Manna from Hades

by Carola Dunn

  “I get the picture.”

  “I took it back to the stockroom and opened it. Megan, it was full of jewelry!”

  “Jewelry!” Megan nearly dropped the saucer she was drying. “You’re not serious!”

  “Absolutely, dear. It must be paste, of course, or whatever artificial gems are made of these days, but still quite valuable, and so very generous of someone. But such a trouble! We aren’t allowed to accept that sort of thing without proof of ownership and all sorts of paperwork. Joce always deals with it so I’m not sure exactly what’s needed. And it had appeared out of thin air without even a name to go with it.”

  “So you tucked it away in a corner of the stockroom and forgot about it?” Detective Sergeant Pencarrow asked in incredulous horror.

  “Of course not. Do give me credit for a modicum of common sense!” Eleanor said quite crossly. “I took it upstairs and locked it in the safe.”

  “In your flat? There’s a safe in your flat?”

  “I had it built in when I bought the place and remodelled it. These old cottages have pretty thick walls, you know. Joce thought it would be a good idea, safer than in the shop. We’ve both been very careful never to tell a soul about it. I expect that’s why I forgot to mention it to the inspector, besides being sure he’d find it, used to searching places as he must be. Only it seems he didn’t, or he’d have asked me to open it, wouldn’t he?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “And I’m afraid he’ll be rather annoyed, with me for not telling him, and with himself for not finding it. So, you see, I’m very glad it’s you who came this morning and I’ve been able to tell you, instead of him.” She handed over the last plate and started to scrub the frying pan.

  Automatically drying the plate, Megan said, “You’re going to have to tell him, too. This is going to change everything. It’s the first hint we’ve had of a significant motive for the break-in! He won’t be satisfied with hearing it from me, you know. Besides, he’s going to have a lot of questions. There’s no point me asking them. You’d only have to repeat the answers. I’d better go and ring him right away.”

  “If you must, dear,” said Eleanor with a sigh.

  “He just about blew my socks off,” Megan reported, “as if it was my fault! You’re to wait here, Aunt Nell. It’s more of an order than a request. While the inspector is on his way from Launceston, I’ve got to show the photo of the victim to anyone and everyone I can find, so I’ll come and fetch you when I see his car at the shop. Please don’t go anywhere or talk to anyone.”

  Jocelyn stiffened. “I assume Mr Scumble doesn’t propose to put me under house arrest also? I have parish business to be seen to.”

  “It’s not house arrest, Mrs Stearns, just a . . . well, just he’s going to be even more upset if Aunt Nell isn’t available when he gets here. He didn’t actually say anything about you.”

  “Then I shall go about my lawful occasions, whatever that’s supposed to mean. You may take it that I don’t intend to discuss the case with anyone.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Stearns,” Megan said meekly.

  Jocelyn went off about her lawful occasions and Megan went off to trudge up and down the street, footpaths, and alleyways of Port Mabyn, wielding the victim’s photograph. Eleanor found a pile of mending waiting to be done and set about sewing a button on one of the Reverend Stearns’ best shirts, hoping her stitches would be neat enough to satisfy her meticulous friend. Probably not, as her mind kept wandering to the best way to present her story to the inspector.

  Megan returned looking gloomy. “I’ve been round half the village and no one admits to ever having seen him. Not that all that many were at home. The inspector’s arrived. We’d better not keep him waiting.”

  Leaving Teazle with the vicar, Eleanor was escorted down the hill to her flat. On the way, several people greeted her and started expressing their sympathy and asking questions. Some were neighbours; others, wielding notebooks and cameras, were obviously reporters. Megan hustled her along, repeating “No comment,” and not letting her aunt say anything more than “Good morning.”

  Scumble was already in the flat. He had taken Nick’s picture off the wall, exposing the safe.

  “Oldest trick in the world,” he grumbled. “I’d have found it in a second if I’d imagined for a moment that you had one. I don’t suppose by any chance you remember the combination?”

  Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Eleanor thought, though for Megan’s sake she didn’t say it aloud. “Certainly,” she replied. “It’s—”

  “Don’t tell me!” He held up both hands to forestall her revelation. “Just open the blood . . . the blasted thing.”

  Eleanor complied. Scumble flashed his torch into the dim recess. Gold gleamed; gems sparkled and glittered in a myriad colours.

  “Ye gods!” the inspector exclaimed. “No wonder someone tried to get in last night!”

  “He did?” Eleanor was shocked. “What happened? He didn’t get in?”

  “I had men watching front and back, hidden. He came down the path at the back. When he stopped at your door, the silly bug—fool posted there tried to jump him and got caught up in a blackthorn bush. “

  “Oh dear, I hope he wasn’t too badly scratched.”

  “Not badly enough for my liking,” Scumble said grimly. “He swears he didn’t swear aloud, but the intruder obviously heard him and ran off.”

  “Megan, you didn’t tell me.”

  “I should hope not,” said Scumble, “after I expressly forbade it. And you’re not to say a word either, Mrs Trewynn. I’ve only told you because you live here and you should be on your guard. If I read about it in the local rag—or anywhere else for that matter—”

  “They won’t hear it from me,” Eleanor assured him.

  “That I can believe. You don’t talk half enough to suit me. How could you forget about this stuff? There’s a fortune in there. If they’re real.”

  “They can’t be, surely. Our donors are generous, but . . .” Words failed her.

  “Not that generous,” Scumble finished for her. “Smells pretty fishy, if you ask me. All right, they’ll be safe in there for the moment.” He closed the door and spun the lock. “They’ll have to be appraised by an expert p.d.q. Is there a jeweller in the village? And I don’t mean an artsy-craftsy type turning out pretties for the tourists. A real pro.”

  “Not in Port Mabyn. I don’t know—I expect you’d have to go to Camelford, or Bodmin, or even Launceston.”

  “Pencarrow, get on the radio to HQ and have them ring up Castle Jewellers in Launceston. See if their Mr Hobbes will come out and give this stuff a look-over. Say someone can give him a lift over here if necessary.”

  “Yes, sir.” Megan went out.

  Her footsteps retreated down the stairs. Without her, the room seemed to shrink, and Scumble’s alarming bulk to take up more space.

  TEN

  Abandoned to DI Scumble’s tender mercies, Eleanor decided sops to Cerberus was a good idea. “May I offer you a cup of tea or coffee, Inspector?”

  “Thank you, I don’t mind if I do. Coffee would hit the spot nicely as long as you can talk at the same time.”

  “It’s just instant, not anything complicated.”

  “That’s fine. Tell me how the jewelry came into your possession.”

  “I went out collecting donations on Tuesday afternoon,” said Eleanor, filling the electric kettle. From the kitchen, she could see Megan getting into the police car below. “Not in the village; out in the country, so I took the Incorrupt—my car. When I got back—”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve remembered what time that was?” he asked without hope.

  “The sun was setting, but that’s as close as I can get. Didn’t I tell you that already?”

  “It’ll have to do. Go on.”

  “I parked just outside the shop, partly on the pavement, I’m afraid, but I was unloading, so it’s allowed, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not in the traffic divi
sion,” he said dryly.

  “What a pity. I really ought to find out if it’s legal.” Seeing his face begin to purple, she hastened to continue. “Teazle—my dog—jumped down. Milk, no sugar, isn’t it?”

  “Black, please. Is the dog germane to your story?”

  “Yes, in a way.” The kettle clicked off and Eleanor poured boiling water into the two cups, stirring to make sure the powder dissolved. “You see, she was in the back seat, sitting on top of the bundle of donated clothes under which I found the jewelry. They were in a polythene bag so she couldn’t have damaged them.”

  “Now let’s get this straight: You parked the car, possibly illegally, and the dog jumped down. Did she go out of the window?”

  “She’d never do that. Here you are. Won’t you have a seat?” Anything to stop him towering over her.

