Death Among the Sunbathers

by E. R. Punshon

  ‘I asked Owen that,’ Mitchell remarked. ‘One of our young men,’ he explained to Bryan, ‘we got him special from Oxford to heighten the tone of the force, same being necessary now we run in as many dukes and their like for road hogging as we do burglars and their like for other offences. Owen says it means being dressed all over the way a woman’s top half is dressed when she’s all togged up in her very best evening frock.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Ferris, considering this. ‘Oh!’ he said again.

  ‘I think, Mr Owen should be told,’ said Bryan sternly, ‘that this knowledge of the classics is incomplete and reflects no credit on the University. In puris naturalibus means without any artificial impediment to keep from the body the health-giving rays of the sun. It means that you should bathe in sun and air as you bathe in hot water in your bath at home.’

  ‘Well, why not?’ agreed Ferris, a good deal struck by the force of this argument.

  ‘Quite so,’ agreed Mitchell in his turn. ‘By the way, you have two members – a Mr Hunter and a Mr Keene, haven’t you? You know them?’

  Mr Bryan knew them both, though only as members. He had called on Mr Keene at his place of business in Deal Street, Piccadilly, and from that call had sprung Mr Keene’s membership of the society. He did not know how Mr Hunter had come to join; probably he had read of the activities of the society, or else had been recommended to join by someone. No doubt Mr Hunter could tell them which it was. Mr Bryan could not say if either Keene or Hunter or both or neither had been there to sun bathe on the day of the tragedy. They had no system at all of recording the visits of members. Members were welcome to come as often and stay as long as they wished. They could bring friends, too, though in that case they were expected to pay a small fee. There were occasionally cases of what Mr Bryan, chuckling over what he evidently considered a good joke, called ‘sun crashing’, but though that was frowned upon officially, no special precautions were taken against it. One trusted to the honour of the members, and besides the ‘sun crasher’ of today was generally the member of to-morrow. But it was certainly quite possible for a stranger to roam about the grounds unquestioned, or even to enter the canteen, or for that matter the offices on the first floor.

  ‘Or my private apartments, as far as that goes; they communicate with the office through our committee room,’ observed Mr Bryan, though looking rather puzzled. ‘Only why should they? There’s nothing to steal, and we’ve certainly missed nothing. Everything of any value is kept in the safe, and that can only be opened when Zack Dodd and myself are both present; we both have keys.’

  ‘Who is Mr Dodd?’ asked Mitchell.

  ‘Zachary Dodd? Oh, he’s my partner,’ answered Bryan with a faint scowl that seemed to suggest he would have liked to make another answer. ‘He is in charge of the gentlemen’s department – in puris naturalibus – as Miss James is of the ladies’ section.’

  ‘Another partner?’ asked Mitchell.

  ‘No, but a most trusted helper,’ answered Mr Bryan, losing his scowl at once; ‘most trusted and most useful.’

  He added, as Mitchell made a note of the two names, that though he knew no more of the two members mentioned, Messrs Hunter and Keene, than of any other of the numerous adherents of the cult he preached, yet he had noticed that they were friendly, and though they seldom arrived together, yet always seemed to be mutually aware of each other’s presence and to prefer to lie side by side as they basked in the rays of the artificial or the natural sun.

  ‘The fact is,’ confessed Mr Bryan with a melancholy shake of the head, ‘I’m afraid both smoke – I have to allow it,’ he confessed deprecatingly, ‘it’s almost as harmful as drinking tea, I’m not sure if it isn’t even worse than coffee, but people will do it, and at first one has to go slowly. But in time we’ll root tobacco out.’ He straightened himself up, he looked ready to rush headlong then and there into the fray. ‘It will be the last evil to be overcome,’ he announced.

  ‘Well, if it’s to be the last,’ murmured Mitchell, somewhat comforted by the thought that this promised it a sufficiently long life, ‘though I daresay my missus would rather tea got the last run.’

