“Yes, Sergeant Ranger, I did—my eyesight isn’t too far gone just yet, thank you.” Delphick favoured Bob with an austere smile. “Lilikot—that’s the Nuts, I take it, longing to pin something on us, or Miss Seeton. They must know we’ve been to see her this evening. Let’s try not to give them anything further to gossip about. No police brutality, Bob, no third degree when the Manudens answer the door, or we shall never hear the end of it.”
But, though they knocked at the door of Ararat Cottage three times, leaving sufficient space between each knocking for anyone, no matter how occupied, to interrupt themselves and answer, there came no reply. “It’s a lovely evening,” said Bob rather wistfully, looking at the sunset and thinking of Anne. “Maybe they’ve gone somewhere for a drink.” He brightened. “Should I slip round the back and check things out? If this bunker’s already been cleared for action, then I might be able to—”
“Good heavens, no. Have you had a touch of the sun? We don’t want our friendly neighbourhood snoops reporting us for trespass, thank you, Sergeant Ranger, adopted son of Plummergen though you may be. I doubt if even the influence of your respected father-in-law would prevent serious charges being laid at our door if we take one step beyond this one.” Delphick knocked once more, halfheartedly, then turned, and led the way back down the path, while the curtains of Lilikot twitched behind him.
Next morning, they were enjoying the George and Dragon’s traditional English breakfast when Doris, the head waitress, came bustling over to interrupt the discussion with Maureen, her junior colleague, as to the merits of a second pot of coffee. Doris was clearly full of news, and addressed Chief Superintendent Delphick in a breathless voice.
“You’re wanted on the telephone, sir. Superintendent Brinton, from Ashford—that’ll be about the Sherry business yesterday, I reckon.”
Delphick paused in the act of rising from his chair, and favoured Doris with a curious look. “Yesterday? Sherry?” Bob Ranger blinked, but said nothing. Doris smirked with all Plummergen’s traditional pity for the ignorance of foreigners concerning the efficiency of its grapevine.
“Bert told me all about it when he brought today’s post. Another Sherry case, he said, Brettenden again, just like the local paper wrote, help some poor soul home with their shopping and then force poisoned drink down their innocent throats.” Doris drew in a deep breath of scandalised enjoyment. “Wicked, I call it, and a crying shame, with Scotland Yard almost on the very spot and powerless to help, we could all be murdered in our beds next and nothing done about it.”
“No such luck,” murmured Delphick, just too low for her to be sure what he’d said, and before she could beg pardon and ask for a repeat, he was gone to the telephone. Maureen was dismissed, with regrets that the second pot of coffee must go unordered, by Bob, who nodded thanks to Doris for having brought the message, and addressed himself to eating the last piece of toast before hurrying after his superior.
He arrived in time to hear Delphick uttering farewells and promises that he would be with Superintendent Brinton just as soon as possible, “Though we’ll call on Miss Seeton first, I think. I want to see if she’s managed to come up with anything now she’s had time to brood.”
They were in a hurry, and as they strode across The Street to Sweetbriars their hurry was apparent to everyone. Behind windows, as eyes followed their progress, mental shopping-lists were being put together. No sooner had the door of Old Mrs. Bannet’s opened to admit the two policemen than Plummergen collected purses and shopping baskets, and made haste to the post office, eager to comment on this latest episode. The substitute Miss Seeton was entertaining her bosses again—something must be happening, and Plummergen wanted to know, or to speculate in company, what that something might be.
Miss Seeton had only just finished her yoga exercises and was feeling the healthy glow of physical well-being coupled with mental refreshment which the book-jacket had promised her, when Delphick rapped politely on the door. Really, the unfortunate events of yesterday—the wrong bus, so very embarrassing, and those people with helmets and guns, rather dangerous—were put entirely into perspective now. One was confident that they could be banished from one’s memory as the unimportant matters that they were, mere interruptions to the ordered way of life one was thankful to resume. With a delighted smile, she welcomed the two detectives into the house, and offered them tea, or coffee, and perhaps a slice of gingerbread, if they had time. Then she caught the look in Delphick’s eye, and wondered if this was rather a business call and should she just listen while the chief superintendent explained?
