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Alistair Smythe and the Hawk’s Retribution

Alistair Smythe

and the

Hawk’s Retribution

By Chuck Semenuk

            Sir Alistair Smythe turned up his collar and pulled his bowler hat down low over his eyes in an attempt to keep out the cold London rain.  As he approached the bank, he didn’t notice a rather portly man coming off the steps.  They collided, knocking Smythe’s hat askew.

            “What?  Oh, excuse me sir,” said Smythe, straightening his hat.

            “Certainly, my good man.  As I live and breathe!  It’s Alistair Smythe.”

            “Good heavens! Lord Fairwood!  Have you been visiting your money at the bank?” Smythe said with a chuckle.

            “Of course, old chum.  I don’t want to forget what it looks like,” Fairwood smiled.  Lord Fairwood was filthy rich you might say, but he didn’t put on airs.  He didn’t mind people joking about his wealth and was well known for helping the less fortunate citizens of the old town.

            “What do you say we step into the café next door for a spot of tea?” asked Smythe.

            “Jolly good idea,” said Fairwood looking at his pocket watch.  “My chauffer won’t be by for a short while.”

            The two men entered the café and found a table near the front window.  A waitress quickly brought a pot of tea and two cups.

            Smythe sipped his tea.  “Ah.  Nothing like a good cup of tea to chase the chill, I always say.”

            “I agree, old friend,” said Fairwood.  “I say, Smythe.  Are you still keeping company with that young lady?  I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten her name.”

            “You mean Miss Fienbody.  Amelia Fienbody.  Yes, I don’t know what I would do without her.”

            “I take it that you haven’t married.  I thought you would probably have married her by now.”

            “Heavens no, old chap.  Our relationship is strictly platonic.  No sense in mucking up a wonderful friendship by getting married, I always say!” said Smythe with a grin.

            “Someday you’ll have to settle down with a good woman.  You’re not getting any younger you know,” Fairwood laughed.

            “Perhaps one day,” smiled Smythe.

            “By chance are you and Miss Fienbody free for an extended holiday the weekend after next?  Lady Fairwood and I are having some guests at Hawk Manor.  Nothing fancy.  Perhaps we can do a bit of pheasant hunting on the moor while the ladies do whatever it is that ladies do when they get together,” he joked.

            “I say. Is it safe to hunt on the moor?  I have heard a number of stories told about that place.”

“Do you mean those old campfire tales about the killer hawk?  I can assure you, old friend that I’ve hunted on the moor for years and have never had a problem.  Although, the moor can be a treacherous place if you don’t know your way about.  I dare say, the dogs will keep us out of trouble,” he laughed.

“I’m sure that we are free.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Miss Fienbody might prefer to join us on the moor rather than gossip with the other women,” said Smythe.

            Fairwood laughed.  “I’m sure no one would complain.  As I recall, she’s a deadly shot with a gun.”

            “Yes, she’s quite proficient with a number of different weapons.  As a matter of fact, she’s recently received an award from the Queen because of her skills and her service to the royal family as a guardian to young Princess Margaret.”

            “With the threat of war hanging over our heads, I’m sure the royal family is happy to have her protection.  God willing, we shall expect the both of you at Hawk Manor the weekend after next.  It should be jolly good fun.”

            “We will be looking forward to it,” said Smythe.      

Fairwood glanced out the window as a large motor car pulled up.  “Hello, there is my chauffer.  May I drop you somewhere?”

            “Thank you but, I’ll be meeting Miss Fienbody for dinner soon.”

            “Well then, I’ll see you next at Hawk Manor.  Cheerio old friend!”  Fairwood pulled up his collar and dashed through the rain to his motor car as his chauffer held open the door.

            Smythe finished the last of his tea and smiled.  “Good old Fairwood,” he said to himself.  “He’s been a good friend all these many years.”

########

            The fall air was crisp but the day was blessed with clear skies, certainly not the norm for the time of year.  Smythe and Miss Fienbody zipped through the countryside in her Riley Gamecock two-seater.  Fienbody loved the car; it suited her personality well.  Smythe however, preferred the comfort and solid feel of his Bentley.  He argued that there would be more room in the Bentley for their shotguns, clothing and personal items for their stay at Hawk Manor but Fienbody expertly shoehorned everything into the Riley’s boot.  If Smythe had learned anything over the past few years it was to avoid arguing with Amelia Fienbody once she had set her mind.

            Smythe glanced at her briefly.  She was a beautiful woman.  What would life be like if their relationship had grown more involved?  He pushed the thought from his mind.  She had never given him reason to suspect that she ever wanted to be more than friends.  On the other hand, they shared a fierce loyalty and respect for one another that even many married couples didn’t have.

            “Hawk Manor should be just around the next bend,” said Fienbody, breaking Smythe’s train of thought.

            “That’s comforting.  I was beginning to think that we were lost,” joked Smythe.

            Fienbody jabbed him with her elbow.  “Not a chance in the world,” she laughed.

