The constable looked ready to argue, but Dr. Hughes forestalled him.

“Your questions have merit, Mr. Weston,” the coroner said. “And I will enter them into the record. However, we must remember that the only business of this jury is to decideifmurder has been committed, notwhodid it. That will be decided by a trial at a later date. I will also ask you to defer any additional questions about smuggling until we hear from our next witness.”

Mr. Weston nodded his compliance and resumed his seat.

“Constable Sharpe, you are released,” intoned Dr. Hughes. “I now call the last witness, Officer Algernon Clarke.”

Emma frowned. “Is that … ?”

“Yes, the prevention officer from Leatherhead,” said George. “He’s been watching the proceedings from the back of the room. Observing potential suspects, I would imagine.”

Emma swiveled to watch the man walk up the middle aisle. A certain degree of scowling and disgruntled muttering followed in his wake. Clearly, there were those in Highbury who had more sympathy for the smugglers than they did for the officers tasked with preventing their criminal deeds.

Mr. Clarke, who appeared to be of an age with George, was a man of middling height and attractive appearance, neatly and soberly garbed. His features were regular, his expression calm, and he bore himself well. He didn’t seem puffed up or particularly foolish, something that could certainly not be said of Highbury’s law officers.

“He appears to be a respectable person,” Emma’s father commented in a lamentably loud stage whisper. “Unlike Constable Sharpe. I was dreadfully shocked by the constable’s rude treatment of Mr. Weston.”

When ripples of laughter sounded behind them, Emma didn’t dare look at the constable, who was probably shooting death daggers at her father.

Mr. Clarke gave George an amiable nod as he took his seat in the witness chair.

“He does seem like a decent sort of fellow,” Emma whispered to her husband.

“He’s certainly no fool.”

Mr. Clarke noted for the record that he’d been a prevention officer in Leatherhead for almost a year, tasked with investigating smuggling operations and enforcing the law against them.

“It is my understanding,” said Dr. Hughes, “that you met some days ago with Mr. Knightley, our local magistrate, regarding suspicious activity on his estate.”

“I did. I also confirmed that I was investigating a gang that might be operating in the countryside and villages in this region of Surrey. Early evidence suggests that the gang has been at work for at least two years.”

“Alarming news, indeed,” stated the coroner. “And do you also believe these smugglers may be operating in Donwell parish, and possibly in Highbury itself?”

“It’s certainly possible. It seems they used the old Langham Path on at least one occasion. As for activity in Highbury, it wouldn’t be out of the question that some in the village have been in receipt of contraband goods.”

Mr. Clarke punctuated his statement by sweeping the room with a stern gaze. Mrs. Stokes, the proprietor of the Crown Inn, suddenly picked up a tray of glasses from a sideboard and hastened from the room. Emma could also hear rustling and uneasy murmurs from the rows behind her.

After Dr. Hughes returned to questioning the witness, Emma leaned into George’s side.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

“Mr. Clarke’s testimony has obviously discomforted some of our locals,” he murmured. “Mrs. Ford just made a hasty exit, as did Mr. Barlowe.”

Emma all but gaped at him. “The vicar? Why would—”

“Hush, my dear. You’ll interrupt the proceedings.”

She did her best to refocus, although her mind boggled at the notion that Mr. Barlowe—not to mention dependable Mrs. Ford—could somehow be involved in smuggling.

“As you know, Mr. Clarke,” said Dr. Hughes, “it is not within the purview of these proceedings to involve itself in matters of smuggling per se. There is, however, the potential that the tragic death of Miss Parr might have intersected with criminal proceedings of the type you are wont to investigate.”

Mr. Clarke frowned. “Is that a question?”

Emma had to bite her lip to keep an inappropriate chuckle from escaping.