“We’re hopeful that you’ve managed to produce another of your sketches,” Delphick told her. “You did, didn’t you? Last night, after we’d gone? I’d like to see it.”
Miss Seeton stifled a little sigh: she’d so hoped that it was over and done with, though of course one understood that one had a duty to perform, but it had all been slightly disturbing and one would prefer to be allowed to forget it. She led the way through to the sitting room, and withdrew her portfolio from behind the sofa, hoping that Mr. Delphick would not notice the smudge of crushed charcoal which, even with a dustpan and stiff brush, poor Martha had been still unable to remove. What a pity the vacuum cleaner had broken! But Mr. Spellbrook had said he expected his van to be delivering in the area soon, and so, though it worried poor Martha not to have Sweetbriars looking spotless, it should be only a few days more until once more it did.
Miss Seeton undid her portfolio, then turned to Delphick and said hesitantly: “I’m not at all sure—that is, I hope you will not be disappointed as Mr. Brinton was. But I fear I was unable to—nothing different, you see, it seems that the two—somehow, I’m afraid, instead of being separate I seem to have—I don’t understand why, but I’ve muddled both cases together and they will mean nothing now. I am so very sorry. Perhaps it would be best—”
But before she could close the portfolio, Delphick held out his hand and said, firmly, “I’d still like to look at what you’ve drawn, please. Artists aren’t often the best judges of their own work, remember, or the best interpreters either. That’s why I’m here . . .”
The pirate chief still brandished her cutlass, and her earrings dangled bravely, but instead of her headscarf she now sported a tin helmet, which somehow gave a much clearer view of her face; and the barrel of spirits was gone from beneath her booted foot. It appeared to have been commandeered by the crew, the foremost of whom also wore tin helmets instead of scarves, who were clustered about the foot of the mast. Evidently they had just hoisted the skull and crossbones, which fluttered defiantly over a searchlight on the deck beneath, and in celebration of this bold act had broached the barrel; their hands, emerging from the hatched and cross-hatched shadows, held glasses and, a few clearly more greedy than their fellows, bottles. The searchlight’s beam pierced the darkling sky to throw the figure of the pirate chief into stark relief, and the skull on the flag above her head grinned a wide, evil grin above the white crossed bones.
Delphick drew in his breath, and shook his head slowly as he studied Miss Seeton’s sketch. For once, he found it hard to say anything, and so at first said nothing at all. Miss Seeton looked quickly and apologetically at Bob, who was staring over his chief’s shoulder. She’d tried to tell them—she’d really done her best, but all it seemed she’d achieved was to combine the two cases, the unpleasant Sherry Gang and those unexpected Dick Turpins, as the newspapers called them, and she was sure the chief superintendent must have expected something rather more, well, helpful, from her—in much the same way as poor Superintendent Brinton, who had been so disappointed but too polite to say so.
“Interesting,” Delphick said at last, “but puzzling—no two-women-plus-one-man this time. Is that because there’s no further need to point out the coincidence, or . . . ?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Miss Seeton at last, Bob still staring and saying nothing. Aunt Em’s—Miss Seeton’s—MissEss’s drawings had never made
much particular sense to him, barring that sketch she’d done of him in football kit running along behind herself as the Red Queen. Anne laughed every time she looked at it where it was framed and hanging in pride of place in their little sitting room, and said it looked exactly like him. But the Oracle usually understood what her instinct was trying to make clear, and it wasn’t like him not to have even a suggestion of what was going on. But he seemed pleased, anyway . . .
“Thank you very much, Miss Seeton,” Delphick said, as the pirate sketch joined its fellows in his folder. “I’ll be letting Chris Brinton take a look at it, and maybe with the other two one of us will work out what it’s all about.”
“Oh, dear.” Miss Seeton cast another anxious look at Bob. “I haven’t been of any help after all, have I? I was so afraid that might be the case. And with these unpleasant people still at large, how worried you must be. I’m sorry.”