            Hawk Manor was an impressive stone structure, located on the edge of Hawk’s Head Moor.  The moor had a rugged beauty as well a certain air of mystery about it.  It’s most distinguishing feature was a large outcropping of rock that resembled the head of a huge hawk.  As they came up the winding drive, they could see Lord Fairwood standing on the front stoop.  When they pulled up to the front entrance he was joined by Reeves the butler.

            “Smythe old man, so good to see you again.”

            “Likewise, my friend.  I’m sure that you remember Miss Fienbody?”

            “But of course.  How could I forget such a beautiful creature?”

            Fienbody laughed.  “I’m a glutton for flattery, you know.  I’ll give you all weekend to stop.”

            “Reeves, take Miss Fienbody’s and Smythe’s luggage up to their rooms and have Weed park their car in the carriage house.”

            “Yes, Lord Fairwood.”

            “Smythe, Miss Fienbody, please come in and meet the rest of my family and guests.”

            Lord Fairwood led them through the foyer and into the spacious living room.

            “Everyone, I’d like to present my dear old friend Alistair Smythe and his companion Miss Amelia Fienbody.  I’m sure you remember my wife, Lady Fairwood; and this distinguished couple is my brother-in-law Sir Tramway and his wife Lady Tramway.”

            Smythe extended his hand.  “A pleasure, Sir Tramway, Lady Tramway.”

            “Likewise,” smiled Tramway.

            Stopping at the next couple, Fairwood smiled broadly.  “I’ve received a very wonderful surprise.  I’d like you to meet Roland Remington, my nephew previously unknown to me.  Roland was born in Canada and I never knew he existed until a week ago.  And this is his lovely wife Melissa.”

            “So nice to meet you both,” said Smythe, shaking Remington’s hand.

            “And this rather surly looking fellow near the fireplace is my son, Squire Fairwood.”

            Smythe again extended his hand but instead of reciprocating, Squire Fairwood raised two fingers to his right eyebrow, giving Smythe a rather sloppy salute, his face showing no sign of emotion.  Lord Fairwood was clearly embarrassed by his son’s show of disrespect toward his old friend. 

            Reeves the butler entered the room and announced that dinner was ready to be served.  As everyone moved toward the dining room, Lord Fairwood tugged on Smythe’s sleeve and held him back.

            “Please let me apologize for my son’s boorish actions, old friend.  I just don’t know what to do with him anymore.”

            “Don’t give it another thought.  We shant let it affect our holiday, old chum.”

            “I’m afraid that my son and I have not been on the best of terms as of late.  He’s been an embarrassment to his mother and me with his terrible attitude.”

            Smythe placed his hand on Fairwood’s shoulder.  “Well, I’m sure it’s just a temporary condition.  Growing pains and all.  He’ll come around soon.”

            “I certainly hope so.  Let’s head for the dinner table.  No doubt you’re famished after the long drive.”

########

            The morning dawned clear and cold but dark clouds could be seen gathering in the distance.  There would surely be rain by evening.  The participants in the day’s hunt began gathering near the dog kennels, inspecting their guns one last time before going into the field.

            Smythe looked around at the group of hunters.

            “I say, Fairwood.  I don’t see your son.  I assumed that he would be hunting with us today.”

            With a look of disappointment on his face Lord Fairwood replied, “I’m afraid that he won’t be going with us today.  He told his mother that he didn’t sleep well last night and decided to sleep in.”

            “To bad,” said Smythe.  “As I remember, he’s quite a good shot for his age.”

            “Yes he is.  I was hoping that a day on the hunt might improve his attitude.”

            “I imagine the continually changeable weather as of late may have gotten to him.  Those clouds in the distance indicate that we’ll be in for another dreadful bout of cold rain,” said Smythe attempting to ease Fairwood’s disappointment.  “Perhaps,” said Fairwood as he walked over to the other gathering of men to talk to them.  The handyman Norton was readying the dogs.

            Speaking in a low voice Fienbody said, “I can’t say that little bit of news hurts my feelings.  The Squire gives me the creeps!”

            “Fienbody, what a terrible thing to say,” exclaimed Smythe.

            “I’m sorry, Smythe.  If you didn’t notice, the little beggar stared at me all evening; like a hungry dog eyeing a fresh piece of meat!  And, when he did speak, some of his comments were rather crude.  It was all I could do to keep from boxing his ears.  He made me feel violated.”

            “Perhaps his hormones were a bit out of control; having a beautiful woman in the room all evening,” explained Smythe with a grin.

            “I hate to imagine why he didn’t get much sleep last night.  I would think that the hand with his trigger finger is feeling terribly overworked this morning,” Fienbody laughed.

            “You’re incorrigible,” snickered Smythe.

            Lord Fairwood came over to them with one of the dogs.  “I think I’ve got a plan for the hunt.  I’ve decided that we should split into two parties.  I propose to hunt with the two of you while Norton will handle the other dog for Sir Tramway and my nephew Remington.

            “That sounds like a jolly good idea to me,” exclaimed Smythe.

