Our Jubilee is Death (15 page)

“Do you think we could find the sister's name and address among Miss Pink's papers?”

Watching closely, Carolus thought that the sisters narrowly avoided exchanging glances.

“I shouldn't think so. She had practically no personal papers.”

“We could try,” said Carolus.

Babs rose quickly.

“I'll run up and look at once,” she said. Before there could be any argument she left the room.

“Have you yet informed the police?” Carolus asked Gracie.

“No. Must we? It is so hateful to have them asking questions.”

“Of course you must. I suggest you do so immediately.”

“Babs said …”

“Miss Stayer, this is a serious and urgent matter. Fay, call the police at once.”

There was a general hesitation.

“I suppose you had better,” said Gracie at last. “There's a phone over there. Oh dear, I shall be glad when all this is over.”

While Fay was still talking, Babs returned.

“I've found it,” she said. “Miss Ethel Pink, St Mervyn's Preparatory School, Porthpillo, near Penzance. It was on a list of addresses in a drawer of her table.”

Carolus took the phone when Fay had finished and began
to dictate.
“Your sister Alice Pink worried by recent unexplained death of employer Lillianne Bomberger went out last evening not returned Stop. Possibly on her way to you Stop. Please wire whether other relatives or suggestions where might go. Stop. Police informed and all steps taken.

“Now tell me about yesterday,” he invited Gracie and Babs Stayer.

It was Babs who answered.

“She seemed rather depressed all day, but then she has been depressed lately. I suppose we all have. But she did not say anything unusual. She has formed some rather odd habits since my aunt's death.”

“Such as?”

“Locking herself up in her room for long periods. And these evening walks on the cliff.”

“Always on the cliff?”

“We don't know. The only time she has been seen was when Graveston came on her in that little shelter they have made right at the highest point between here and Blessington. She never ate much in the house, but she used to take sandwiches with her at night. It was rather peculiar, you will own.”

“Did she drink?”

“Never, when my aunt was alive. At least, not so far as anyone knew. But we have been rather surprised lately. She does like a nip. We caught her pouring herself out a snorter one morning. Graveston says she had a flask with her the other night.”

“Was it her flask?”

“I think it was Aunt Lillianne's. She had a little silver one which hasn't been seen lately.”

“You think Miss Pink had it last night?”

“Probably. Actually, I never thought she would go out last night. There was a sea-mist all round us here. She went to her room at about seven and didn't appear again. We prepared a scratch meal for ourselves and Ron and Gloria, who had come over. We called her when it was ready, but
there was no reply. Then we rather panic'd, I'm afraid. I felt she ought not to be wandering about alone and went out to try and find her.”

“Which way did you go?” asked Carolus.

“Well, actually I didn't go very far. It was a bit tricky last night, and I had an idea she had gone up on the cliffs. I shouted for her and started to climb a little way, but I'm afraid gave it up then.”

“How long do you think you were gone?”

“I don't know. I daresay about twenty minutes.”

“Did it seem like that to you?” Carolus asked Gracie.

“Babs was much longer. She's braver than she would have you think. I wouldn't have gone out alone in that mist for anything. I'm sure she hunted everywhere.”

“Yes?”

“And even then she wouldn't rest. She sent Graveston and Primmley out to look for Miss Pink. Then she suggested to Ron that he might have a look in the other direction, and he and Gloria went out. I didn't like going to bed. Nor did Babs. And first thing this morning Babs went to her room and found she hadn't been in all night.”

“Has anyone been over the cliff footpath today to see whether …”

“We sent Graveston up about half an hour ago. He should be back any minute.”

“There has never been any suggestion of suicide on her part?”

This was the first question which seemed to make the two sisters uncomfortable.

“I've always rather wondered,” said Babs at last. “But more in my aunt's time than now. She seemed to me rather the type.”

“She has never said anything to make you anticipate this?”

“No. In moments of great stress she would talk about ‘ending it all', as people do.”

