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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: Dead in the Water
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“No?” Alec asked with a grin.
“No,” Daisy said firmly, leading the way back to the front hall. “DeLancey never insulted me. After all, I'm as Honourable as he was.”
“Rather more so, I hope.”
“Idiot. Will you take me as far as the bridge?”
“Yes, love. Are you ready? Go on out to the car while I make my apologies to the gentlemen for keeping them waiting. Not that I'm particularly sorry. In this case, letting them stew for a while won't hurt and might help, and I want Tring and Piper here when I start asking questions. Where are they all?”
“In the drawing-room and on the terrace. Trying to pretend nothing's happened, not easy with a bobby on watch. Dottie's with them, with Cherry, but Tish is in bed.”
“Yes, Mr. Fosdyke said he had prescribed a bromide. I'm sorry she's taken it so hard, and glad you have more backbone, my love. Be with you in a minute.”
Glowing from the rare compliment, Daisy went out to the yellow Austin. She didn't mind any more that he hadn't noticed how smart she was in the new amber silk-georgette frock. Even Lucy said the narrow pleats all the way from shoulders to hem made her look almost slim. They had also
made it frightfully expensive, but after all, she was going to meet Prince Henry, and spruced up with a scarf it would do as a dinner dress afterwards.
The Chummy was standing in the shade, fortunately, or the seats would have been too hot to sit on. It would be unbearably stuffy with the hood up, but the road into Henley, the main road to Marlow, was metalled so she shouldn't get too dusty. She checked in her handbag for her comb.
Alec did not keep her waiting. “Actually,” he said as he sat down behind the wheel and pressed the self-starter, “you aren't a suspect. It looks as if the assailant was at least as tall as DeLancey. The blow was struck from above.”
“It wasn't Bott, then.”
“He's short?” Alec did not sound pleased.
“He's a cox. All coxes are small, because of the extra weight in the boat. You were thinking it must be him?”
“Leaning that way,” he grunted, turning left out of the drive into a road between hedges wreathed with traveller's joy and fragrant honeysuckle. “It seemed to me improbable that anyone raised as a gentleman would strike someone from behind with a weapon, rather than a fist to the face. Not without a more serious motive than a fit of anger, anyway. I suppose I'm being naïve.”
“Gentlemen born and bred don't always behave like gentlemen. Just consider DeLancey!” Daisy pointed out. “But the rest of the fellows are the real thing. Couldn't someone short have hit him with something long?”
“Hm, that's possible. Which means you are a suspect after all.”
“No, I'm not,” Daisy said indignantly. “If anything, I insulted him, not the other way around.”
“Darling, did you really?”
“I refused—rather curtly—to go dancing with him, and I as good as told him his manners were worse than Bott's.”
“Great Scott, I'm lucky he didn't biff you over the head!”
Daisy blew him a kiss. “Aren't you? Alec, could DeLancey have been biffed with an oar? There's a rack for oars in the boat-house. As far as I could see they were all in place when I looked, but …”
“When you looked? Daisy, is there something you haven't told me?”
“Look, that's Crowswood, where Lord DeLancey is staying.”
Though Alec gave the open gates and the lodge a thoughtful glance, as a diversionary tactic it was a failure. “What were you doing in the boat-house at a time when an oar used as a weapon might have been out of place?” he demanded.
“Looking for Bott, as a matter of fact.”
“Looking for
Bott?
Don't tell me you were so concerned about sabotage …”
“Gosh no. I was concerned about Bott. I thought, if DeLancey was on guard and Bott really did go down there, DeLancey might have hit
him
and left him badly hurt, if not dead. I thought it might explain why DeLancey was in such a state. Shock, you know.”
“So you went down to the boat-house in the middle of the night. Alone, I take it?”
“Everyone was asleep, and I couldn't let Bott just lie there badly hurt, could I? Especially after I found the French windows open, proving someone—Look, there's the entrance to Phyllis Court. I told you we're invited there this evening?”
“You did. I can't promise …”
“I know. But I expect you'll have solved it by then.”
“Your faith is flattering, love.” Alec smiled at her, hastily turning back as the Marlow Road met the main street through Henley. “But it's equally possible I may be stymied by then and needing to get away from the case for a while. Don't cancel yet, at any rate. You didn't find Bott in the boat-house. What did you find?”
“Absolutely nothing. It was horridly eerie,” she confessed with a reminiscent shudder, though nothing could have been less eerie than the shops and pubs of Bell Street on a sunny afternoon. “I couldn't be sure he wasn't lying drowned at the bottom of the water, but if he was, it was too late to help him. You can't imagine how glad I was when he came down to breakfast.”