            “Well then.  Let’s get on with it.”  Calling to the other men, “Gentlemen, the pheasants are waiting.  Let’s start while we still have decent weather.”

            Once at the edge of the moor, the two hunting parties separated to leave ample safe space between them.  It wasn’t long before Fairwood’s dog was on the scent of a bird.  As he closed in on a clump of brush, his muscles quivered in anticipation of the bird flushing.

            “Ladies first, Miss Fienbody.  You get to draw first blood.”

            “You’re assuming that I can hit it,” she smiled.

            “I have no doubts as to your prowess with a weapon,” said Fairwood.

            The dog slowly advanced into the brush.  Suddenly a large pheasant flew out of the brush, strong wings propelling it into the air.  Fienbody quickly raised her shotgun and squeezed the trigger.  The bird fell from the sky.

            “Jolly good shot, Miss Fienbody.  Zeus, fetch.”  The dog ran to the bird, picked it up gently and brought it to Lord Fairwood, dropping it at his feet.  “Good boy!”  Fairwood placed the bird in his pouch.

            A couple of more shots rang out in the distance.  “Aha, it sounds as if the others have found a pheasant.”

            After another thirty minutes of searching the brush, Zeus flushed another pheasant.

            “Take him, Smythe,” shouted Fairwood.

            Smythe quickly raised his shotgun and squeezed off a shot.  Failing to lead the target sufficiently, Smythe’s pellets blew some tail feathers off as the bird kept flying.  Fairwood raised his shotgun into position and brought the bird down. 

            “Zeus, fetch,” commanded Fairwood.  “Grinning at Smythe he said, “Sorry about that, old boy.  I couldn’t resist.”

            Smythe shook his head and smiled.  “I seem to be off my game today, I’m afraid.”

            Zeus returned with the bird and obediently dropped it at Fairwood’s feet.  “Good boy, Zeus.  Good boy.”  Fairwood again placed the bird in his pouch.

            As the party began to move on, a distant shot rang out and Fairwood grabbed his shoulder, falling to his knees.

            “Lord Fairwood! What’s wrong?” exclaimed Fienbody.

            “What in bloody hell!  I’ve been shot!  I fear someone is a bit careless.”

            “It wasn’t one of our people.  We all have shotguns.  I’d say that single hole in your shoulder was put there with a rifle!”

            Fienbody quickly dug into her kit bag and produced enough bandage material to temporarily cover Fairwood’s wound until they could get back to the manor.

            “By Jove Fienbody, is there no end to your skills?”

            “Always be prepared, that’s my motto,” she smiled.

            Smyth cupped his hands on either side of his mouth.  “Norton, can you hear me?  We need your help.  Lord Fairwood has been hurt!” called Smythe as loudly as he could.

            Norton’s voice answered from a distance.  “We’re coming; we’re coming!”

            Soon Norton and the other two hunters emerged.

            “My word,” exclaimed Norton.  “What has happened to Lord Fairwood?”

            “Lord Fairwood’s been shot,” replied Smythe.

            “We were hunting near the base of the Hawk’s head.  We heard a shot that sounded as if it came from above us,” said Tramway.”

            “We need to get Lord Fairwood back to Hawk Manor immediately.  Give us a hand,” said Smythe.

            With the dogs now on the lead, Tramway took charge of them while Miss Fienbody and Remington carried the weapons and birds that had been shot.  Norton and Smythe helped Fairwood to his feet and the three of them slowly walked back toward the manor.

            Once back at the manor, Norton and Remington took the dogs back to the kennels while Tramway tended to the results of the day’s hunt.  With Fairwood placed in a kitchen chair, Fienbody instructed Sarah Cain the cook to bring bandages, hot water and antiseptic while she removed his shirt.  Lady Fairwood stood ringing her hands, fighting back tears.

            “Lady Fairwood, will you please help me wash away the blood from Lord Fairwood’s shoulder.  We’ll soon have him good as new.”  As Fienbody suspected, giving Lady Fairwood something to do began to have a calming effect.

            “The bullet passed clean through,” observed Fienbody.  “I suspect that the wound should heal nicely but I would have a doctor look at it to be on the safe side.”

            “Reeves, please instruct Weed to drive to the village and fetch a doctor,” ordered Lady Fairwood, now regaining her composure and taking charge.  Ring up the Constable’s office and tell him what has happened.”

            Fienbody finished bandaging the wound and Lady Fairwood helped her husband to their room to change his clothes.

            While Fienbody washed her hands, Smythe commented, “I couldn’t help but observe that the exit wound was somewhat lower than the entry wound, indicating a downward trajectory.”

            “Yes, I noticed that also.  It would seem to add creditability to Tramway’s comment that the shot came from above the Hawk’s head.”

            “Are you up for a bit of hiking?” asked Smythe.

            “To the top of Hawk’s Head?” she smiled.

            “But of course.  I’d like to look around before the rain begins again.”

########

            The day was getting colder and the skies were becoming overcast as Smythe and Fienbody made their way up the back side of Hawk’s Head.  From the high ground above, there was an excellent view of the moor below.