“Three heads are better than two, Miss Seeton, so don’t worry about a thing,” Delphick told her. “I have a feeling that once Chris Brinton sees the three at once, he’s going to tell us it means something to him—or there’s always the outside chance, I know,” with a grimace at the silent Bob at his shoulder, “that I myself might make sense of it, though my sergeant, I can tell, has his doubts.” As Bob was starting to splutter, Delphick spoke on over his protests. “He’s pretending to deny it, of course, but I know how his mind—such as it is—works, you see. I’d better remove it, and him, and myself, from your presence, and carry on to Ashford for an honest day’s work.”
The Oracle might well have been stumped by that picture, Bob thought as the farewells were being spoken, but if he had it didn’t seem to bother him too much. Maybe he’d seen more in it than he was letting on. In which case, why the pretence? Miss Seeton was far too conscientious to chatter about police business or to let valuable information slip in careless talk. But when Delphick flannelled, there was often some good reason for it . . .
“May I ask, sir, what Mr. Brinton had to say?” enquired Bob as soon as they were in the car en route to Ashford. “I know it was another Sherry case, but—”
“Ah, Doris, of course. Well, Doris was wrong, for once: the grapevine occasionally is, you know.” Delphick coughed. “Mr. Brinton was very agitated, Sergeant Ranger. There were two Sherry incidents yesterday, both of which have only just come to light. No deaths, fortunately, though one isn’t too good and has gone to hospital. Her Home Help found her, and I hope we haven’t got another RSM Brent on our hands. We’ll be keeping in close touch with the quacks. The other old girl’s more resilient, but even so it’s as nasty a case as ever. Both old people nodded off in their chairs in the afternoon, it seems, and when they woke up popped themselves to bed without wondering what had happened. Apparently they both have a tendency to these little lapses, so it didn’t surprise them.”
“Not very nice, sir,” said Bob. “They always manage to pick people who live on their own, don’t they, sir? Careful questioning of the likely victims before they decide to go ahead, I suppose. If I could only get my hands on them—”
“You’d pop them in a cell before they could say sleeping tablets,” Delphick interrupted him. The sergeant was starting to sound as if he took this as a personal matter: he was probably envisaging each victim as somebody he knew, which wasn’t altogether wise. No sense in becoming a crusader and getting too involved. You had to remain calm and detached and clear-headed enough to follow up clues. Delphick didn’t want Bob up on a charge of assaulting a suspect, whether or not he sympathised with the action.
“Mind you, sir, if they ever had a go at Miss Seeton, do you suppose they’d get away with it? She’d probably set her umbrella on them and tie ’em up with ribbon for us to arrest all nice and tidy. Something seems to look after her,” Bob said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself.
Delphick frowned. Better take the lad’s mind off it all by asking: “And, talking of Miss Seeton, any more constructive thoughts on all this, Sergeant Ranger? Perhaps taking into account the statements she’s made for us?”
“You know I can never make sense of those pictures of hers the way you can, sir. The only thought that comes to mind is that it must be costing them a fortune in sherry—and a waste of good liquor, too. That is, if they’re still leaving the full bottle behind?”
“Carefully wiped,” agreed Delphick with a nod. “Defiant—flamboyant—blatant, these people. No wonder she keeps seeing ’em as pirates, Bob. But what, I wonder,” mused the chief superintendent, “is the World War Two connec—damn!”
“Sir?” It wasn’t like the Oracle to start cursing when, so far as Bob could see, nothing had happened.
“It’s too late now—I don’t want to waste time turning back. But in all the excitement I forgot about dropping in on the Manudens again, to see if we could have a guided tour of their air-raid shelter. Perhaps this evening, when we’ve finished our business for the day. But now I want to get on to Ashford as soon as possible. Maybe this time, with what we got from Miss Seeton, we might just manage to crack the Sherry Gang case, even if the Dick Turpins are still something of an unknown quantity . . .”
“The only thing we know about ’em,” Superintendent Brinton grumbled, “is that they must have a pretty good knowledge of local highways and byways. Look at how they manage to disappear so fast once they’ve committed the robberies. Unless they’re taking themselves off in a helicopter, they’re scuttling back to their lair along the sort of minor roads that even the Ordnance Survey hasn’t got properly mapped. Which to my mind means they’ve got to be locals. My lads are pretty quick at blocking roads once the alarm’s been raised, and so,” grudgingly, “are the Sussex lot, who’ve had their fair share of the fun, as well.”