“I can. How did you see? Is electricity laid on?”
“No, I took the electric torch from the landing. I was very careful not to mess up any fingerprints,” Daisy said proudly.
“Tom Tring will be proud of you. Unfortunately, by now anyone could have wiped it, if the housemaid doesn't polish it daily,” Alec observed with callous masculine logic. “Still, we don't know that the boat-house was the scene of the crime.”
“Anyone going before me might not have needed a torch, anyway. I didn't need it outside—the moon was just setting—and earlier … Oh, here, this is Hart Street. Turn left here, then right at the bridge, and drop me there. Then you can go straight on along the river, turn right at the end, and there's the station.”
“Right-oh. The boat-house has windows?”
“Actually, I didn't notice,” Daisy admitted sheepishly. “If not, the brightest moon wouldn't help inside, of course.”
Alec turned right and stopped. He couldn't pull the
Chummy over to the kerb because of all the motors, some with boat-trailers hitched behind, parked along the street, so Daisy quickly hopped out. She turned to say good-bye as a harassed-looking bobby advanced on them.
“That's a very fetching frock,” said Alec. “Should I be jealous of Prince Henry?”
“It's all right, he's too young for me. See you later, darling.”
The Austin zipped off just ahead of the constable's reprimand. Daisy turned back towards the bridge.
So Alec had noticed her new dress after all. He had been joking about the Prince, of course, but his words reminded Daisy of Rollo's possible motive for getting hot under the collar where DeLancey was concerned.
Rollo had jumped to the conclusion that Tish was upset about DeLancey's death because she was fond of him. Could he be right? Was Tish prostrated because she feared for Rollo and Cherry, or because, though she repulsed DeLancey, she was attracted to him? His obvious lack of serious intent might have led her to reject him with a show of pique, whatever her feelings.
If Rollo had real cause for jealousy, or believed so, he had a much stronger motive for violence than if he was just angry because of DeLancey's persistent pestering.
Bosh! Daisy told herself, nipping across the road between an ancient governess-cart and a royal blue Napier driven by a chauffeur in matching uniform. Alec was right—even the peaceable Rollo might strike out with his fists but he wouldn't biff someone over the head from behind with an oar.
Horace Bott was another kettle of fish. Daisy stopped in the middle of the bridge, gazing down at the bustle of the Regatta
on the river and the bank, as she had yesterday with Bott and his girl after his ducking. Bott had far greater cause for resentment than Rollo or Cherry. Grossly outweighed by DeLancey and, as he said himself, without the instincts of a gentleman, he might well have resorted to a weapon if attacked when bent on sabotage.
But if DeLancey was on the attack, how did he manage to get hit from behind?
Shaking her head in puzzlement, Daisy walked on.
A
ttacked with an oar? An oar-blade could be the flat, smooth weapon Dr. Dewhurst described, though Alec was not wedded to the boat-house theory, as Daisy seemed to be.
What the dickens had got into her to go alone, in the middle of the night, to investigate the conjectured scene of a violent crime? Any ordinary female would have wakened one of the myriad young, strong men in the house to accompany her, or more likely to take her place. But Daisy was not ordinary, which was why he loved her and why she drove him to distraction with her foolhardy, infuriating, but occasionally illuminating meddling in his cases.
An oar, in the boat-house?
Coming to the end of the street, Alec turned right on Station Road. Tom Tring, massive in his robin's-egg-blue and white check summer suit, and young Piper were waiting on the pavement in front of the station. Alec pulled up the Austin beside them.
“Hullo, Chief!” Piper dropped his Woodbine, ground it out underfoot, and reached for his suitcase.
“Hullo, Tom, Ernie. No, don't get in just yet,” said Alec,
reaching back behind his seat for his umbrella. With it in hand, he climbed out. “My apologies for wrecking your weekend.”
“All in a day's work, Chief, though the missus was a bit put out about the steak-and-kidney pud,” rumbled Tom. He took off his pale grey bowler, revealing the vast, hairless dome, now glistening with perspiration, which counterbalanced the walrus moustache flourishing on his upper lip. He fanned himself with the hat while wiping the limitless expanse of his forehead with a blue-spotted handkerchief. “A good job you didn't make us walk to the local copper-shop.”
Piper pointed to the black, rolled umbrella. “The Chief's brought his sunshade for you, Sarge.”
“You can have it for a parasol in a minute, Tom,” said Alec, grinning, “but first I want to try a little experiment. Piper, move away a few feet. That's good enough. Now, pretend this is solid wood and, oh, about ten feet long. Too heavy to catch in your hands when I take a bash at you.” Shifting his grip to the ferrule, he suited action to the words.