            “The vegetation appears to be matted down, as if someone had been here watching the ground below for some time,” commented Fienbody.

            “I agree,” said Smythe.  “Hello, what is that?”

            Smythe stooped and moved some grass, picking up a metal object.  He handed it to Fienbody.

            “A shell casing from a fairly large caliber bullet.  This is where our would-be assassin waited for Lord Fairwood,” she remarked.

            In the same area, Smythe uncovered two cigarette butts.  He noted that the brand was not one readily available locally.  “Our shooter tried to grind his cigarette butts into the ground but didn’t do a good job of it.”  

Sticking out from under a small rock, Smythe noticed a folded piece of paper.

 
‘’I say Fienbody; it looks as if our shooter has a grudge against someone. Listen to this.

‘The day of reckoning is nigh.  The Hawk shall have his retribution.’ 

“My word,” said Fienbody.  “Lord Fairwood is in serious danger.”

Smythe looked at the darkening sky.  “It looks as though it may rain any moment;

Perhaps we had best get back to the manor.”

            “You don’t need to ask me twice,” replied Fienbody.

########

            When they arrived back at the manor, Weed was just leaving to take the doctor back to the village.  The Constable’s motor car was parked near the front door.  Lord Fairwood was sitting comfortably in his great over-stuffed chair near the fireplace as he was describing the events of the day to Constable Mudd.

            “How are you doing, old friend?  What did the doctor say?” asked Smythe.

            Fairwood grinned broadly.  “He said that I’ll probably live to be one hundred years old if I don’t get shot again,” he joked.  “He was impressed with Miss Fienbody’s skill in fixing up my wound.  Unfortunately, no hunting for awhile thanks to that bloody coward who shot me.” 

            Fienbody held out her hand to Fairwood.  “Speaking of bloody cowards, we found this on Hawk’s Head.”

            Fairwood raised his eyebrows.  “This looks like it’s from a military sniper round, probably a 303.   I’ve seen enough of them during my career in the military.  What do you think, Constable?”

“Indeed,” said Mudd.  “We have a dangerous character on the loose.”

“We also found this note on Hawk’s Head.”  Smythe handed it to Fairwood.

 “Why me?” said Fairwood.  I’ve always tried to do right by my fellow man; I’ve used my wealth to try to help those less fortunate.”  He passed the note to Constable Mudd.

“I don’t know but Miss Fienbody and I shant leave Hawk manor until we apprehend the culprit,” remarked Smythe. 

“Thank you both, old friends.  That makes me feel better.”

“With this rain and darkness, I feel that it would be unsafe for my men to be mucking about on the moor,” remarked Constable Mudd.  “However, I shall leave my man Pollard here for the night to keep watch over the grounds.  I will be back at daylight with some men and we’ll search the moor.”

“Thank you, Constable.  Have your man see my chauffer Weed in the carriage house.  He’ll fix your man up with a warm place to sleep and our cook will assure that the poor fellow doesn’t starve before morning,” laughed Fairwood.

As Mudd left the house to speak with his patrolman, Reeves the butler entered the room.  “May I get you all a brandy?  I imagine that it might hit the spot after all of this excitement.”

“I’ll pass this time, thank you.  I think I’ll soak in a nice warm tub to get the chill out of me, smiled Fienbody.”

“Ask our maid Marla to draw a bath for you,” said Fairwood.

“I’ll take that brandy if you please, Reeves,” replied Smythe.

“One for me also, Reeves.  You certainly know how to salvage a bad day,” smiled Fairwood.  Tramway and Remington entered the room.  “Pour one for these gentlemen also.”

As the men sipped their brandy they went over the details of the day, up to the discovery of the rifle shell casing and cryptic note on Hawk’s Head.  Eventually talk turned to the current world events and the likelihood of England entering the war.  The discussion became quite heated.  After a few brandies Lord Fairwood was no longer feeling pain in his shoulder.  Fairwood’s son had quietly entered the room and walked to the bar, unnoticed by all but Smythe.  Smythe left the group and went over to him.

“Squire Fairwood, how are you feeling?  We missed you on the hunt this morning.”

Squire Fairwood did not comment on Smythe’s question but ignored him totally.

“I thought that you would probably have come down to inquire about your father when we brought him home with a bullet hole in his shoulder.”

Finally, Squire Fairwood became obviously agitated.  “I was in my room.  I must have been sound asleep.  I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Of course,” said Smythe as he returned to the group of men.

Having warmed up in the bath, Miss Fienbody entered the room and joined into the discussion.  Smythe couldn’t help but notice that Squire Fairwood had finally come alive, like a hawk watching a plump field mouse as he stared at Fienbody.

“Damn,” thought Smythe.  “I may box his ears myself before we leave.”

Suddenly, everyone became aware of a commotion out in the courtyard.

“Reeves, what in the world is going on out there?” asked Lord Fairwood.

“I’ll go out and see, Sir.”

In a couple of minutes, Reeves returned.