“Do you mean Harry Furneux and his crew?” said Delphick with a grin. “I don’t know so much about Fiery Furnace. I imagine he must be fairly sizzling by now.”
“He’s not the only one. I make it six Turpin incidents in a couple of weeks, and we’re not into summer yet. When the real tourists start arriving, we’ll have even worse problems if we haven’t caught the blighters. I had real hopes of Miss Seeton, but . . .” Brinton’s voice tailed off as he watched Delphick carefully remove three sketches from a large cardboard folder and lay them on his desk. Two of them he recognised: the third, he stared at.
“She’s muddled the two cases together, poor old biddy,” he decided after a cursory glance. “It’s all getting too much for her. She’s beginning to dwell in the past the way a lot of these lonely old folk do—the way they like to get chatting to complete strangers just for the company,” with a reminder to his visitors of the official reason for their visit. “Which the Sherry Gang are all too ready to exploit, and their luck’s holding a sight too well for my liking. If people only read the local papers and used their noddles, we might not have two more unhappy old ladies this morning, and one of ’em in hospital, poor soul. She’ll live, but it was touch and go for a while, the quacks tell me. I’d love to feel their collars, but without any sort of clue . . .”
He looked again at Miss Seeton’s sketches and sighed. “Pirates and the second world war,” he muttered. “Poor old biddy.”
“If Miss Seeton suggests there’s a connection between the two cases, I’m inclined to believe her,” Delphick said. “And I’m sure there’s a clue here, somewhere. She’s never let us down in the past.”
“When she was younger, perhaps. But everyone starts to tail off after a while, Oracle—you and me and even your young giant here,” with a brisk grin in Bob’s direction, “as the delights of married life begin to wear him down and the price of booze, as he’s already discovered, keeps going up and up, and it costs him more to forget his misery. Maybe Miss Seeton isn’t completely gaga yet, but just look at the way she’s just taken elements of the two cases and muddled them together. A jolly enough picture, I suppose, but . . .”
“Muddled is the word she herself used, so it shows your minds are working along the
same lines,” Delphick said with a bleak smile. “And together, yes, but it’s not simply the two original sketches combined. There’s no air-raid shelter this time, for instance—”
“Hardly surprising, on board a pirate ship.”
“Since when have Miss Seeton’s sketches ever been noted for verisimilitude? They display nothing so much as her own peculiar logic. According to her lights, this does all make some kind of sense, if we could only interpret it. She must have felt there was a good reason for altering a few of the details, for instance, even if she doesn’t know what it could be.” Delphick remembered the adjective applied by his Ashford colleague to Miss Seeton’s third sketch. “This ship is flying the Jolly Roger now, whereas before—”
“By heaven, so she is!” Brinton reached forward and snatched up the third sketch, examining it closely for the first time. “The Jolly Roger. Oracle, make Miss Seeton my apologies, because I think the old girl’s got it! You were babbling earlier about your sergeant’s views on the cost of booze—saying it must cost ’em a fortune to buy the stuff if they’re chucking away a full bottle each time—said it would be cheaper by the case than by single bottles, didn’t we, and wondered where they got the stuff from.
“There is a pub,” said Superintendent Brinton in a voice that throbbed with suppressed excitement, “called the Jolly Roger—and they have a large off-licence trade. Booze by the bottle or crate or case, sale or return . . . And there can’t be too many people buying sherry by the case, if you ask me. But the one who’d know for sure,” he burst out, and leaped to his feet, “is the landlord. Come on, what are you both waiting for? Let’s go and buy Miss Seeton a bottle of her favourite tipple, and toast her success!”
chapter
~21~
“ARTHUR,” SAID MISS Treeves, “I have just come from the post office, where I heard something rather foolish. Now, I know you’ll say—” the vicar’s sister spoke drily—“that foolish talk is nothing unusual in this village, but I do feel you should go over to Sweetbriars and see if you can put matters straight before it all gets out of hand. I’d go myself, but you know I have three committees today.”
Miss Seeton Cracks the Case (A Miss Seeton Mystery Book 9) Page 17
