Dead Water (11 page)

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.

WARNING

Notice is given that the owner of this property wishes to disassociate herself from any claims that have been made, in any manner whatsoever, for the curative properties of the spring. She gives further notice that the present enclosure is to be removed. Any proceedings of any nature whatsoever that are designed to publicize the above claims will be discontinued. The property will be restored, as far as possible, to conditions that obtained two years ago and steps will be taken to maintain it in a decent and orderly condition.

(Signed)
Emily Pride

‘When the hell was this put up?’ Coombe ejaculated. ‘It wasn’t there 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 finger-prints, 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 letterwriter, 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 be’ant 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 be’ant 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 ex-bar-parlour and tapped on the door. It was opened by Patrick Ferrier.

‘Hallo. Good morning, sir,’ said Patrick and then: ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Alleyn said. ‘Very wrong. May I see your step-father?’

‘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 ejaculation. ‘Well!’ his step-father 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 about 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-living-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 day’s 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 step-father 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 had turned 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 step-son 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 buildings 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.