“Lord Fairwood, Norton and Weed have apprehended a man with a rifle out on the moor.”

“What? Have them bring him to me, immediately.”

Reeves returned with Norton and Weed who had a tight grip on the struggling intruder.  Reeves also had the man’s knapsack, rifle and a dead pheasant in his hands.

Fairwood studied the men in front of him for a moment.

“Alright. Who is going to tell me what in bloody hell is going on?”

Norton spoke up.  “Weed and I were feeding the dogs when we heard a gunshot from the moor.  We went to investigate and found this fellow about to dress out this pheasant.”

“May I look at his rifle please?” asked Fienbody.  Reeves handed her the weapon.  “This is a Lee-Enfield sniper rifle.  It’s used extensively by the British military.”

Smythe took the pheasant from Reeves.  “Hmmm.  He brought this bird down with a single rifle shot.”

“More likely he shot it on the ground,” said Tramway.

“I don’t think so,” said Smythe.  “See here.  Some wing feathers were broken when it fell from the sky.”

He turned to the alleged shooter, a scruffy looking man of around sixty years of age or so.  He appeared to be in good physical shape for his age.

“It would seem that you are quite a marksman, sir.”

The man stood up straight and looked Smythe in the eye.  “I’m a very good marksman, sir.  It has been my job for many years.  That rifle has been my best friend.”

“I’m sure.  Who are you, sir?”

“My name is Deedle, sir.  William Deedle.  I’ve been a career rifleman in the service of the Queen’s army.  I Iast served with the British Expeditionary Force, 4^th Army.”

“The 3^rd and 4^th Armies were primarily inexperienced volunteers.  As a career soldier, how did you end up in the 4^th Army?”

“Our regular army had suffered numerous casualties.  When I learned that the 4^th was chosen to spearhead the attack at the Somme in France, I requested a transfer to the BEF 4^th Army.  I thought that my experience might be useful.”

Lord Fairwood lowered his head and stared blankly at the floor, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.  “I was General Rawlinson’s aid.  We lost 58,000 men that first day; 420,000 over the next four months.”

“It was terrible.  Our men were slaughtered, Sir.”

Lord Fairwood looked at Deedle again and cleared his throat.  “So, what brings you to Hawk’s Head Moor, Mister Deedle?  How may I help you?” asked Lord Fairwood.

“Actually, I came to Hawk’s Head Moor to find you, sir.  It’s a bit of a long story, sir.”

“We have an abundance of time, Mister Deedle.”

“As I said sir, I have spent my life from the time I was a young man in the service of England’s army.  After the war, I was replaced by younger men and eventually discharged.”

“That is quite commendable, Mister Deedle.  It reminds me of my own military career.  Unfortunately, all we old work horses get put out to pasture eventually.  I suppose the powers that be think that they’re doing us a favor.”

“That is precisely my problem, sir.  You still have a life after your service.  I have no family.  The Army was my entire life.”

“I sympathize with you Mister Deedle but, I don’t understand how I can help you.”

“I’ve tried to see you but your staff has always turned me away.  I know that you are on the military board.  I thought that I might persuade you to act in my behalf to allow me to enlist again.  With war looking eminent, I’m sure that my skills could be put to good use.  I’ve tried to re-enlist but I’m told that I’m too old.”

Fairwood rubbed his chin.  “I don’t think that there is anything I can do.  It’s truly a bloody shame but I don’t make the rules.  England could certainly use more men like you.”

Deedle lowered his eyes to the floor.  “I don’t know what I shall do, sir.”

Trying to lift the man’s spirits, Fairwood said “Since you’ve come all this way, why don’t you join us for dinner and be my guest here at Hawk Manor.”

“I couldn’t do that, sir.  I don’t belong in such fine company.  I’ll make my way.”

“Nonsense.  How about if you donate that fine bird you shot toward our dinner menu?  I’d say that would square things up.  Perhaps we can talk more about your situation.”

“If you are sure it would be alright, Lord Fairwood.”

“It’s settled.  Reeves, draw a hot bath for Mister Deedle; and see if you can provide him with a clean shirt and trousers.”

“Very good, sir.  Follow me please, Mister Deedle.”

After Reeves and Deedle left the room Smythe said “Old boy, are you sure that this is a good idea?  He could possibly be the man who shot you.”

“I’ve always gone by the motto ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’  It’s served me well for many years.”

“I see your logic,” said Smythe.  “I would certainly welcome the opportunity to speak with our Mister Deedle in more depth.”

“How about you, Tramway?” asked Fairwood.

Not wanting to commit himself, Tramway stammered “I really don’t know what to say.  I guess that I’m a bit uneasy about the whole thing.”

“Remington, what are your thoughts?”

“Well sir, I think that between us, we can certainly make sure that he doesn’t make off with Lady Fairwood’s silver tea service,” he grinned.

Fairwood laughed heartily. “Jolly good, Remington.  Jolly good.”  Everyone laughed at the joke.