“Has she had one of those moments of great stress lately?”

Babs seemed strangely tense and thoughtful during these questions.

“I believe she had the other day. But…”

“Which day?”

“I think it was the day before yesterday. But it was nothing extraordinary. Just Alice Pink getting excited. None of us thought of taking it seriously.”

Carolus remained silent for a moment. Then, looking at Babs, he asked if he might have a word with Mrs Plum.

“We've had to get rid of her,” said Babs. “She was really too much. She got such a kick out of all this that she became unbearable. She would run about the house staring at one and having what she called the creeps or the shudders at everything. We decided we would rather do the work ourselves.”

Carolus nodded. The explanation was reasonable.

“I think,” he said, “I'll leave you before the police get here. Fay, would you drive the car back? I want to go by the footpath over the cliffs.”

It was a cloudy morning with a damp breeze, and as he began to climb up the fairly steep hillside Carolus saw very few holiday-makers. The ‘footpath' was about six feet wide and was of asphalt. There was a certain amount of litter visible in spite of the receptacles placed for it.

But the benevolent Borough Council which had made this little footpath an extension of the town promenade had not yet gone to the expense of lighting it, so that no ugly light-standards marred the hillside.

A tall figure advanced towards him, and he recognized Graveston.

“I've just come from the house,” Carolus told him. “I heard that I should meet you.”

“Yes. I have been as far as the shelter to which Miss Pink usually went….”

“Usually?”

For the first time Graveston was clearly discomforted.

“That is … she is known to have gone….”

“How
is she known to have gone?” snapped Carolus, at last finding a gap in defences.

“I myself have seen her …”

“How often?”

“I could not say. On several occasions. She went up there in the evening.”

“You followed her?”

“I found my way was hers. I had meetings to attend in Blessington.”

“And this morning?”

“The ladies of the house instructed me to come and see if… if there were any sign of Miss Pink.”

“Was there?”

“None that I could see. She was certainly not in the shelter.”

“You have found nothing at all to make you think she came this way?”

“Nothing.”

With a curt nod Carolus walked on. He found the climb quite a stiff one, and was not surprised that there had been difficulty in wheeling a bath-chair here containing the heavy frame of Lillianne Bomberger.

From the crest he could see the shelter and half a mile farther on the Coast Guards' station, which looked from here almost on the outskirts of Blessington. He walked fast, not bothering to examine oddments of litter in his way. It took him about eight minutes to reach the shelter, and here he stopped.

It was built of metal, with glass divisions, the same structure as one finds in any coastal town in England, but it looked rather forlorn alone here on the hill. It stood perhaps fifty yards from the edge of the cliff on ground which sloped slightly downwards towards the sea.

Carolus made a careful examination of its interior, but found no object to appropriate and apparently nothing to
occupy his particular attention. Then he started walking very slowly, his eyes downcast, towards the cliff's edge.

The grass was short and dry and there were dried rabbit and sheep droppings, but nothing which made Carolus pause long. When he drew near to the cliff's edge he stopped and looked about him.

At first he thought that there was no one in sight. Then back in the direction of Trumbles he saw a tall, dark figure standing. He recognized, or believed that he recognized, Graveston. He was at least half a mile away and there was no one nearer.

Now Carolus faced an inward combat which had gone on in him at intervals all his life and particularly during his years in a parachute regiment during the war. He feared heights. It was in order to gain the victory in that fearful internal struggle that he had joined a parachute regiment, and no one had ever suspected that he was fighting against himself in doing so.

He knew from his observation from the sands below that the cliff here was at its highest. It was not a sheer and clean-cut cliff like that of Beachy Head but a broken drop with ledges and even some vegetation on its surface. To go over its edge would almost certainly mean to reach the foot of it. The fall might be broken, but there was little chance of any object being caught on the way down.

Now Carolus lay flat on the ground and slowly crawled towards the edge. In this way he could avoid any danger from vertigo, from which at heights, and increasingly since the war, he suffered.

