The Hanging Valley Read Online Free PDF Page A

ruin now, but the road that leads up is still there. It’s not in good repair, of course, and you might find it a bit overgrown, but you should be able to get a car well above half-way up, if that’s any help.”
    “Thank you very much, Mr Collier,” Gristhorpe said. “For a man of my shape any effort saved is a blessing.”
    “You’ll have to drive two miles up the road here to the next bridge to get on the track, but you’ll see your way easily enough,” said Nicholas, and with a smile he set off for home.
    “Odd-looking sort of fellow, isn’t he?” Banks remarked. “Not a bit like his brother.”
    Whereas Stephen had the elegant, world-weary look of a finde-siècle decadent, Nicholas’s sallow complexion, long nose andprominent front teeth made him appear a bit horsy. The only resemblance was in their unusually bright blue eyes.
    “Takes after his father, does Nicholas,” Gristhorpe said. “And Stephen takes after his mother—as handsome a woman as I’ve seen around these parts. There’s many a man drowned his sorrows in drink when Ella Dinsdale married Walter Collier. Didn’t last long, though, poor lass.”
    “What happened?”
    “Polio. Before inoculations came in. Come on, let’s go and have a look at this body before it gets up and walks away.”
    Banks found the bridge and track easily enough, and though the old road was bumpy, they managed to get as far as the ruined farmhouse without any serious damage to the car.
    A little to the left, they saw the footpath Neil Fellowes had taken and began to follow it up the fell-side. Even though they had been able to drive most of the way, the path was steep and Banks soon found himself gasping for air and wishing he didn’t smoke. Gristhorpe, for all his weight, seemed to stride up much more easily, though his face turned scarlet with the effort. Banks guessed he was more used to the landscape. After all, his own cottage was half-way up a daleside, too.
    Finally, they stood at the top, where Fellowes had surveyed the scene a few hours earlier. Both were puffing and sweating by then, and after they’d got their breath back Gristhorpe pointed out the autumnal valley below.
    “It looks enchanted, doesn’t it,” he said as they walked down the slope towards the woods. “Look, there’s the rucksack.”
    They crossed the beck as directed and headed for the lady’s slipper orchis by the fallen branches. When they smelled the corpse, they exchanged glances. Both had known that stench before; it was unmistakable.
    “No wonder Fellowes was in such a state,” Banks said. He took out a handkerchief and held it to his nose. Cautiously, Gristhorpe pulled more branches aside.
    “By Christ, Glendenning’s going to love this one,” he said, then stood back. “By the look of that mess below the ribs there, we’ve got a murder case on our hands. Probably a knife wound. Male, I’d say.”Banks agreed. Though small animals had been at parts of the body, and maggots had made it their breeding ground, the dark stain just below the left rib-cage stood out clearly enough against the white shirt the man was wearing. Fellowes had been right about the movement. The way the maggots were wriggling under his clothes made it look as if the body were rippling like water in the breeze.
    “‘Motion in corruption,’” Gristhorpe muttered under his breath. “I wonder where the rest of his gear is. By the look of those boots he was a walker sure enough.”
    Banks peered as closely as he could at the cleated rubber Vibram treads. “They look new as well,” he said. “Hardly worn at all.”
    “He must have had more stuff,” Gristhorpe said, rubbing his whiskery chin. “Most walkers carry at least a rucksack with a few dried dates, compass, maps, torch, changes of clothing and what-have-you. Somebody must have taken it.”
    “Or buried it.”
    “Aye.”
    “He’s not wearing waterproofs, either,” Banks observed.
    “That could mean he knew what he was doing.