Squire Fairwood still standing at the bar, scowled.  He didn’t see the humor in the situation and certainly didn’t approve of his father’s latest guest.

########

Smythe was awakened by someone rapping on his bedroom door.  “Come in, come in.”

Weed entered the room in an obvious state of panic.  “Please come quick, Sir Smythe.  The constable’s man -------- He’s been killed!“

‘’What in bloody hell!  Let me get my robe.“  The two men ran to the carriage house where patrolman Pollard lay face down on the floor, an army issue bayonet protruding from his back.

“Weed, what happened here?  Where were you when this happened?”

Weed stuttered as he tried to explain.  “The dogs were all worked up over something.  Norton and I went to investigate and when I returned, I found this.”

“Hmmm.  Looks like a clever ruse to get you out of the way.”

Lord Fairwood burst into the room.  “By Jove, what is going on here?”

“Someone has murdered the man that Constable Mudd left behind to protect you.”

Smythe put his arm around Lord Fairwood as his knees began to buckle.  “Are you alright?”

“I think I’m feeling a bit poorly with all that’s happened.  Please help me over to that cot so that I can catch my breath.”

Smythe helped him to the cot.  “Hello, what is this?”

Pinned to the pillow was a note.  ‘There is no protection from the Hawk.’  Smythe handed it to Fairwood.

“Who is this maniac?  You must apprehend this fiend, Smythe.  You must.

########

Constable Mudd returned at first light with a number of his men.  He was shaken by the untimely death of the man he assigned to keep watch at the manor.  He wrote down the events described by Weed leading up to the murder.  Smythe corroborated the part where Weed woke him up and took him to see the body.

“Thank you, Mister Weed.  That will be all for the moment,” said Constable Mudd.  “Dreadful business.  Simply dreadful.  This young man’s wife had just given him a daughter not more than a week ago.”

“There is more to the story, Constable.  After you left us yesterday, Weed and Norton apprehended a man with a rifle who gave the appearance of hunting on the moor,” remarked Smythe.  “It was a man by the name of William Deedle, an ex-Army sharp shooter.  Lord Fairwood asked the man to stay over as a guest, partly because he felt sorry for him and partly because he felt that we could better keep an eye on him in case he might be the shooter.”

Constable Mudd shook his head.  “In light of last night‘s murder I might question the wisdom of that decision.”

“The killer also left this note,” said Smythe handing it to him.

“Blimey!” said Mudd.  “I’d say that we have a lunatic on our hands.

“I agree,” said Smythe.  “Lord Fairwood and I have been best friends for many years.  Miss Fienbody and I pledge to do all that we can to help apprehend this person.”

“I’m happy for any help you can provide.  I’m well aware of your expertise, Sir Smythe.  If you don’t mind my saying so, you are a bit of a legend in our little hamlet.  Possibly, it may be easier for you to ‘unofficially’ find information rather than having to ‘go through channels’ as it were.”

Smythe looked at his pocket watch.  “It’s a quarter to the hour.  I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for the staff, family members and guests to be present in the main dining room on the hour for questioning.”

“Bloody good idea, Smythe.  Please feel free to ask your own questions as well.  Hopefully, we can identify this bugger before he can commit another murder.

On the way to the dining room, they met Miss Fienbody coming down the staircase.

“Constable, I’ll be along in a moment.  I need to speak with Miss Fienbody.”

Smythe pulled her aside.  “Fienbody, I’d like you to go to London as quickly as possible.  Do some snooping and find out all you can about Lord Fairwood’s family members, friends, and particularly the mysterious William Deedle.  The Hall of Records will be a good place to start.”

“Good show, Smythe.  I had the same thoughts.  I’m on my way.”

########

With the whole household gathered in the main dining room, Constable Mudd walked to the end of the long table and was joined by Smythe.

“I hope you will forgive me for this unpleasantness but, it must be done.  I’m sure that everyone here is aware of the attempted murder of Lord Fairwood on the moor, and the murder last night of patrolman Pollard in the carriage house.  Sir Smythe and I will question each of you separately in the kitchen.  Once questioning has been completed, you will be free to go about your business.  I expect the rest of you to wait here in the dining room until we have questioned you.”

Family members and guests were interviewed first, then the staff.  Smythe and Constable Mudd discussed their thoughts privately after speaking with everyone.

“Well, Smythe.  I think there are a number of possible suspects.  I don’t believe this mystery will be easy to solve.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Constable.  I tend to lean toward William Deedle as being the culprit but it pains me to say that I don’t trust young Squire Fairwood either.  I don’t believe that he was sick in bed at the time Lord Fairwood was shot but there is no proof one way or the other.  He definitely shows no affection for his father.”

Constable Mudd shook his head.  “For the sake of Lord and Lady Fairwood, I truly hope that he has no involvement in this dreadful business.”

“I am also bothered by the Remington’s.  It is strange that they suddenly appeared on Fairwood’s doorstep without someone having prior knowledge of them.  I’ve sent Miss Fienbody to London to try and find some record.  Perhaps she’ll be able to answer some of our questions when she returns.  I’m also troubled by the fact that Melissa Remington appears to be a heavy cigarette smoker.  I haven’t noticed this with any of the other guests.  Fienbody and I recovered some cigarette butts from where the sniper lay in wait for Lord Fairwood.”