When he reached the edge and peered over he saw what by now he almost expected to see. About half-way down the cliff, on a jagged shelf of rock, was all that remained of Alice Pink. Carolus did not wait to observe the gruesome details, but he saw enough to know, without any doubt at all, that she was dead.

He drew back from the edge, crawled backward like a
snake and lay for a moment quite still looking down at the clean green turf. Then he vomited.

It was ten minutes before Carolus was back on the asphalt path and on his way to Blessington. He recovered quickly in the fresh, breezy air.

It took him half an hour to reach his temporary home, and he was by no means pleased to find Priggley waiting for him. He was about to dismiss him when Priggley said, “Where on earth have you been? I've got a message for you. I came here at the crack of dawn, but you had already gone out.”

“What's the message?” said Carolus curtly.

“It's from Alice Pink, the secretary. She rang up yesterday evening, thinking you were still at the hotel.”

“Why didn't you come and tell me at once?”

“I came round, but you weren't in. If you
will
live in a place without a telephone! And anyway it didn't seem urgent. She wants you to see her today—not out at Trumbles, but here in the town. She's coming in at three o'clock this afternoon, when her absence there won't be noticed. She has decided to tell you everything. She will wait for you in the Lounge of the Royal Hydro.”

“She won't,” said Carolus. “She's dead.”

C
AROLUS
went straight to the police station and explained to the desk sergeant that he wanted to see the CID officer in charge of the Bomberger case.

The desk sergeant, like many English policemen, had been as long in the military as in the civil police and had the same unsure, overbearing manner as a CMP corporal who has detected an officer in an offence.

“Why? Have you got some information to give?” he asked sharply.

“I shouldn't have come here to pass the time of day,” said Carolus.

“If you have any information it's your duty …”

“I asked if the officer in charge of the case was in,” said Carolus quietly. He saw the approach of one of those wearisome arguments with which policemen everywhere bolster up their self-importance. “Would you be kind enough to tell me?”

There was an exchange of hostile looks, after which the desk sergeant said, “No. He's not back yet.”

“You're expecting him?”

“He should be here.”

“Then I'll wait.”

Carolus opened a newspaper and the desk sergeant turned his attention to his papers, and five minutes passed in silence. Then someone entered behind Carolus and went to an inner door. The desk sergeant nodded to a policeman, who followed the man in and came back to invite Carolus to the CID office.

Detective Inspector Whibley was a big, jovial man, rather consciously in what is called the prime of life. His smile
was too ready, his handshake too forceful, his manner altogether too friendly for Carolus in his present mood.

“Sit down, Mr Deene. I know all about you, and I'm glad you've come to see me. I heard you were interesting yourself in the Bomberger case and expected we should meet sooner or later.”

“I have something to report,” said Carolus.

“Oh yes? Have a cigarette, will you? It's an interesting case, as I expect you've found. What have you to report, Mr Deene?”

“A corpse,” said Carolus.

“Oh, ho!” smiled the Inspector. “A corpse, eh? Do you know whose?”

“Yes. Alice Pink's.”

The detective seemed for the first time to take something seriously.

“Her disappearance was reported this morning,” he said.

“You'll find her lying about half-way down the cliffs between here and Trumbles Bay. If you go as far as the shelter and look down the cliff in front of that you can see what's left of her.”

“Badly disfigured?”

“Disfigured? Oh hell! You go and see for yourself.”

“I will, Mr Deene. How did you come to discover this?”

“Reasoning, more or less.”

“You don't mean you anticipated it?”

“No. Not that. But I saw the possibility. When she disappeared I asked what her recent habits were, and found one of them was to walk up to that shelter in the evening. There was a certain amount of accidental or deliberate lying about that, by the way, Babs Stayer saying that Graveston had seen her there
once,
Graveston saying it was on a number of occasions. Anyway, I knew she went there, so I walked up this morning, looked over the edge and saw her body.”