Dead Water

V Holiday Task

When he had made certain, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that there was nothing to be done, he ran out of the enclosure and a few yards along the footpath. Down below, by the causeway, he saw Coombe, in bis shirt sleeves, with his pipe in his mouth, standing on the end of the village jetty. He looked up, saw Alleyn, waved and then straightened. Alleyn beckoned urgently and signaled that they would meet at the top of the hotel steps. Coombe, seeing him run, himself broke into a lope, back down the jetty and across the causeway. He was breathing hard when he got to the top of the steps. When Alleyn had told him, he swore incredulously.

“I’ll go into the hotel and get one of those bloody disks,” Alleyn said. “I had to lock the gate, of course. And I’ll have to get a message to Miss Pride. I’ll catch you up. Who’s your Div. Surgeon?”

“Mayne.”

“Right.”

There was no one in the office. He went in, tried the drawers, found the right one, and helped himself to half a dozen disks. He looked at the switchboard, plugged in the connection and lifted the receiver. He noticed, with a kind astonishment, that his hand was unsteady. It seemed an eternity before Miss Emily answered.

He said: “Miss Emily? Roderick. I’m terribly sorry but there’s been an accident and I’m wanted here. It’s serious. Will it be a great bore if we delay your leaving? I’ll come back later and explain.”

“By all means,” Miss Emily’s voice said crisply. “I shall adjust. Don’t disarrange yourself on my account!”

“You admirable woman,” he said and hung up.

He had just got back on the lawful side of the desk when the hall porter appeared, wiping his mouth. Alleyn said: “Can you get Dr. Mayne quickly? There’s been an accident. D’you know his number?”

The porter consulted a list and, staring at Alleyn, dialled it.

“What is it, then?” he asked. “Accident? Dearrr, dearr!”

While he waited for the call to come through, Alleyn saw that a notice, similar to the one that had been tied to the enclosure, was now displayed in the letter rack. Warning. And signed Emily Pride. He had started to read it when the telephone quacked. The porter established the connection and handed him the receiver.

Alleyn said: “Dr. Mayne? Speaking? This is a police call. I’m ringing for Superintendent Coombe. Superintendent Alleyn. There’s been a serious accident at the spring. Can you come at once?”

“At the spring?”

“Yes. You’ll need an ambulance.”

“What is it?”

“Asphyxia following cranial injury.”

“Fatal?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

He hung up. The porter was agog. Alleyn produced a ten-shilling note. “Look here,” he said, “can you keep quiet about this? I don’t want people to collect. Be a good chap, will you, and get Sergeant Pender on the telephone. Ask him to come to the spring. Say the message is from Mr. Coombe. Will you do that? And don’t talk.”

He slid the note across the desk and left.

As he returned by the footpath, he saw a car drive along the foreshore to the causeway. A man with a black bag in his hand got out.

Coombe, waiting by the gate, was peering into the enclosure.

“I may have broken the slot machine,” Alleyn said. But it worked, and they went through.

He had dragged the body to the verge of the pool and masked it, as well as he could, by the open umbrella.

Coombe said: “Be damned, when I saw that brolly, if I didn’t think I’d misheard you and it was the other old — Miss Pride.”

“I know.”

“How long ago, d’you reckon?”

“I should have thought about an hour. We’ll see what the Doctor thinks. He’s on his way. Look at this, Coombe.”

The neck was rigid. He had to raise the body by the shoulders before exposing the back of the head.

“Well, well,” said Coombe. “Just fancy that, now. Knocked out, fell forward into the pool and drowned. That the story?”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it? And, see here.”

Alleyn lifted a fold of the dripping skirt. He exposed Miss Cost’s right hand, bleached and wrinkled. It was rigidly clenched about a long string of glittering beads.

“Cor!” said Coombe.

“The place is one solid water of footprints, but I think you can pick hers: leading up to the shelf. The girl dropped the beads yesterday from above, I remember. They dangled over this ledge, half in the pool. In the stampede, nobody rescued them.”

“And she came back? To fetch them?”

“It’s a possibility, wouldn’t you think? There’s her handbag on the shelf.”

Coombe opened it. “Prayerbook and purse,” he said.

“When’s the first service?”

“Seven, I think.”

“There’s another at nine. She was either going to church, or had been there. That puts it at somewhere before seven for the first service, or round about 8:15 if she had attended it, or was going to the later one. When did it stop raining? About 8:30, I think. If those are her prints, they’ve been rained into, and she’d got her umbrella open. Take a look at it.”