The constable stroked his chin.  “Do you think the sniper could have been a woman?”

“It’s certainly not outside the realm of possibility,” said Smythe.  “I would pit Fienbody’s skills with a rifle against any man.

“I believe the staff to be faithful to the Fairwood family.  I don’t think any of them are involved,” said Constable Mudd.

“I agree with you, Constable.  They would do anything for the Fairwoods.”

“I must get back to my office.  Patrolman Brussard will remain on duty here until this terrible business is finished.  If you need him to do anything for you, I shall instruct him to assist you as required.”

“Thank you, Constable Mudd.  I think we’ll need to watch one another’s back until this is resolved.”

########

The day dragged on as guests and staff alike regarded one another suspiciously, afraid to let down their guard in the event that one of them might be the killer.  Most of them secretly wished for the day to end so that they could lock their bedroom doors and feel somewhat safe.  The presence of Patrolman Brussard did little to ease their fears, especially since Patrolman Pollard had been found with a bayonet in his back.

The following morning dawned cold and overcast.  Fairwood and Smythe sat near the fireplace sipping their morning tea.

“Well  Smythe, it appears as though everyone has decided to stay safely in their rooms this morning.  Damn!  I hate being a prisoner in my own home.”

“Hopefully we’ll soon remedy this situation and we can all feel safe again.  Do you think we might speak with William Deedle again?”

“Certainly.  Reeves, will you please ask Mister Deedle to join us?”

“Yes sir.”  Reeves went upstairs to fetch William Deedle.

Within a few minutes, Reeves quickly returned to the room.  “Lord Fairwood.  Mister Deedle is gone.  He has taken his rifle and knapsack.  I don’t know how long he has been gone.  None of the staff has seen him since yesterday evening.  I took the liberty of ringing Constable Mudd.  He should be here shortly.”

            “Good show, Reeves.  By Jove, Smythe.  I guess we know who the shooter is.”

            Reeves went to answer a knock at the door and came back followed by Amelia Fienbody.

            Smythe’s eyes brightened when he saw her.  “Fienbody, so good to have you back safe.”

Fienbody removed her coat and took a chair near the fireplace.

“May I bring you a hot cup of tea, Miss?” asked Reeves.

“I would be most grateful, Reeves.  I’ve been driving most of the night.”

Reeves brought Fienbody a cup of tea and refilled the cups for Smythe and Fairwood.

“Now then,” asked Smythe hopefully.  “Do you have any information for us?”

“I don’t know where to start,” said Fienbody.  “William Deedle appears to be the real McCoy.  He did in fact serve with the BEF 4^th Army in the battle of Somme.  He was recognized for saving a number of his fellow soldiers and was awarded the Victoria Cross.  He enlisted as a young man and spent his whole life with the army.  He actually did request to be transferred to the 4^th Army as he said.”

“Why did he sneak away during the night, Smythe?” asked Fairwood.

“I don’t know but I suspect that we’ll find out soon enough.  What else did you learn?”

Fienbody quickly glanced around the room.  “I regret having to tell you this, Lord Fairwood.  Roland Remington is not your nephew.  He is an imposter.”

“What?  That is preposterous.  I cannot believe such a thing.”

“I’m sorry but the records show that the real Roland Remington was killed in a motorcar accident more than a year ago.  It appears that the imposter is a long acquaintance of Remington by the name of Jameson Darby.”

“Bloody hell!  Was it he who tried to kill me?  I do not understand.”

“There is more to this puzzle,” said Fienbody.  Darby’s wife, the lovely Melissa Remington is the niece of one Corporal Jonathan Hawk of the BEF 4^th Army, killed at Somme during the last war.”

“My God,” exclaimed Fairwood.  I do remember a Corporal Hawk.  He was among many that got caught up in the barbed wire.  Those that were still alive were machine gunned by the German army.  The battle of Somme was the worst ever for the British army.”

“This is all beginning to make sense now,” remarked Smythe.  “I believe that we need to question the Remington’s’ to find out more about their dastardly plan.”

Suddenly, a hysterical Lady Fairwood burst into the room.  “Our son, he’s gone.  They have taken him.”

Lord Fairwood wrapped his arms about her.  “There, there.  Try to tell us what has happened.”

“I thought that I heard a noise from his room and went to investigate.  I found his rooms empty save for this dreadful note.”  She handed a note to Lord Fairwood.

He read it and handed the note to Smythe.

Smythe read the note aloud.  ‘The Hawk will receive retribution this day.  An eye for an eye.  If you don’t want your son to pay for your blunders at Somme, come to the top of Hawk’s Head.  Perhaps God will forgive you.  The Hawk cannot.’

Lord Fairwood went to the closet and took out his jacket.

“Please don’t let him go alone,” begged Lady Fairwood.

