Everybody was now looking at her. Eliza’s impression that she was enjoying herself deepened, so did Eliza’s disapproval.
Crisp said with restraint,
“You are not being asked to swear to anything. I am asking you whether you heard a cry.”
Miss Cassy said in a bright voice,
“I couldn’t possibly say whether it was a seagull.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Now, Inspector, you mustn’t try and catch me. I didn’t say it was in the middle of the night. I woke up, I heard this cry, and I went to sleep again. I had no opportunity of consulting my watch, which was on the dressing-table.”
“I suppose you know whether it was dark?”
“Oh, quite dark. Quite, quite dark.”
“Then it wasn’t a seagull.”
“But it might have been a bat,” said Cassy Remington.
“A bat!” The Inspector’s restraint was wearing thin. The word came out with a snap.
“Oh, yes, Inspector. You may not be aware of the fact that bats have quite a sharp cry. It is so high in the scale that most people are unable to hear it. I happen to be one of the exceptions.”
Crisp tapped with his pencil in an exasperated manner.
“You woke in the dark at some time which you cannot fix, and you heard something which may or may not have been a human cry.”
Miss Cassy jingled her chain.
“Of course it may have been a cat. They come here after Mactavish.”
Crisp pounced on the name.
“Mactavish?”
“Our cat, Inspector-a very fine half-Persian.”
It is probable that Mactavish heard his name. He obliged with a dramatic entry, walking in through the open door, his tail held high and all his orange fur fluffed out. Seeing his whole family assembled, and not caring for the manner of it, he surveyed the strange man at the table with hauteur, opened his mouth in a soundless mew of protest, and went disdainfully back down the two shallow steps into the sunny garden.
The Inspector rapped.
“You heard something in the nature of a cry. Did you hear any sound of movement in the house? Did you hear Miss Adrian leave her room? I don’t mean when you were all going to bed, but later when the house had settled down.”
She shook her head regretfully.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so-only this cat, or bat, or whatever it was.”
He swung round on Penny, who had not moved at all.
“You, Miss Halliday-did you hear anything outside or in?”
She said, “No.”
Her face was bloodless under its tan. He could only just hear the word. Well, thank God everyone wasn’t a gas-bag. He swung back again.
“Mrs. Brand, your room looks the other way, but you could have heard sounds in the house. Did you hear anything at all?”
She sat there stout and shapeless in the black dress with the brown and red pattern which looked like smears of mud and red ink. Her large smooth face, usually of an even pallor, was considerably flushed. Her prominent brown eyes were fixed in an angry stare. She had a linen handkerchief in her hand, and every now and then she fanned herself with it. She said in her heavy voice,
“No, I didn’t hear anything.”
“Mr. Felix Brand’s room is next to yours. Did you hear him leave it?”
“No. I am a sound sleeper.”
He made an abrupt movement.
“Well, that’s everyone on this side of the house-Miss Adrian being dead and Mr. Felix Brand missing. I’ll now take the next-door people. Miss Brand-did you hear anything?”
Marian returned his look with a steady one.
“I don’t know, Inspector. I woke up suddenly in the night, but I don’t know what it was that waked me. I couldn’t say that it was a cry, but I woke with the feeling that something had startled me. I sat up in bed and listened, but I didn’t hear anything more, so I went to sleep again.”
“Can you fix the time at all?”
“I didn’t look at my watch. It was high tide.”
He came back quickly.
“Sure about that?”
“I could hear the water. You don’t hear it when the tide is out.”
He looked round the circle.
“Anyone know when the tide would be high?”
Richard Cunningham said,
“It was pretty far out at seven o’clock yesterday evening.”
“Low tide seven-twenty,” said Eliza Cotton.
Crisp nodded.
“That’s near enough. We can check up on it. Then it would be high tide round about one a.m. Low again about half past six, and coming up now. If you heard the sea when you woke up, Miss Brand-well, I suppose it might be high enough for you to hear any time between twelve and two, or say a bit more margin than that.”
The constable on the piano-stool wrote in his notebook, using a clear, neat script.
Crisp passed on to Ina.
“Mrs. Felton, your room is next to your sister’s-looks the same way. Did you wake in the night at all?”
Marian put her hand over her sister’s and found it cold. She felt it give a little nervous jerk as Ina said in a breathless voice,
“No-I didn’t wake.”