There was a ragged split in the wet cover, which was old and partly perished. Alleyn displayed the inside. It was stained round the split, and not with rain water. He pointed a long finger. “That’s one of her hairs,” he said. “There was a piece of rock in the pool. I fished it out and left it on the ledge. It looked as if it hadn’t been there long, and I think you’ll find it fits.”

He fetched it and put it down by the body. “Any visual traces have been washed away,” he said. “You’ll want to keep these exhibits intact, won’t you?”

“You bet I will,” said Coombe.

There was a sound of footsteps and a metallic rattle. They turned and saw Dr. Mayne letting himself in at the turnstile. Coombe went down to meet him.

“What’s it all about?” he asked. “ ’Morning, Coombe.”

“See for yourself, Doctor.”

They joined Alleyn, who was introduced. “Mr. Alleyn made the discovery,” said Coombe and added: “Rather a coincidence.”

Dr. Mayne, looking startled, said: “Very much so.”

Alleyn said: “I’m on a visit. Quite unofficial. Coombe’s your man.”

“I wondered if you’d been produced out of a hat,” said Dr. Mayne. He looked towards the spring. The umbrella, still open, masked the upper part of the body. “Good God!” he ejaculated. “So it has happened, after all!”

Coombe caught Alleyn’s eye and said nothing. He moved quickly to the body and exposed the face. Dr. Mayne stood stock-still. “Cost!” he said. “Old Cost! Never!”

“That’s right, Doctor.”

Dr. Mayne wasted no more words. He made his examination. Miss Cost’s eyes were half-open and so was her mouth. There were flecks of foam about the lips and the tongue was clenched between the teeth. Alleyn had never become completely accustomed to murder. This grotesque shell, seconds before its destruction, had been the proper and appropriate expression of a living woman. Whether here, singly, or multiplied to the monstrous litter of a battlefield, or strewn idiotically about the wake of a nuclear explosion or dangling with a white cap over a cyanosed, tongue-protruding mask — the destruction of one human being by another was the unique offense. It was the final outrage.

Dr. Mayne lowered the stiffened body on its back. He looked up at Alleyn. “Where was she?”

“Face down and half-submerged. I got her out in case there was a chance, but obviously there was none.”

“Any signs of rigour?”

“Yes.”

“It’s well on its way, now,” said Dr. Mayne.

“There’s the back of the head, Doctor,” said Coombe. “There’s that too.”

Dr. Mayne turned the body and looked closely at the head. “Where’s the instrument?” he asked. “Found it?”

Alleyn said: “I think so.”

Dr. Mayne glanced at him. “May I see it?”

Alleyn gave it to him. It was an irregular, jagged piece of rock about the size of a pineapple. Dr. Mayne turned it in his hands and stooped over the head. “Fits,” he said.

“What’s the verdict, then, Doctor?” Coombe asked.

“There’ll have to be a p.m., of course. On the face of it: Stunned and drowned.” He looked at Alleyn. “Or, as you would say, Asphyxia following cranial injury.”

“I was attempting to fox the hotel porter.”

“I see. Good idea.”

“And when would it have taken place?” Coombe insisted.

“Again, you’ll have to wait before you get a definite answer to that one. Not less than an hour ago, I’d have thought. Possibly, much longer.”

He stood up and wiped his hands on his handkerchief. “Do you know,” he said, “I saw her. I saw her — it must have been about seven o’clock. Outside the church, with Mrs. Carstairs. She was going in to early service. I’d got a confinement on the Island, and was walking down to the foreshore. Good Lord!” said Dr. Mayne. “I saw her!”

“That’s a help, Doctor,” said Coombe. “We were wondering about church. Now, that means she couldn’t have got over here until eight at the earliest, wouldn’t you say?”

“I should say so. Certainly. Rather later, if anything.”

“And Mr. Alleyn found her after nine. I suppose you didn’t notice anyone about the cottages or anything of the sort, Doctor?”

“Not a soul. It was pouring heavens-hard…Wait a moment, though.”

“Yes?”

He turned to Alleyn. “I’ve got my own launch and jetty, and there’s another jetty straight opposite on the foreshore by the cottages. I took the launch across. Well, the baby being duly delivered. I returned by the same means and I do remember that when I’d started up the engine and cast off I saw that fantastic kid — Wally Trehern — dodging about on the road up to the spring.”

“Did you watch him?” Coombe asked.

“Good Lord, no. I turned the launch and had my back to the Island.”

“When would that be, now, Doctor?”

