Death of a Burrowing Mole (Mrs. Bradley)

by Gladys Mitchell

  “That is an unkind and a very unjust way of looking at it. I have always played second fiddle to Malpas, it is true. It was a state of affairs which might have continued until he retired—”

  “Or died,” said Grace Veyran in a tone which could not be misunderstood. Tynant remained in control of himself, although his long mouth tightened before he said, “I was about to add: or until my book comes out.”

  “Your book?”

  “Already with the publishers. In it I refute all Malpas’s theories regarding monoxylous timber coffins in Lower Myria.”

  “But surely their distribution is known? Haven’t they been disinterred and examined?”

  “Yes, indeed, but where Malpas is wrong is in attributing them to the Middle Bronze Age. I place them five hundred years earlier. They belong to Early Bronze Age One.”

  “So your book attacks his theories. I don’t call that very friendly.”

  “It is not meant to be either friendly or unfriendly. It is a question of research and scholarship, that’s all. I am concerned only with the truth,”

  “Did Malpas know you had written this book?”

  “No. I intended to hit him for six with it when it comes out next year. All the fun has gone out of it now.”

  “What a little boy—and what a nasty little boy—you are!”

  “Why did he divorce you?”

  “He didn’t, nor I him. We simply lived apart for the statutory period and got our decree for the modern but incontrovertible reason that the marriage was an absolute failure. Who is the remarkably beautiful creature you sat next to in court?”

  “I sat next to you. Self-praise is no recommendation, so you must leave it to me to praise you if you are to be praised at all.”

  “Don’t fence! You know the woman I mean. She sat on the other side of you and I sensed considerable rapport between you.”

  “She is Dr. Susannah Lochlure, and she belongs to Saltergate’s gang, not to ours.”

  “She looks well connected. Is she?”

  “I believe there’s an earldom kicking about in her family.”

  “Any money?”

  “Do earls usually have money nowadays?”

  “I have no idea. Still, blue blood is blue blood.”

  “Yes. ‘Would a baronet’s sister go in before the daughter of a younger son of a peer?’”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve often wondered, ever since I read The Ordeal of Osbert Mulliner. Do you know the answer?”

  “You are shelving the subject of that girl of yours. Anyway, I am not in the mood for flippancy.”

  “That girl of mine? I only wish she were! And I didn’t mean to be flippant. We’ve all had a shock and it takes people in different ways. It makes me want to make a parade of being nonsensical just to lessen the tension. You know what the police think.”

  “As the inquest has been adjourned, it is rather obvious what they think, but Edward Saltergate didn’t do it, you know. They were in the middle of a battle, you said, but poor old Edward is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. He is quite incapable of murdering anybody.”

  “Idiots have committed murder before now, and all mediaevalists are mad. Why should anyone who had any sense want to revive the Middle Ages? Much better lost and forgotten.”

  “I assume,” said Dame Beatrice, at the dinner to which she had invited Edward and Lilian in Holdy Bay, “that you have something more in mind than the tidying-up of the castle ruins.”

  “If all goes well, we hope to embark on a partial reconstruction of the main features,” said Edward. “The landowner is willing, there is sponsorship available from a couple of learned societies, a small government grant is promised, so, if my plans are approved, Lilian and I will take it in turn to supervise the work. I am anxious that the other project shall not encroach upon ours while the reconstruction is in progress.”

  “Ah, yes, the other project. You refer, no doubt, to Mr. Tynant’s excavations. I am interested to learn that he proposes to continue them.”

  “You mean in light of the accident to poor Veryan? Yes, it might have seemed in better taste to discontinue the work, at any rate for a time.”

  “Was it generally known that Professor Veryan was an astronomer? But for that, he might still be alive.”

  “Well, yes, we did know of it. No doubt it was nothing more than a hobby. I suppose Tynant knew, and if he did he may have told Dr. Lochlure and she may have told her two women undergraduates, I suppose.”

  “Why should you think she might have mentioned it to the undergraduates?”

  “Young women in these times are very much on their guard against prowlers. To reach the keep, Veryan would have needed to pass, each night, very near to the caravan in which the young women were sleeping. Some degree of reassurance would have been advisable in case the girls were aware of footsteps in the night. The castle precincts are outside the village. My wife, I know, would have been happier for the girls to be housed in some less isolated spot.”

  “Nonsense, Edward!” said Lilian. “It was you who worried about them. I had no fears whatever on their account, particularly since Fiona Broadmayne was one of them. My sympathies would be entirely with the prowler if ever she got her powerful hands on him.”

  “‘My anxiety would be entirely for the snake,’” said Dame Beatrice, in an absent-minded way.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, no, I beg yours. I have picked up a bad habit from Laura of offering quotations in place of rational comment.”

  “What I can’t understand,” said Lilian, “is how Malpas was able not only to pass by the caravan night after night without being heard, but to enter the keep and climb that stair, also night after night, without those two young men being aware of it.”

  “Of course, nobody was in the caravan or the keep on the night of the accident,” said Edward. “All the same, as my wife points out, nobody ever seems to have heard Veryan moving about at night, so the fact that nobody was in the caravan or the keep on the night of his death appears to have no significance.”