  ‘Tea?’ exclaimed Bryan, catching at the word, ‘poison – but we make a most delicious, attractive, health-giving beverage from scraped carrot and potato peelings. Miss Frankland herself admitted when she tasted it that she thought it unparalleled – absolutely unparalleled, so much so indeed that she said she would like to try it on a literary friend of hers, a critic, I gathered. I think she said he had reviewed a volume of essays she had. published recently. I asked her,’ he explained, ‘to have some refreshment with me after she had seen all she wished to see – one always tries to be civil to the Press; very powerful, the Press.’

  ‘They are indeed,’ admitted Mitchell, ‘for what the Press says to-day, the public said the day before yesterday. Then the public knows it was right all the time. After Miss Frankland had her – er – refreshment with you, you walked with her to the car park, I think, but I gather you didn’t actually see her go.’

  ‘No,’ admitted Bryan, ‘our talk had been so interesting – I felt confident she would join us before long, and of course being connected with the Press I felt she might be useful to the Cause – I had quite forgotten to notice the time till I suddenly remembered I had to call up Lord Carripore, and that unless I did so at once I should probably be too late for that day.’

  ‘Anything important?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘Oh, just a business proposition I had to put before him,’ Bryan explained. ‘So I asked Miss Frankland to excuse me – we were almost at the car park – and I hurried back to the house. The car park attendant was there to help her if necessary.’

  Mitchell asked a few more questions, but admitted that the report made by Inspector Gibbons seemed to have covered all essential points. Then he asked if he and Ferris, as they were there, could have a look round the place, and Mr Bryan appeared quite charmed, and seemed to think he was on the point of enrolling two new members. At great length he expatiated on the advantages, bodily and mental, to be secured by sun bathing, and Mitchell, who could usually talk as fast and long as any man, listened in silence and apparent interest. Nor did he challenge the assertion when Mr Bryan declared triumphantly that no one ever believed him at first when he gave his age as seventy.

  ‘My hair is white,’ he admitted, ‘that happened before I knew how to control the bleaching effect sometimes experienced. But I’m active enough, my arteries are those of a man of thirty-five. I’m as active as any young fellow I know. Up at five every morning and never in bed much before midnight, and all through sunshine bathing – in puris naturalibus when possible, and natural sunshine if possible. If not, rays from our lamp installation.’

  His flow of words went on. Indeed there was no lack of vigour and animation in his talk and gestures, and his claim that he could pass for a man not more than half the seventy years he spoke of, was one certainly well founded, though whether that was due to sunshine, carrot tea, or something else might be open to investigation. He wound up by inviting the two police officials to try an hour or two’s sun bathing then and there, since they could hardly hope for a better or a brighter day.

  ‘I have two sun bathing slips I could let you have,’ he offered eagerly, ‘unless you would prefer – in puris naturalibus?’

  Mitchell seemed inclined to accept for Ferris, and only his sense of discipline and his respect for his superior officer prevented Ferris from accepting on the spot for Mitchell. Bryan, evidently disappointed that neither acceptance materialized, urged that sun bathing was good not only for the body but also for the brain.

  ‘Many business men think out their plans here,’ he declared. ‘I am sure you would find the experience very useful for solving this dreadful mystery.’

  However Mitchell explained that he didn’t think the Assistant Commissioner would approve, not while on duty anyhow, and Bryan nodded gloomily and said he was only too familiar with official o
bscurantism and hostility towards all the great forward movements.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sybil Visits Leadeane

  Indeed this thought of official obscurantism seemed to weigh upon Mr Bryan, for he grew noticeably less talkative as the tour of inspection continued with an introduction to Miss James, the supervisor of the ladies’ section. She remembered Miss Jo Frankland’s visit only vaguely, but thought she had spent some time in the ladies’ section in puris naturalibus, and indeed could not remember that she had seen her go.

  ‘Probably she just went off when she thought she had seen enough,’ declared Miss James, who seemed to be feeling the heat of the day a good deal, and who replied to Bryan’s remark that she looked pale and ill and ought to revive herself with a sun bath, by a snappish retort that on a day like this she was getting all the heat and sun she wanted, thank you.