As Piper ducked, twisting aside, he turned his face away from the swinging umbrella. Alec stopped the swing just before the handle caught the Detective Constable a whack on the side of his head, towards the upper rear.
“That's it!”
A stern voice came from behind him. “
Aw
right, awright, awright!
Nah
then,” the bobby continued for a change as they all turned to face him, “what's goin' on 'ere?”
He regarded with equal suspicion their hastily produced Metropolitan Police warrant cards—fortunately Alec carried his both on and off duty—and Alec's explanation of his experiment. His face cleared, however, when Alec thought to mention
Horace Bott. Miss Hopgood's landlady's house was on his beat, he said.
“I'll see 'em when they comes back, sir, never you fear. But I'd take it kindly, sir, not meanin' no offence, if you'd do your 'speriments off the street. Gives people ideas, it does, sir. That's what it does, gives people ideas.”
Properly abashed, Alec apologised. Appeased, the constable saluted and watched them pile into the Austin, which tilted under Tring's weight.
“Listen,” said Alec, turning right on the Reading Road, which confusingly became Duke Street, then Bell Street as they drove through the town, and then Northfield End just before meeting the Marlow Road. By that time he had given the others a swift resume of the case.
“Cor, Chief,” said Piper admiringly from the back seat, “it doesn't sound like you need us. You've got it taped already.”
“As a matter of fact,” Alec admitted, his cheeks growing warm, “a great deal of my information comes only from Miss Dalrymple. I haven't had a chance yet to confirm what she's told me.”
“Ah,” said Tom meaningfully. Alec knew without looking that beneath his moustache was a grin.
“If Miss Dalrymple told you, Chief, it's as good as seeing it with your own eyes.” Piper's belief in Daisy was boundless.
“What's first, Chief?” Tom asked.
“I think I'll drop in on Lord DeLancey, as we have to pass the gates of Crowswood, where he's staying. He can confirm quite a number of points, and he wouldn't take kindly to being summoned to Bulawayo.”
After a short, stunned silence, Tom said cautiously, “Bulawayo? Isn't that in Africa?”
It was not easy to stun Tom Tring. Alec managed not to smile as he said, “Oh, didn't I mention it? Miss Dalrymple's uncle was a colonial administrator. He calls his house ‘Bulawayo.'”
Piper breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“Ernie, you'll come in with me to take notes. Tom, I want you to drive on to the Cheringhams'—it's a mile and a half or so—and search the boat-house, inside and out. It shouldn't take too long. If you have time, take a look at Basil DeLancey's bedroom.”
“Fosdyke's the name of the young chappie he shared with? The one Miss Dalrymple said put him to bed?”
“That's right. I can't see the lad taking a weapon to a supposedly drunken crew-mate, however obstreperous, but if it was done there, it couldn't have been anyone but Fosdyke. You needn't bother with fingerprints in the bedroom, unless you find something which might have been used as a weapon.”
Tom was a stickler where fingerprints were concerned. “I'll get DeLancey's dabs off a hairbrush or summat, for elimination,” he said firmly.
“Yes, do. I'll telephone when I want you to come and pick us up. My questions won't take all that long, but his lordship will probably keep us waiting as a matter of principle.”
“That sort, eh?” said Tom.
“I suspect so. I may be maligning the man. When I spoke to him, he was in shock over his brother's death.”
They came to the gates Daisy had pointed out and Alec turned in. Driving along the winding avenue through the wooded park, he elaborated on Tring's instructions. “You know what to do,” he finished as they emerged from the
woods and drew up before the pillared portico of a substantial mansion.
“Right, Chief.” Tom came round the car, as always surprisingly light on his feet for a man of such bulk. The Chummy tilted the other way as he took his place behind the wheel. “Back in an hour.”
He drove off. Alec and Piper gratefully entered the shade of the portico and rang the bell.
The butler who answered the door looked thoroughly affronted when Alec presented his warrant card and asked for Lord DeLancey.
“Is his lordship expecting you?” he enquired frostily.
“His lordship is aware that I wish to speak to him.”
“Indeed. I shall send a footman to inform his lordship of your arrival, but it will take some time, even should he decide to receive you. Naturally, his lordship is down by the river observing the boat races. You may wait in here.” He opened a door and ushered them into a small anteroom, sparsely and uncomfortably furnished.
On a hot summer day it was pleasantly cool. In winter, Alec thought, it would be icy. “This is where they put unwanted callers,” he said as soon as the door closed behind the butler, “hoping they'll go away. Well, Ernie, what do you make of it?”
“Watching the races!” The youthful Detective Constable bubbled with indignation. “And his brother a few hours dead!”
“What do you make of it?”