  “We have had remarkably clear nights since we have been here,” said Lilian. “Ideal for star-gazing, I suppose. Malpas was probably on the top of the tower as soon as it was dark and before the boys came in. That part seems simple enough, but he seems to have been able to leave the keep without waking them.”

  “I have been wondering whether the police think he committed suicide,” said Edward.

  “Suicide is no longer a crime. Murder, of course, is a very different matter,” said Dame Beatrice. “When did you yourselves first think of it?”

  “At first we were too much in shock to think at all, but then—well, we are people trained to assess evidence. The others are trained, too, and so are the police. Because of that stupid quarrel between Malpas and myself, tongues have been wagging, you may be sure, and naturally, for one wants to be reasonable, we are the obvious suspects. In time of trouble, everybody is anxious to find a scapegoat.”

  “I don’t know so much,” said Laura, who, so far, had kept out of the conversation. “Looking at the thing from the point of view of a complete outsider and saving your presence and all that, would there have been much point in your getting rid of Veryan if Tynant was to be left alive to continue digging that trench?”

  “I don’t suppose any of us thought he would be carrying on with the work,” said Edward dispassionately, “so I don’t believe that argument would hold water, kind though it is of you to put it forward.”

  “It holds water so long as Tynant remains alive and does not die under suspicious circumstances,” said Lilian, “but not any longer than that.”

  “And, after all,” said Laura, “at the resumed inquest there may still be a verdict of accidental death.”

  The Saltergates drove back to Holdy village and the Horse and Cart, and Dame Beatrice and Laura settled down in a corner of the Seagull’s lounge.

  “I don’t see how
anybody could suspect those two people of murder,” said Laura.

  “Who would be your choice, then?”

  “Tynant, to get the dig to himself. Veryan obviously thought it an important one, or he would have met the Saltergates halfway instead of quarrelling with them. Of course the killer could have been Tom Hassocks, larking about and meaning no harm—”

  “Not Bonamy?”

  “I don’t want a godmother’s knife in my ribs, but, yes, and/or Bonamy, if you insist, or they may have mistaken Veryan for an unauthorised intruder. Then there are the three females. Their caravan was parked at the bottom of the mound, so any one of them—and I do not exclude the lovely Lochlure—had only to mount the rise and climb the tower to have fun and games with Veryan at the top of it. If the fun and games got out of hand, either the push over the edge could have been accidental or it could have been done a-purpose.”

  “You are not forgetting that everybody except the Saltergates has an alibi for the night of Veryan’s death, are you?”

  “Some alibis! I suppose the two girls can prove theirs, but all the others are suspect, including that of our two lads. Then there are the two workmen. They may have had a dispute with Veryan over pay or something.”

  “Tynant would have known of it and, no doubt, mentioned it as soon as it became obvious that the police had suspicions. In any case, workmen do not murder their employers; they go on strike, thus causing far more disruption than a mere death could do.”

  “Then there is Mrs. Veryan. When in doubt, blame the nearest and dearest.”

  “According to what Nicholas Tynant told Bonamy and Bonamy told us, she was on a yacht at sea at the time. Neither was she his nearest nor his dearest. She had been divorced from him for several years.”

  “I wonder, then, why she was brought along to identify the body? Tynant, or any of the others, could have done it just as well.”

  “Detective-Superintendent Mowbray has asked me for an interview. I will put the point to him tomorrow.”

  “Think he’ll tell you why he suspects murder?”

  “Yes, I am sure he will.”

  “Do you know something about this business which I don’t know?”

  “I think not, but I may suspect something which has not yet occurred to you.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Such as Professor Veryan’s telescope.”

  “Nobody has mentioned a telescope to me.”

  “If he was an astronomer, a telescope seems necessary to complete the picture. The fact that it has not been mentioned could mean one of two things: either the police think it of no importance, or they think it of such significance that they are keeping it in the background until they feel the right moment has come to mention any evidence it can produce.”

  “Suppose there wasn’t a telescope at all?”

  “Oh, but, surely, there must have been. Whatever his real purpose, he may have needed an excuse for visiting the keep at night. There was always the chance that Tom or Bonamy would wake and hear him and go up there to find out what was happening.”

  “If it was murder and somebody tumbled him over the edge, the telescope would have flown out of his hand and gone down with him. I wonder whether it was the kind you hold up to your eye, or whether he had a tripod or something of that sort?”

  “No doubt all will be revealed in due course.”

  There was a telephone call for Dame Beatrice at breakfast on the following morning. Laura took it and said, “Mrs. Veryan is on the line and ‘craves the favour of an interview.’ What shall I tell her? She says she is at the Barbican with Tynant.”

  “My appointment with Detective-Superintendent Mowbray is not until eleven. Tell her that I will see her here as soon as she can come along.”

  Laura relayed this message, returned to the table, and said, “I wonder what she wants?”

  “I would like to know whether she stands to gain anything in the way of money or property by her husband’s death,” said Dame Beatrice. “I believe there is some chance of it.”

  “They were divorced.”