  A little disconcerted, Mr Bryan took an opportunity to murmur in Mitchell’s ear that unfortunately owing to a temporary – a purely temporary – shortage of cash, Miss James’s wages had not been paid quite up to date, and this delay seemed to have got on her nerves.

  ‘I think she’s worrying, not sleeping well,’ he said, ‘and she will not give the sun treatment the full trial it must have, that anything must have, to succeed.’

  Mitchell was properly sympathetic; and Miss James offered to show them over her domain, if they would wait till the establishment closed and all the members had left.

  ‘Though sometimes our lamps are going till near midnight,’ she added. ‘Business women have to come in the evenings, you understand.’

  Mitchell said he didn’t think it was necessary for them to examine the ladies’ section. There was perfectly good evidence nothing had happened to Miss Frankland up there, and though he would have liked a list of the sun bathers present during her visit, still as no record was kept, that was evidently unobtainable. He wished Miss James had been able to say how long her visit to the upper floor and roof had lasted, but it was quite understandable that Miss James, with all her multifarious duties, had never even thought of noticing the visitor’s departure. Mitchell did not consider it necessary either to visit the men’s section in puris naturalibus – as evidently Miss Frankland had not been there, but Mr Bryan thought it was a pity, for they were going to miss meeting Mr Zachary Dodd, who was the superintendent of that department.

  ‘You would see from his physique,’ said little Mr Bryan enthusiastically, ‘what sun bathing does for a man – his body, that is.’

  ‘Body only?’ asked Mitchell.

  ‘Ah,’ Bryan said quickly, ‘you’re thinking of what I said about sun bathing being good for mental activity as well. But Dodd – well, after all, the sun can’t work miracles, can it? It must have something to go on, mustn’t it?’

  Mitchell agreed gravely.

  ‘The fact is,’ declared Mr Bryan, growing confidential, ‘Dodd has a somewhat unfortunate temperament – overbearing, very overbearing. If we are not exactly making money as yet – I emphasize, as yet – what does that matter compared with the great missionary work we are carrying on? What is the good of being afraid of the future? But Dodd has a yellow streak in him, a yellow streak. There are times when I’m afraid his nerve will give way altogether, just with the strain of waiting.’

  And as the queer little man trotted along between the two big police officers, rather like a terrier on the alert for rats between two great hounds concerned only with bigger game, Mitchell was aware of an impression that anyhow there was nothing of a yellow streak in Esmond Bryan, no chance of his nerve ever breaking under any strain, whether of shortage of cash or anything else. And that Ferris had something of the same feeling was proved by his whisper as he muttered to Mitchell,

  ‘Bryan’s the sort of little blighter who’ll hang on himself till the last penny’s gone. He would preach his blessed sun baths to the very bailiffs who came to sell him up.’

  ‘So he would,’ agreed Mitchell, ‘you’re right there – though I’m not sure about the last penny.’

  They had seen enough now, however, and said so to Mr Bryan, and he regretted that he had not been able to tell them more, and Mitchell explained that often the most important thing in an inquiry of this nature was to know just that, that in such or such a quarter nothing more was to be learnt. They were close to the entrance to the car park now. Formerly it had been the stable yard, and recently one end had been roofed over with corrugated iron for a protection in bad weather. There were two openings from the yard, one the general entrance and exit at which they had now arrived, and another, a smaller one, at the further end, where a path that originally had led to the pump used for watering the horses had now been widened for the convenience of members wishing to use the west road, without having to make the turn necessary from the main road. But as this widened path was very rough, not having been properly constructed, and led through trees not yet cut down that made careful driving necessary, it was not much used.

  At the entrance to the park Mr Bryan shook hands with them and departed, remarking that on almost this exact spot he had said farewell to the unfortunate Miss Frankland, whose tragic end he so greatly deplored and the mystery enveloping which he so hoped would be soon cleared up.

  ‘The mere fact,’ he added confidentially, ‘that it was from here the unfortunate lady started on her tragic journey that ended so terribly has done us much harm – much harm.’