“The child was born at 7:30. Soon after that.”

“Yes. Well. Thanks,” said Coombe, glancing rather selfconsciously at Alleyn. “Now: any ideas about how it happened?”

“On what’s before us, I’d say that if this bit of rock is the instrument, it struck the head from above. Wait a minute.”

He climbed to the higher level above the shelf, and Coombe followed him.

Alleyn was keeping a tight rein on himself. It was Coombe’s case, and Alleyn was a sort of accident on the scene. He thought of Patrick Ferrier’s ironical remark: “Matter of protocol”—and silently watched the two men as they scrambled up through bracken to the top level.

Dr. Mayne said: “There are rocks lying about up here. And, yes… But this is your pigeon, Coombe. You’d better take a look.”

Coombe joined him.

“There’s where it came from,” said Mayne, “behind the boulder. You can see where it was prized up.”

Coombe at last said, “We’d better keep off the area, Doctor.” He looked down at Alleyn: “It’s clear enough.”

“Any prints?”

“A real mess. People from above must have swarmed all over it when the rain came. Pity.”

“Yes,” Alleyn said. “Pity.”

The other two men came down.

“Well,” Dr. Mayne said. “That’s that. The ambulance should be here by now. Glad you suggested it. We’ll have to get her across. How’s the tide?” He went through the exit gate and along the footpath to a point from where he could see the causeway.

Alleyn said to Coombe: “I asked the porter to get on the line to Pender, and say you’d want him. I hope that was in order.”

“Thanks very much.”

“I suppose you’ll need a statement from me, won’t you?”

Coombe scraped his jaw. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it?” he said. “Well, yes, I suppose I will.” He had been looking sideways at Alleyn, off and on, for some time.

“Look,” he said abruptly. “There’s one thing that’s pretty obvious about this affair, isn’t there? Here’s a case where a Yard man with a top reputation is first on the scene and, you might say, starts up the investigation. Look at it what way you like, it’d be pretty silly if I just said ‘Thanks, chum’ and let it go at that. Wouldn’t it now? I don’t mind admitting I felt it was silly, just now, with you standing by, tactful as you please and leaving it all to me.”

“Absolute rot,” Alleyn said. “Come off it.”

“No, I mean it. And, anyway,” Coombe added on a different note, “I haven’t got the staff.” It was a familiar plaint.

“My dear chap,” Alleyn said, “I’m meant to be on what’s laughingly called a holiday. Take a statement, for pity’s sake, and let me off. I’ll remove Miss Pride and leave you with a fair field. You’ll do well. ‘Coombe’s Big Case’ ”… He knew, of course, that this would be no good.

“You’ll remove Miss Pride, eh?” said Coombe. “And what say Miss Pride’s the key figure still? You know what I’m driving at. It’s sticking out a mile. Say I’m hiding up there behind that boulder. Say I hear someone directly below and take a look-see. Say I see the top of an open umbrella and a pair of female feet, which is what I’ve been waiting for. Who do I reckon’s under that umbrella? Not Miss Elspeth Cost. Not her. Oh, dear me no!” said Coombe in a sort of gloomy triumph. “I say: ‘That’s the job,’ and I bloody well let fly! But I bring down the wrong bird. I get—”

“All right, all right,” Alleyn said, exasperated by the long buildup. “And you say: ‘Absurd mistake. Silly old me! I thought you were Miss Emily Pride.’ ”

The upshot, as he very well knew it would be, was an understanding that Coombe would get in touch with his Chief Constable, and then with the Yard.

Coombe insisted on telling Dr. Mayne that he hoped Alleyn would take charge of the case. The ambulance men arrived with Pender, and for the second time in twenty-four hours Miss Cost went in procession along Wally’s Way.

Alleyn and Coombe stayed behind to look over the territory again. Coombe had a spring tape in his pocket and they took preliminary measurements and decided to get the area covered in case of rain. He showed Alleyn where the trip wire had been laid: through dense bracken on the way up to the shelf.

Pender had caught a glint of it in the sunshine and had been sharp enough to investigate.

They completed their arrangements. The handbag, the string of beads and the umbrella to be dropped at the police station by Pender, who was then to return with extra help if he could get it. The piece of rock would be sent with the body to the nearest mortuary at Dunlowman. Alleyn wanted a pathologist’s report on it as a possible weapon.

When they were outside the gates, Alleyn drew Coombe’s attention to the new notice, tied securely to the wire netting.

“Did you see this?”

It had been printed by a London firm.