  “That would not prevent her from inheriting anything he may have left to her in his will. I understand that the reasons for divorce were not acrimonious. The couple appear to have separated by mutual consent. It is quite likely that he has left her provided for.”

  “Looks nasty for her if he has. That might be the foxy police reason for bringing her into the picture by getting her to identify the body.”

  Mrs. Veryan came at a quarter to ten in a car driven by Tynant. He remained in it while the interview took place. There were a couple of men reading newspapers in the hotel lounge, but, one after the other, they soon went out and Dame Beatrice, Laura, and Grace had the room to themselves.

  “You say you need my help,” said Dame Beatrice, “but I am not yet officially connected with the case.”

  “That is my trouble. Why is there a case? Why don’t the police believe it was an accident?”

  “It was a strange accident considering that he had been on the tower more than a dozen times before. That, and the fact that the accident happened at the one time when there was nobody about, was bound to interest the police.”

  “My trouble is that I believe I gain by the death, though I may not be the only person to do so. In fact, I believe that someone may gain from my death.”

  “When did your husband publicly announce that he proposed to dig at Holdy Castle?” Dame Beatrice enquired.

  “Oh, we kept in touch through mutual friends. I know he had had the project in mind for some time. I don’t think he ever made what one would call a public announcement, but I have no doubt that he had spoken of it to his colleagues at the university and I know there was correspondence between him and the owner of the property. He was rather angry with the owner because permission was also given to Edward Saltergate for the work he wanted to do at the castle. Lilian Saltergate told me so, weeks ago.”

  “Is Mrs. Saltergate a friend of yours?”

  “I would not call her a friend; she is an acquaintance only, but I like her well enough, although I suppose if we met three times at conferences or public dinners while I was married to Malpas it was as much as happened. We were attached to different universities, you see, and, in any case, Malpas, as a full professor, moved in a somewhat different sphere from Edward’s.”

  “Would you care to tell me the terms of your husband’s will?”

  “I shall be glad to do that, when I am sure of them. But, although I may gain by his death, I have a perfect alibi, as you probably know.”

  “Then why are you worried?”

  “I dislike wagging tongues, that is all, and I am afraid the wrong person may be blamed for the accident to Malpas.”

  9

  Retractions and Explanations

  Detective-Superintendent Mowbray turned up at the Seagull with the Chief Constable, so a party of four had mid-morning drinks in the cocktail bar and then Dame Beatrice and the Chief Constable, an old acquaintance, sat in deckchairs on the sands while Laura and Mowbray, in the hotel lounge, still empty on such a fine morning, discussed the visit of Mrs. Veryan.

  “What did you make of her, Mrs. Gavin?”

  “It wasn’t up to me to make anything of her. She was Dame B.’s pigeon. My impression is that she was in a bit of a flap.”

  “Perhaps she has cause to be, ma’am. She has asked for police protection.”

  “Good heavens, why?”

  “Says she fears for her life. Whoever pushed her husband off that tower—that is, if anybody did—might have it in for her, too, she thinks, and for the same reason.”

  “That being?”

  “It’s all right confiding in you, ma’am, what with Dame Beatrice and your husband’s position at Scotland Yard. The reason being, as usual, money. It seems that Professor Veryan was well heeled. I’ve been on to his lawyers and he leaves half his property in trust to his former wife to provide her with an income and the other half to archaeological rese
arch. In the event of her death, the lot goes to the archaeologists.”

  “Well, there’s safety in numbers. If he had left it to one particular archaeologist she might have a qualm or two, but under the circumstances—”

  “One particular archaeologist was named as being the leader of an expedition on which Professor Veryan seems to have set his heart and which was to follow this one at Holdy Castle.”

  “I suppose I had better not ask—”

  “Why not, Mrs. Gavin? You, as much as Dame Beatrice, are one of us and discretion on your part is absolute as, over the years, the Force has come to know. Besides, it will come out sooner or later. The person named is, as you have guessed, I expect, Mr. Tynant.”

  “Is there any chance that Tynant could convert the money to his own use instead of spending it on this expedition?”

  “I have no details, but I’m sure it is tied up tight enough. However, there is something which is making us think a bit. The Chief Constable will be talking it over with Dame Beatrice, so there is no reason why you should not hear it as well. Those precious alibis which everybody was only too ready to produce have all gone up in smoke.”

  The Chief Constable was making the same statement, couched in different but no less expressive words, to Dame Beatrice. He had collected a selection of pebbles and he tossed them at intervals, one after another, as he talked.

  “We want you officially on this,” he said, “in your capacity as psychiatric adviser to the Home Office. On the face of it, accidental death would seem the obvious conclusion for Mowbray to come to, but he had a very good reason for asking to have the inquest adjourned while he made further enquiries.”

  “It was clear there was something which did not satisfy him. May I hazard a guess? Could it have anything to do with Professor Veryan’s telescope?”

  “Do you choose a cigar or a nice milky coconut? Do go on.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “Hotter and hotter. Well?”

  “I do not think anybody’s fingerprints have been taken by the detective-superintendent’s myrmidons, so my guess would be that there were no fingerprints on the telescope, neither Professor Veryan’s nor those of anybody else.”