“Don’t worry, Lady Fairwood.  Fienbody and I will be at his side.  Fienbody, fetch patrolman Brussard whilst I see if by chance the Remington’s are in their room.”

“They are gone,” said Tramway, who had just entered the room.  “The door to their room was open as I passed.  No one was there.”

With everyone properly armed, Smythe instructed Tramway and Brussard.  “I need the two of you to stay behind and protect Lady Fairwood and Lady Tramway.  We still aren’t sure how many are involved in this plot and what their complete plan may be.”

As the rest of the group was leaving the manor, Constable Mudd arrived and was given a quick synopsis of the situation by Smythe.  After they entered the moor, Constable Mudd made his way to the base of the Hawk’s head.  Armed with a rifle provided by Lord Fairwood, Fienbody positioned herself so she could have a fairly good view of the peak of Hawk’s Head and the brush below.  Smythe and Lord Fairwood made their way toward the top.  As they emerged from the brush, they were greeted by a sight that immediately brought tears to Fairwood’s eyes.

Squire Fairwood stood with his hands tied behind him.  Darby stood at his back, a bayonet held against the Squire’s throat.  Melissa Hawk held a Lee-Enfield 303 rifle pointed at Lord Fairwood.

She sneered at him.  “Well, I’m surprised to see that you have the courage to show up.  I thought we’d likely be painting Hawk’s Head with the Squire’s blood.  I think we probably will do it anyway.  We’ll call it interest on your debt,” she smiled.

Fairwood dropped his weapon on the ground and raised his hands.  “Please let him go.  He has no involvement in this.”

“You cannot get away with this,” said Smythe.  “You will be hunted like the wild dogs you are.”

“You left my uncle behind to die on the barbed wire,” she spat.  “An eye for an eye.”

“We went in and tried to save as many as we could.  He was already dead when we reached him.”

“Why did you send those men to be slaughtered?  You were in command.  Most were inexperienced volunteers.  You sent them to their death.”

“The battle decisions were made by those above us.  I had to follow my orders just as your uncle did.”

“That gives me little comfort, Lord Fairwood.”

“I’m sorry.  I’ve spent countless restless nights thinking about those men.” 

Lord Fairwood pulled open his shirt, exposing his bare chest.

“Do what you must but please let my son go home to his mother.”

Melissa Hawk took a bead on Fairwood’s chest, glancing at Darby she said “They both die.”

Suddenly, two shots rang out from the moor below.  A cloud of blood sprayed from the back of Darby’s head, Squire Fairwood falling to the ground while an unexpected bullet shattered Melissa Hawk’s shoulder, her rifle discharging into the air.  Fairwood ran to his son, holding him tightly in his arms.

Smythe ran over and kicked the rifle out of Melissa’s reach.

Within moments, Fienbody entered the clearing. 

Smythe smiled broadly.  “I say, jolly good shooting, Fienbody.  Two good hits in rapid succession!  You’ve outdone yourself.”

Fienbody shook her head.  “I only had a clear shot at Melissa Hawk.  I thought you shot Darby.”

“I’m afraid it was not I,” said Smythe with a puzzled look on his face.

“This fellow made that shot from down on the moor,” said Constable Mudd, closely followed by William Deedle.

Having untied the Squire, he and Lord Fairwood walked up to Deedle.

“I can never repay you for saving my son, Mister Deedle.”

“I like to think that I’ve saved many sons in my military career.”  Looking at Melissa Hawk being tended to by Fienbody, “I sorry but I was not able to save your uncle.  He was already gone when I reached him.  He and I became friends before the battle at the Somme.  He volunteered and was proud to serve England.  He was a good soldier.”

Constable Mudd squatted down next to Melissa Hawk.  “I must ask you some questions, Miss.  Which of you killed patrolman Pollard?”

“Darby killed him whilst I disturbed the dogs to draw Weed away from the coach house.  While Darby went on the hunt to keep suspicion away from us, I waited at the top of Hawk’s head and shot Lord Fairwood.”

“Constable, I won’t press charges against this woman,” said Fairwood.

“Well sir, I think the law may not be so gracious,” replied Mudd.

“Miss Hawk, I am truly sorry for the loss of your uncle.  I will get legal representation for you and do all that I can.  As soon as we get back to the manor, I will send for a doctor to tend to your shoulder.”

“Thank you, Lord Fairwood.”

“As for you Mister Deedle, I think tomorrow you and I will drive to London and talk with the military board.  I will petition the board to let you re-enlist.  I believe that your skills and patriotism will be invaluable in training our new soldiers.”

“I appreciate that very much, sir.”

“Smythe looked at the sky.  “It appears that we’re in for another good rain.  Perhaps we should get back to Hawk Manor.

Fairwood looked at the Squire and smiled.  “Well son, are you ready to come home?”

“Yes, I am father.  I realize that I have been a horse’s ass.  I’m sorry.”

“Well, I suspect that it may have been hereditary,” laughed Fairwood.  “Let’s go home.  Your mother is waiting for us.”