Piper simmered down and thought. “He hasn't told anybody. Right, Chief? The rest of the nobs'd think it pretty queer if they knew, wouldn't they? Though you never can tell with nobs.”
“A good point,” Alec said encouragingly, then frowned. He went over to the window, which looked out on the porch under the portico, the view obstructed by pillars. Not that a better view would have helped. They were facing the wrong way.
“I can't tell just where we are in relation to the river,” he said, sitting down on a cane-bottomed chair with a singularly uncomfortably shaped back, and waving Ernie to a similar seat. “I wonder how far upstream this is from the top of Temple Island, the point where Basil DeLancey died? Less than a mile, I'd guess, but possibly too far for anyone to make out details of what was happening to whom, even with first-rate binoculars.”
“But would he risk it, Chief? I mean, s'posing someone did see what was going on, and Lord DeLancey came back and never said a word, that'd look even queerer.”
“I gather the last thing he would risk is causing talk. Perhaps he knew none of the people here went down to the bank to watch until this afternoon. The morning races were just a few odd heats, I understand. Today's finals didn't begin until well past noon.”
“They'd be bound to find out, though, Chief, sooner or later. Maybe he'll tell 'em he only just found out himself. But why would he want to keep it under his hat? Just because he wants to watch the rest of the Regatta?”
Alec shook his head. “I doubt it. I suspect it's all due to his morbid fear of being the subject of gossip which might stir up an old scandal. If he's not thinking very clearly—and when we met he didn't strike me as a particularly clear thinker, at least not under pressure—he may simply want to postpone as long as possible the tattle his brother's death is bound to arouse.”
“D'you know what the scandal is, Chief?”
“Miss Dalrymple didn't specify. She said it wasn't relevant, and I dare say it's not.”
“If she says not,” Piper agreed, loyal but disappointed.
Amused, Alec reverted to more relevant matters, giving Piper a bit more detail on the three chief suspects than there had been time for in the car.
“So that's Bott, Frieth, and Cheringham,” he ended. “Then there's Fosdyke, whom I think unlikely. Not much more likely than the other four, that is.”
“Leigh, Meredith, Poindexter, and Wells.” Ernie Piper's memory for numbers was extraordinary, and with experience as a detective his memory for names was rapidly becoming almost as good.
“As far as we know, none of the five had any specific reason to detest DeLancey. They were annoyed that his teasing of Bott made them lose the race, and disgusted with his treatment of Bott afterwards. Any of them might have gone down to the boat-house to check the fours boat, but only Fosdyke was personally concerned with the fours race.”
“So he's more likely to've gone, Chief, as well as sharing DeLancey's room and putting him to bed when he was in a state.”
“Yes. The others shared two bedrooms, so if one went out in the middle of the night, the other might have heard.” But Alec recalled that Daisy had crept out without disturbing her cousin. No squeaky floors or door-hinges in that well-conducted house. “Dammit, I need to talk to them all. Where the dickens is Lord DeLancey?”
“I 'spect the butler took his time,” Piper suggested. “Sent the slowest footman, I bet. He didn't approve of us.”
“Butlers never approve of police in the house,” Alec said dryly.
Lord DeLancey came in a few minutes later. He was red-faced, apparently from heat and hurry as drops of perspiration glistened on his brow, less extensive than Tring's but equally bedewed.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Chief Inspector,” he said somewhat breathlessly as the two detectives rose to their feet. “The river is a quarter-mile or so from the house.”
For a moment, Alec wondered why his lordship had decided to be affable, but of course he must be anxious to see his brother's killer caught. He had been in a state of shock at their last encounter, Alec reminded himself.
“We've not been here long, sir,” he said. “This is Detective Constable Piper, who will take notes. As I told you, I have a number of questions to ask you. My apologies for disrupting your afternoon.”
Lord DeLancey, whose colour had receded somewhat, reddened again. “You must think it odd that I should attend the Regatta when Basil … . The fact is, I have told no one. I didn't wish to ruin the occasion for my host and hostess and the other guests.”
“Most understandable, sir. Most considerate. Won't you take a seat?”
They all sat down. Ernie produced his notebook and one of the pocketful of well-sharpened pencils he always carried, even now after his hurried departure from home. Proud of the shorthand which had helped him become a detective, he had never yet been caught unprepared.
Alec asked when Lord DeLancey had last seen his brother alive.
“Yesterday, around noon.”
“And was his conduct then in any way out of the ordinary?”
“You may have heard … something of a contretemps … a lamentable show of temper, I'm afraid.”
“So I understand. We'll get to that in a minute. He didn't seem confused or incoherent, didn't complain of a headache, weakness, dizziness, or anything of the sort?”

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