“When the hell was this put up?” Coombe ejaculated. “It wasn’t here yesterday; there’d have been no end of a taking-on.”

“Perhaps this morning. It’s been rained on. More than that — it’s muddied. As if it had lain face-downwards on the ground Look. Glove marks. No fingerprints, though.”

“P’raps she dropped it.”

“Perhaps,” Alleyn said. “There’s another on display in the hotel letter-rack. It wasn’t there last night”

“Put them there herself? Miss Pride?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“There you are!” Coombe said excitedly. “She came along the footpath. Somebody spotted her, streaked up Wally’s Way, got in ahead and hid behind the boulder. She hung up her notice and went back to the pub. Miss Cost arrives by the other route, goes in, picks up her beads and Bob’s your uncle.”

“Is he, though?” Alleyn muttered, more to himself than to Coombe. “She promised me she wouldn’t leave the pub. I’ll have to talk to Miss Emily.” He looked at Coombe. “This is going to be tricky,” he said. “If your theory’s the right one, and at this stage it looks healthy enough, do we assume that the stone chucker, wire stretcher, composite letter writer, dumper of Green Lady and telephonist are one and the same person, and that this person is also the murderer of Miss Cost?”

“That’s what I reckon. I know you oughtn’t to get stuck on a theory. I know that. But unless we find something that cuts dead across it…”

“You’ll find that, all right,” Alleyn said. “Miss Pride, you may remember, is convinced that the ringer-up was Miss Cost.”

Coombe thought this over and then said, Well, all right, he knew that, but Miss Pride might be mistaken.

Alleyn said Miss Pride had as sharp a perception for the human voice as was possible for the human ear. “She’s an expert,” he said. “If I wanted an expert witness in phonetics, I’d put Miss Pride in the box.”

“Well, all right, if you tell me so. So where does that get us? Does she reckon Miss Cost was behind all the attacks?”

“I think so.”

“Conspiracy, like?”

“Sort of.”

Coombe stared ahead of him for a moment or two. “So where does that get us?” he repeated.

“For my part,” Alleyn said, “it gets me, rather quicker than I fancy, to Wally Trehern and his papa.”

Coombe said with some satisfaction that this, at any rate, made sense. If Wally had been gingered up to make the attacks, who more likely than Wally to mistake Miss Cost for Miss Pride and drop the rock on the umbrella?

“Could Wally rig a trip wire? You said it was a workman-like job.”

“His old man could,” said Coombe.

“Which certainly makes sense. What about this padlocked cage over the slot-machine? Is it ever used?”

Coombe made an exasperated noise. “That was her doing,” he said. “She used to make a great to-do about courting couples. Very hot, she used to get: always lodging complaints and saying we ought to do something about it. Disgusting. Desecration… and all that. Well, what could I do? Put Pender on the job all day and half the night, dodging about the rocks? It couldn’t be avoided, and I told her so. We put this cage over to pacify her.”

“Is it never locked?”

“It’s supposed to be operated by the hotel at eight o’clock, morning and evening. In the summer, that is. But a lot of their customers like to stroll along to the spring of a summer’s evening. Accordingly, it is not kept up very consistently.”

“We’d better get the key. I’ll fix it now,” Alleyn said and snapped the padlock. It was on a short length of chain: not long enough, he noticed, to admit a hand into the cage.

On the way back to the hotel they planned out the rest of the day. Coombe would ring the Yard from the station. Alleyn, in the meantime, would start inquiries at the hotel. They would meet in an hour’s time. It was now half past ten.

They had rounded the first spur along the path and come up with an overhanging outcrop of rock when Alleyn stopped.

“Half a minute,” he said.

“What’s up?”

Alleyn moved to the edge of the path and stooped. He picked something up and walked gingerly round behind the rock. “Come over here,” he called. “Keep wide of those prints, though.”

Coombe looked down and then followed him.

“There’s a bit of shelter, here,” Alleyn said. “Look.”

The footprints were well defined on the soft ground and, in the lee of the outcrop, fairly dry. “Good, well-made boots,” he said. “And I don’t think the owner was here so very long ago. Here’s where he waited; and there, a little gift for the industrious officer, Coombe, is his cigar ash.” He opened his hand. A scarlet paper ring lay on the palm. “Very good make,” he said. “The Major smokes them. Sells them, too, no doubt, so what have you? Come on.”

They continued on their way.

As soon as Alleyn went into the Boy-and-Lobster he realized that wind of the catastrophe was abroad. People stood about in groups with a covert, anxious air. The porter saw him and came forward.