  ‘Too bad,’ Mitchell said, but he had not been listening, for all of them had just caught sight of a figure dodging away behind one of the buildings, between two waiting cars, as if unwilling to be seen. ‘See that? Who was that?’ Mitchell asked quickly.

  ‘Who? That man?’ asked Bryan, who had seen him too and for the moment had not looked too pleased, ‘oh, it’s only a man I’ve employed sometimes to do odd jobs. Bobs-the-Boy he calls himself.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ said Mitchell, looking very grim. ‘I thought I recognized him – what’s he doing here?’

  ‘I expect he’s come to see if there’s any work for him. I hope he’s not a bad character,’ twittered Bryan, looking quite upset. ‘I heard him speak of this institution in a most disgraceful manner the other day, so much so indeed that I had made up my mind not to employ him any more. Monkey house was the phrase he used, most offensive and intended to be offensive, though there’s no obvious connexion.’

  ‘None, of course,’ agreed Mitchell, still frowning and disturbed. ‘He’s not in your employ regularly?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ anwered Bryan, ‘only sometimes we have difficulty with the local youths. Recently we have had to send two away in succession – staring.’

  ‘Staring?’

  ‘They have unfortunately,’ explained Bryan, shaking his head a little sadly, ‘a tendency to stare – especially when young. A decent interest in our work one does not complain of, one even welcomes, but it must be decent. I mentioned the difficulty to one of the gentlemen you spoke of – Mr Hunter. He recommended this man. Quite satisfactory and very willing at first, I thought, but after what I overheard... still, he seems willing to work, and one must make allowance for the dense ignorance and prejudice others with more advantages show concerning our work. I forget his real name, though Mr Hunter did tell me, but he has a trick of saying “Bob’s the boy for that”, when he is asked to do any little job, and so he gets called “Bobs-the-Boy”. I think he hoped to get taken on as car park attendant, but of course that’s quite impossible now, and besides Wilson gives every satisfaction, if only he would free himself from his degrading habits.’

  ‘What are those?’ asked Mitchell.

  ‘He drinks beer,’ answered Bryan sadly, ‘several members too have complained that an odour... on several occasions... disgusting.’

  ‘Don’t know how a man can do it,’ said Ferris severely, and then Bryan shook hands again and departed for the house, while Wilson himself, the car park attendant, an old soldier with only one leg, the other having been lost at Loos, came forwar
d to show them their car where Jacks, their chauffeur, dozed comfortably in his seat at the wheel.

  Mitchell produced a liberal tip, asked Wilson a few questions, found he had no more to say than he had told his previous questioner, Inspector Gibbons, and confirmed that while he remembered Miss Frankland arriving in her Bayard Seven, and remembered her parking her car under the corrugated-iron roofing as rain seemed threatening, he had not been there when she left, as he had been sent for to the house to deal with a leaking tap that was threatening to produce a flood in the basement.

  ‘Someone had been up to something with it,’ he said. ‘Some of them boys from the village up to their tricks.’

  It was not, he explained, that Mr Bryan and his associates were in any way unpopular in the village, but some of the youngsters there were inclined to think the sun bathing fraternity fair game for any bit of mischief, and no doubt some of them had thought it would be good fun to try to produce a flood in the Grange, with a vague idea that cold water bathing would be a pleasant substitute for sun bathing.

  Mitchell seemed interested in this bit of boyish mischief. He wanted to know if there was any lad in particular whom Wilson suspected, but Wilson would give no names, apparently a little afraid that any boy he mentioned would be marched off to penal servitude then and there. In fact it soon appeared he had no reason for his suspicions of the village lads, except for the fact that the tap had certainly been tampered with, and that every one knows how intimate is the connexion between a bit of mischief and a boy.

  So Mitchell thanked him and went on with Ferris to their car, where Jacks woke up on their approach and got down to open the car door for them.

  ‘Funny business, that,’ Mitchell observed abruptly, wakening from the silence into which Wilson’s tale or something else had plunged him.

  ‘Yes, sir, very,’ agreed Ferris. ‘Which did you mean, sir?’ he thought it prudent to add for fear of further questions. ‘About that leaking tap,’ Mitchell explained.