The Vault

fifteen

AS USUAL, FROM EARLY on Friday, people were staring over the parapet on Grand Parade, watching the water flow over the weir-a flight of broad, shallow steps in an elegant inverted horseshoe tapered at the ends. Even when the current is slow, as it was this day in August after a week without much rain, the patterns created in the foam are worth a few minutes of anyone's time.

The watchers will notice anything floating towards the weir. After heavy rain, there can be quite an accumulation of broken foliage and driftwood caught on the rim, waiting to tip over. In these conditions, however, all was sublimely clear until twenty to eleven, when an object more like a bundle of fabric than driftwood glided slowly down the Avon from the Walcot stretch. For a time it lodged unnoticed against one of the piers under the bridge. Then a small fluctuation in the current allowed it to ease free and float sedately towards the first of the descending steps.

Of all the people watching-and there must have been thirty or more ranged along Grand Parade-none noticed that the bundle was human in origin until it reached the lip of the weir. There, its form appeared to divide. A narrow portion flopped over the edge and hung, still attached, causing foam to fan out on the level below. The overhanging part was a sleeve and it was not an empty sleeve. At the end was a white hand.

The sightseers were more horrified than alarmed. It was obvious that the body was lifeless. Somebody went to look for a