“I’m very sorry, sir. It bean’t none of my doing. I kept it close as a trap. But the ambulance was seen, and the stretcher party, and there you are. I said I supposed it was somebody took ill at the cottages, but there was Sergeant Pender, sir, and us — I mean, they — be all wondering why it’s a police matter.”

Alleyn said ambiguously that he understood. “It’d be a good idea,” he suggested, “if you put up a notice that the spring will be closed today.”

“The Major’ll have to be axed about that, sir.”

“Very well. Where is he?”

“He’ll be in the old house, sir. He bean’t showed up round hereabouts.”

“I’ll find him. Would you ring Miss Pride’s rooms and say I hope to call on her within the next half-hour? Mr. Alleyn.”

He went out and in again by the old pub door. There was nobody to be seen, but he heard voices in what he thought was probably the former bar-parlour and tapped on the door. It was opened by Patrick Ferrier.

“Hullo. Good morning, sir,” said Patrick and then: “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Alleyn said. “Very wrong. May I see your stepfather?”

“Well — yes, of course. Will you come in?”

They were all seated in the parlour — Mrs. Barrimore, Jenny Williams and the Major, who looked very much the worse for wear but assumed a convincing enough air of authority and asked Alleyn what he could do for him.

Alleyn told them in a few words what had happened. Margaret Barrimore turned white and said nothing. Jenny and Patrick exclaimed together: “Miss Cost! Not Miss Cost!”

Major Barrimore said incredulously: “Hit on the head and drowned? Hit with what?”

“A piece of rock, we think. From above.”

“You mean it was an accident? Brought down by the rains, what?”

“I think not.”

“Mr. Alleyn means she was murdered, Keith,” said his wife. It was the first time she had spoken.

“Be damned to that!” said the Major furiously. “Murdered! Old Cost! Why?”

Patrick gave a sharp exclamation.

“Well!” his stepfather barked at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Did you say, sir, that she was under an umbrella?”

“Yes,” Alleyn said and thought: This is going to be everybody’s big inspiration.

He listened to Patrick as he presented the theory of mistaken identity.

Jenny said: “Does Miss Pride know?”

“Not yet.”

“It’ll be a shock for her,” said Jenny. “When will you tell her?”

“As soon as I’ve left you.” He looked round at them. “As a matter of form,” he said. “I must ask you all where you were between half past seven and nine this morning. You will understand, won’t you—”

“That it’s purely a matter of routine,” Patrick said, “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. Yes, we do understand.”

Mrs. Barrimore, Jenny and Patrick had got up and bathed, in turn, round eight o’clock. Mrs. Barrimore did not breakfast in the public dining-room but had toast and coffee by herself in the old kitchen which had been converted into a kitchen-dining-room. Jenny had breakfasted at about nine and Patrick a few minutes later. After breakfast they had gone out of doors for a few minutes, surveyed the weather and decided to stay in and do a crossword together. Major Barrimore, it appeared, slept in and didn’t get up until half past nine. He had two cups of coffee but no breakfast.

All these movements would have to be checked; but at the moment there was more immediate business. Alleyn asked Major Barrimore to put up a notice that the spring was closed.

He at once objected. Did Alleyn realize that there were people from all over the country — from overseas, even — who had come with the express purpose of visiting the spring? Did he realize that it was out of the question coolly to send them about their business — some of them, he’d have Alleyn know, in damned bad shape?

Alleyn said that the spring could probably be reopened in two days’ time.

“Two days, my dear fellah, two days! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve got one draft going out tonight and a new detachment coming in tomorrow. Where the hell d’you suppose I’m going to put them? Hey?”

Alleyn said it was no doubt extremely inconvenient

“Inconvenient! It’s outrageous.”

“So,” Alleyn suggested, “is murder.”

“I’ve no proof of where you get your authority and I’ll have you know I won’t act without it. I refuse point-blank,” shouted the Major. “And categorically,” he added as if that clinched the matter.

“The authority,” Alleyn said, “is Scotland Yard and I’m very sorry, but you really can’t refuse, you know. Either you decide to frame an announcement in your own words and get it out at once or I shall be obliged to issue a police notice. In any case, that will be done at the spring itself. It would be better, as I’m sure you must agree, if intending visitors were stopped here rather than at the gates.”

“Of course it would,” said Patrick impatiently.

“Yes, Keith. Please,” said Mrs. Barrimore.

“When I want your suggestions, Margaret, I’ll ask for them.”