  “Thanks.” He took the mug, sipped—his mouth must be lined with asbestos—and sat down. “You opened the car door,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Which side? Which way were you facing?”

  “The wrong way,” Eleanor confessed. “Is that illegal too? People seem to do it all the time.”

  “I am not—”

  “—concerned with traffic control. I know. Sorry. The driver’s-side door. I got out and told Teazle to come. Oh, I put the seat-back down. . . . No, that was afterwards. Teazle jumped from the back onto the driver’s seat and down, and I let her into the passage. She’s terribly good. She just goes upstairs out of the way while—”

  “You unlocked the door into the passage?”

  Eleanor racked her brains. “I’m still not sure,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he muttered.

  “I turned back to the car. That’s when I put the seat-back down and took out the bag of clothes.”

  “Hold on. Was your passenger-side window open?”

  “Yes, it was a beautiful afternoon.”

  “Was your back turned to the car for long enough for someone to insert the jewelry under the clothes?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose so, if they were quick. But there were a few people about. The street wasn’t deserted. Someone would surely have noticed.”

  “Hmm. All right, go on.”

  “Where was I? Oh yes, I took the clothes and the jewelry back to the stockroom, then, when I saw how valuable it looked, I brought the jewelry up here and put it in the safe. By the time I went down again, Donna and the little Chins were—”

  “The what?”

  “What on earth do you mean, the ‘what?’ ”

  “Little chins . . . Oh, the kids!”

  “Ivy and Lionel, from the Chinese. Such dear children. They often help me, as does Donna. You always hear about teenagers being difficult, and one must admit she—Well, never mind. Then Nick came to see if there was anything heavy to carry. Nicholas Gresham, from next door.”

  “The artist whose shin met the table, who carried the boxes of books in.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you tell him, or anyone else, about the jewelry?”

  “Good gracious no!” She paused before continuing guiltily, “Not then. I was afraid it might turn out to be a mistake, so embarrassing to everyone to have it known and then to have to give it back . . . I did tell Jocelyn—Mrs Stearns. She had to know because it was shop business, but I didn’t mention it even to her until yesterday afternoon. Earlier, we had other things on our minds.”

  “Quite. So you did tell Mr Gresham at some point?”

  “At tea-time yesterday. He said we must tell you immediately.”

  “And quite right he was. So why have I only just been informed?”

  “Because of the drawing of the boy’s injury, and Nick’s and Jocelyn’s bruises. We were all thinking about the table, and the jewelry simply got lost in the shuffle. “

  Scumble heaved a heavy sigh. “I’ll accept that, as a working hypothesis.”

  “Later, I was about to tell you when you decided to call it a day.”

  He had the grace to look discomfited, for a fraction of a second. “What happened after all your booty was stowed in the stockroom?”

  “I’ve already told you about that. Nick invited me out to supper as he’d sold a painting, and then he took the car down to my garage. It’s just a shed, down in the parking lot by the stream.”

  “Locked?”

  “Padlocked. Usually, when the car is there. But the jewels weren’t put in the car in the shed. Earlier, I mean, before I went out in it. I couldn’t possibly have helped noticing when I took it out, or at least when Teazle got into the back. Or when I put in the first donation I picked up. Boxes from Mrs Prendergast. The flat kind, you know, dress boxes. I would have seen—”

  “I suppose so. We’ll have to check the car for fingerprints. The key is on the ring we’ve got?”

  “Yes, the one that’s obviously a padlock key.”

  “Right, let’s get back to this collecting trip of yours. Where exactly did you go?”

  Eleanor told him whom she had visited that day and what they had given her. She never had any difficulty remembering people, nor the proceeds of their kindness and generosity. The order in which she had called on them was another matter. “Is it important?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Can give me their addresses?”

  “They’re all in my address book, in my desk.” She went over to the flap-top desk in the corner, carefully placed where she could look out over the inlet while she wrote letters. “Here. Though the addresses may not help you very much. Most of them are tucked away in odd nooks in the landscape. I can try to give you directions, but you know how it is—after a while one goes by landmarks more than by anything so precise as ‘turn left at the next crossroads’ and ‘bear right where the lane forks.’ ”

  “We’ll find them.”