Patrick looked at his stepfather with disgust. He said to Alleyn: “With respect, sir, I suggest that my mother and Jenny leave us to settle this point.”

Mrs. Barrimore at once rose.

“May we?” she asked. Jenny said: “Yes, please, may we?”

“Yes, of course,” said Alleyn, and to Patrick, “Let the court be cleared of ladies, by all means, Mr. Ferrier.”

Patrick gave him a look and turned pink. All the same, Alleyn thought, there was an air of authority about him. The wig was beginning to sprout and would probably become this young man rather well.

“Here. Wait a bit,” said the Major. He spread his hands. “All right. All right,” he said. “Have it your own way.” He turned on his wife. “You’re supposed to be good at this sort of rot, Margaret. Get out a notice and make it tactful. Say that owing to an accident in the area — no, my God, that sounds bloody awful. Owing to unforeseen circumstances — I don’t know. I don’t know. Say what you like. Talk to them. But get it done.” Alleyn could cheerfully have knocked him down.

Mrs. Barrimore and Jenny went out.

Patrick, who was now very white, said: “I think it will be much better if we help Mr. Alleyn as far as we’re able. He wants to get on with his work, I’m sure. The facts will have to become known sooner or later. We’ll do no good by adopting delaying tactics.”

Major Barrimore contemplated his stepson with an unattractive smile. “Charming!” he said. “Now, I know exactly how I should behave, don’t I?” He appeared to undergo a change of mood and illustrated it by executing a wide gesture and then burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said and his voice was muffled. “Give me a moment.”

Patrick turned his back and walked over to the window. The Major looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and his expression dolorous. “Bad show,” he said. “Apologize. Not myself. Truth of the matter is, I got a bit plastered last night and this has hit me rather hard.” He stood up and made a great business of straightening his shoulders and blowing his nose. “As you were,” he said bravely. “Take my orders from you. What’s the drill?”

“Really, there isn’t any at the moment,” Alleyn said cheerfully. “If you can persuade your guests not to collect round the enclosure or use the path to it we’ll be very grateful. As soon as possible we’ll get the approaches cordoned off and that will settle the matter, won’t it? And now, if you’ll excuse me—”

He was about to go when Major Barrimore said: “Quite so. Talk to the troops, what? Well — sooner the better.” He put his hand on Alleyn’s arm. “Sorry, old boy,” he said gruffly. “Sure you understand.”

He frowned, came to attention and marched out.

“Not true,” Patrick said to the window. “Just not true.”

Alleyn said “Never mind,” and left him.

When he re-entered the main building he found Major Barrimore the centre of a group of guests who showed every sign of disgruntlement tempered with avid curiosity. He was in tremendous form. “Now, I know you’re going to be perfectly splendid about this,” he was saying. “It’s an awful disappointment to all of us and it calls for that good old British spirit of tolerance and understanding. Take it on the chin and look as if you liked it, what? And you can take it from me…”

He was still in full cry as Alleyn walked up the stairs and went to call on Miss Emily.

She was, of course, dressed for travel. Her luggage, as he saw through the open door, was ready. She was wearing her toque.

He told her what had happened. Miss Emily’s sallow complexion whitened. She looked very fixedly at him and did not interrupt

“Rodrigue,” she said when he had finished. “This is my doing. I am responsible.”

“Now, my dearest Miss Emily—”

“No. Please. Let me look squarely at the catastrophe. This foolish woman has been mistaken for me. There is no doubt in my mind at all. It declares itself. If I had obeyed the intention and not the mere letter of the undertaking I gave you, this would not have occurred.”

“You went to the spring this morning with your notice?”

“Yes. I had, if you recollect, promised you not to leave my apartment again last night, and to breakfast in my apartment this morning. A loophole presented itself.”

In spite of Miss Emily’s distress there was more than a hint of low cunning in the sidelong glance she gave him. “I went out,” she said. “I placed my manifesto. I returned. I took my petit déjeuner in my room.”

“When did you go out?”

“At half past seven.”

“It was raining?”

“Heavily.”

“Did you meet anybody? Or see anybody?”

“I met nobody,” said Miss Emily. “I saw that wretched child. Walter Trehern. He was on the roadway that leads from the cottages up to the spring. It has, I believe, been called—” she closed her eyes—“ ‘Wally’s Way.’ He was halfway up the hill.”

“Did he see you?”

“He did. He uttered some sort of gibberish, gave an uncouth cry and waved his arms.”

“Did he see you leave?”

“I think not. When I had affixed my manifesto and faced about, he had already disappeared. Possibly he was hiding.”

“And you didn’t, of course, see Miss Cost”

“No.”

“You didn’t see her umbrella on your ledge above the pool? As you were tying up your notice?”

“Certainly not. I looked in that direction. It was not there.”

“And that would be at about twenty to eight. It wouldn’t, I think, take you more than ten minutes to walk there, from the pub?”

“No. It was five minutes to eight when I re-entered the hotel.”

“Did you drop the notice, face down in the mud?”

“Certainly not. Why?”

“It’s no matter. Miss Emily: please try to remember if you saw anybody at all on the village side of the causeway, or indeed anywhere. Any activity round the jetty, for instance, or on the bay or near the cottages? Then, or at any time during your expedition?”

“Certainly not.”

“And on your return journey?”

“The rain was driving in from the direction of the village. My umbrella was therefore inclined to meet it.”

“Yes. I see.”

A silence fell between them. Alleyn walked over to the window. It looked down on a small garden at the back of the old pub. As he stood there, absently staring, someone came into the garden from below. It was Mrs. Barrimore. She had a shallow basket over her arm and carried a pair of secateurs. She walked over to a clump of Michaelmas daisies and began to cut them, but her movement was so uncoordinated and wild that the flowers fell to the ground. She made as if to retrieve them, dropped her secateurs and then the basket. Her hands went to her face and for a time she crouched there, quite motionless. She then rose and walked aimlessly and hurriedly about the paths, turning and returning as if the garden were a prison yard. Her fingers twisted together. They might have been encumbered with rings of which she tried fruitlessly to rid them.

“That,” said Miss Emily’s voice, “is a very unhappy creature.”

She had joined Alleyn without attracting his notice.

“Why?” he asked. “What’s the matter with her?”

“No doubt her animal of a husband ill-treats her.”

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Alleyn said. He found himself quoting from — surely? — an inappropriate source, “ ’Look what she does now. See how she rubs her hands!’ ” and Miss Emily replied at once: “ ’It is an accustomed action with her to seem thus washing her hands.”

“Good Heavens!” Alleyn exclaimed. “What do we think we’re talking about?”

Margaret Barrimore raised her head and instinctively they both drew back. Alleyn walked away from the window and then, with a glance at Miss Emily, turned back to it.

“She has controlled herself,” said Miss Emily. “She is gathering her flowers. She is a woman of character, that one.”

In a short time Mrs. Barrimore had filled her basket and returned to the house.

“Was she very friendly,” he asked, “with Miss Cost?”

“No. I believe, on the contrary, there was a certain animosity. On Cost’s part. Not, as far as I could see, upon Mrs. Barrimore’s. Cost,” said Miss Emily, “was, I judged, a spiteful woman. It is a not unusual phenomenon among spinsters of Cost’s years and class. I am glad to say I was not conscious, at her age, of any such emotion. My sister Fanny, in her extravagant fashion, used to say I was devoid of the mating instinct. It may have been so.”

“Were you never in love, Miss Emily?”

“That,” said Miss Emily, “is an entirely different matter.”

“Is it?”

“In any case it is neither here nor there. What do you wish me to do, Rodrigue? Am I to remain in this place?” She examined him. “I think you are disturbed upon this point,” she said.

Alleyn thought: She’s sharp enough to see I’m worried about her, and yet she can’t see why. Or can she?

He said: “It’s a difficult decision. If you go back to London I’m afraid I shall be obliged to keep in touch and bother you with questions and you may have to return. There will be an inquest, of course. I don’t know if you will be called. You may be.”

“With whom does the decision rest?”

“Primarily, with the police.”

“With you, then?”

“Yes. It rests upon our report. Usually the witnesses called at an inquest are the persons who found the body — me, in this instance — together with the investigating officers, the pathologist and anyone who saw or spoke to the deceased shortly before the event. Or anyone else who the police believe can throw light on the circumstances. Do you think,” he asked, “you can do that?”

Miss Emily looked disconcerted. It was the first time, he thought, that he had ever seen her at a loss.

“No,” she said. “I think not.”

“Miss Emily, do you believe that Wally Trehern came back after you had left the enclosure, saw Miss Cost under her umbrella, crept up to the boulder by a roundabout way (there’s plenty of cover) and threw down the rock, thinking he threw it on you?”

“How could that be? How could he get in? The enclosure was locked.”

“He may have had a disk, you know.”

“What would be done to him?”

“Nothing very dreadful. He would probably be sent to an institution.”