  “You aren’t going to . . . to accuse them of anything, are you?” Eleanor was thinking how the arrival of the police would upset Miss Willis and Miss Annabel.

  “Donating to a charity is not a crime, Mrs Trewynn. We have to find out whether any of these people put the jewelry in your car, whether accidentally or deliberately.”

  “Yes, of course. Could you possibly send Meg—Detective Sergeant Pencarrow—to question the Willises? They’re elderly, you see, and they won’t get so flustered if it’s not a uniformed policeman.”

  “I can’t promise. I may not be able to spare her.”

  Eleanor decided to regard this as a victory of sorts. At least he had acknowledged that Megan was more use to him than a common-or-garden bobby. Megan, who clearly felt unappreciated, would be pleased to hear of the inspector’s concession.

  Megan returned to the flat just then. Eleanor managed to restrain herself from passing on the good news at once.

  “Mr Hobbes is on his way, sir.”

  Scumble nodded. “You grew up around here, didn’t you?”

  “At the other end of the county, actually, sir.”

  He dismissed this with a wave. “Do you know where these places are?” He handed over the list of names and addresses.

  Megan read it with dismay. “Not really, sir. Even with a map, the lanes are pretty confusing in places, but I expect I can find them.”

  “Good. Take Dawson and ask ‘em all what they donated to LonStar the day before yesterday. Ask particularly about anything valuable, but don’t specify jewelry. You might as well see if anyone can put a time to Mrs Trewynn’s call,” he added pessimistically, “though I can’t see what good it’ll do us if they can. You made a note of everyone in Port Mabyn you’ve shown that photo to?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Give your notes to Pardoe. He can finish that up. And take a copy of the picture to show all these people you’re going to run to earth in their rural retreats.”

  “Uh, some of these places probably don’t get wireless reception, sir. If they haven’t heard about the murder, should I tell them why I’m making enquiries?”


  “No! Least said, soonest mended.” He turned a ferocious scowl on Eleanor. “Which doesn’t apply to witnesses.”

  “ ‘I tell thee everything I can,’ ” said Eleanor. “ ‘There’s little to relate.’ ”

  Scumble gave her a look of utter incomprehension. Oh dear, she thought, he wasn’t brought up on Lewis Carroll. Now he would think her battier than ever. But the image the quotation brought to her mind—an aged, aged man a-sitting on a gate—reminded her of something she hadn’t related.

  “It wasn’t a gate,” she said, as Megan, who surely was acquainted with the White Knight, made her escape. “It was a stile. I went for a walk on the cliffs.”

  “That afternoon,” the inspector said flatly. “After picking up the goods?”

  “Yes. It was a beautiful day. I parked in a lay-by, well off the road.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it. Did you by any chance lock the car?”

  “Well, no. As a matter of fact, I left the keys in the lock, so, you see, I did mean to do it. But I heard a car coming, so I checked to make sure Teazle was well out of the way.”

  “Did you recognise the car?” he rapped out. “What make, year, colour? I suppose there’s no hope of your having noted the licence plate.”

  “It was a panda car, actually. Or don’t you like people calling them that? A police car. Bob Leacock’s police car.”

  “PC Leacock’s police car. The local officer.”

  “That’s right. Such a nice young man. He stopped to make sure I hadn’t broken down and we passed the time of day. Then he drove on and I climbed up onto the stile. Teazle went underneath. It was a wooden one, not one of those with stone steps built into a wall. That kind I have to lift her over, which is all very well if you have a small dog but how people manage . . . Sorry! Where was I?”

  “On top of the stile, I believe. The wooden stile.”

  Sarcasm again. Eleanor was quite indignant. After all, she had apologised for rambling. She was almost tempted to tell him she couldn’t remember what had happened next. He’d certainly believe her. But not only would that be childish, the more she thought about it, the more obvious it seemed that the loot must have been put into the Incorruptible while she was walking across the field.