She moved about the room with an air of indecision that reminded him, disturbingly, of Mrs. Barrimore. “I can only repeat,” she said at last, “what I know. I saw him. He cried out and then hid himself. That is all.”

“I think we may ask you to say that at the inquest.”

“And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, perhaps we should compromise. There is, I’m told, a reasonably good hotel in the hills outside Dunlowman. If I can arrange for you to stay there will you do so? The inquest may be held in Dunlowman. It would be less of a fuss for you than returning from London.”

“It’s inadvisable for me to remain here?”

“Very inadvisable.”

“So be it,” said Miss Emily. His relief was tempered by a great uneasiness. He had never known her so tractable before.

“I’ll telephone the hotel,” he said. “And Troy, if I may,” he added with a sigh.

“Had I taken your advice and remained in London, this would not have happened.”

He was hunting through the telephone book. “That,” he said, “is a prime example of utterly fruitless speculation. I am surprised at you, Miss Emily.” He dialled the number. The Manor Court Hotel would have a suite vacant at five o’clock the next day. There would also be a small single room. There had been cancellations. He booked the suite. “You can go over in the morning,” he said, “and lunch there. It’s the best wè can do. Will you stay indoors today, please?”

“I have given up this room.”

“I don’t think there will be any difficulty.”

“People are leaving?”

“I daresay some will do so.”

“Oh,” she said, “I am so troubled, my dear. I am so troubled.”

This, more than anything else she had said, being completely out of character, moved and disturbed him. He sat her down and because she looked unsettled and alien in her travelling toque, carefully removed it. “There,” he said, “and I haven’t disturbed the coiffure. Now, you look more like my favourite old girl.”

“That is no way to address me,” said Miss Emily. “You forget yourself.”

He unbuttoned her gloves and drew them off. “Should I blow in them?” he asked. “Or would that be bourgeois?”

He saw, with dismay, that she was fighting back tears.

There was a tap at the door. Jenny Williams opened it and looked in. “Are you receiving?” she asked and then saw Alleyn. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll come back later.”

“Come in,” Alleyn said. “She may, mayn’t she, Miss Emily?”

“By all means. Come in, Jennifer.”

Jenny gave Alleyn a look. He said: “We’ve been discussing appropriate action to be taken by Miss Emily,” and told her what he had arranged.

Jenny said: “Can’t the hotel take her today?” And then hurried on: “Wouldn’t you like to be shot of the Island as soon as possible, Miss Pride? It’s been a horrid business, hasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid they’ve nothing until tomorrow,” Alleyn said.

“Well then, wouldn’t London be better, after all? It’s so anticlimaxy to gird up one’s loins and then un-gird them. Miss Pride, if you’d at all like me to, I’d love to go with you for the train journey.”

“You are extremely kind, dear child. Will you excuse me for a moment. I have left my handkerchief in my bedroom, I think.”

Jenny, about to fetch it, caught Alleyn’s eye and stopped short. Alleyn opened the door for Miss Emily and shut it again.

He said quickly: “What’s happened? Talk?”

“She mustn’t go out. Can’t we get her away? Yes. Talk. Beastly, unheard-of, filthy talk. She mustn’t know. God!” said Jenny. “How I hate people!”

“She’s staying indoors all day.”

“Has she any idea what they’ll be saying?”

“I don’t know. She’s upset. She’s gone in there to blow her nose and pull herself together. Look. Would you go with her to Dunlowman? It’ll only be a few days. As a job?”

“Yes, of course. Job be blowed.”

“Well, as her guest. She wouldn’t hear of anything else.”

“All right. If she wants me. She might easily not.”

“Go out on a pretense message for me and come back in five minutes. I’ll fix it.”

“O.K.”

“You’re a darling, Miss Williams.”

Jenny pulled a grimace and went out.

When Miss Emily returned she was in complete control of herself. Alleyn said Jenny had gone down to leave a note for him at the office. He said he’d had an idea. Jenny, he understood from Miss Emily herself, was hard up and had to take holiday jobs to enable her to stay in England. Why not offer her one as companion for as long as the stay in Dunlowman lasted?”

“She would not wish it. She is the guest of the Barrimores and the young man is greatly attached.”

“I think she feels she’d like to get away,” Alleyn lied. “She said as much to me.”

“In that case,” Miss Emily hesitated. “In that case I–I shall make the suggestion. Tactfully, of course. I confess it — it would be a comfort.” And she added firmly: “I am feeling old.”

It was the most devastating remark he had ever heard from Miss Emily.