It went through Marian’s mind that if you haven’t slept you cannot wake. She did not think that Ina had slept at all. She had not taken off the clothes which she had been wearing the night before. She had not slept.
“You didn’t wake up, and you didn’t hear anything?”
The hand that Marian was covering twitched again. Ina said,
“No.”
His keen bright eyes remained fixed on her.
“Was Miss Adrian a friend of yours?”
She shook her head, then, as if realizing that something more was needed, came to hesitating speech.
“I didn’t know her-at all-only these two or three days.”
“Any quarrel with her?”
She was startled into awareness.
“Oh, no. I don’t think I spoke to her more than twice, and then only a few words.”
He said sharply,
“I ask because you look as if this has been a considerable shock.”
Ina felt the hand on hers press down with a strong, comforting warmth. Marian said quietly,
“It has been a very great shock. My sister isn’t strong.”
He gave a sort of nod and swung round to Eliza.
“Now, Miss Cotton-you’re in the third room facing that way, the attic, aren’t you? Did you hear anything?”
Standing there with her hand on the back of Penny’s chair, Eliza sniffed.
“I did not.”
“Sure about that?”
There was a second and more portentous sniff. When Penny or Mactavish heard that sound they knew enough to make themselves scarce. Inspector Crisp did not.
Eliza’s temper had been working up for some time. She now let it go with what was no longer a sniff but a snort.
“There are those that’ll lie as soon as look at you, and there are those that won’t whether they’ve taken a Bible oath or not. Thank God I’ve got my sleep, and when I go to my bed I’m not listening for any bats, or cats, or such-or expecting that people’ll be murdered and police officers come asking a lot of questions nobody can answer.”
Crisp was irresistibly reminded of his Aunt Aggie, a lady whose temper intermittently afflicted her family. She would come on a visit and stay until some dynamic quarrel hurled her on to the next suffering relative.
He said hastily, “That’s all I want to hear, Miss Cotton,” and came round with relief to Cyril.
“Well, Mr. Felton, you’re on the wrong side of the house, unless-you weren’t sharing your wife’s room last night?”
Nothing could have been pleasanter than Cyril’s,
“Oh, no. She hasn’t been very well.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“I’m afraid not. I am a pretty sound sleeper.”
Crisp looked from one to the other, frowning.
“When Sergeant Jackson got here this morning it was stated that the whole party, including Mr. Cunningham who didn’t sleep in the house, another visitor who left early, Miss Adrian, and Mr. Felix Brand, were all together for several hours at a picnic in the cove. Mr. Cunningham is stated to have left at half past ten.” He turned to Richard. “That correct?”
“Yes.”
“The parties on the two sides of the house had supper and spent the evening oh their own premises, but both parties say they had separated for the night by a little after half past ten. That is correct? I just want to confirm it.”
There was a general murmur of assent. Miss Cassy said brightly,
“A quarter past ten is my hour, Inspector-winter or summer.”
He rapped on the table.
“I will ask you again. Did anyone hear Miss Adrian leave the house? Or Mr. Felix Brand?”
A deep persistent silence followed each of these questions. He made an impatient movement.
“Mrs. Brand, you told Sergeant Jackson that none of your son’s clothes were missing except the pair of flannel slacks and the pullover which he was wearing last night?”
Florence Brand said, “That is all.”
“Except his bathing-suit,” said Cassy Remington. She turned helpfully to the Inspector. “Plain black stockinette. So neat and workmanlike, I always think. And he is such a good swimmer.”
He gave her his most repressive stare.
“I was speaking to your sister. Mrs. Brand, I want to know how your son would dress if he were going out for an early morning dip.”
Florence Brand said,
“Like that. He would put on a pair of trousers and a sweater over his bathing-suit unless it was really hot.” She paused, fanned herself with the linen handkerchief, and said in her slow, deep voice, “I had better put you right about our relationship. Felix is not my son.”
“Not? Do you mean that he was adopted?”
“No. I married his father.” She fanned, and added, “When he was two years old.”
It was a public repudiation. Since Felix was probably a murderer, she would have none of him. There was not anyone present who was not aware of the implication. Even Crisp was taken aback. Eliza gave another of those formidable snorts. And for the first time Penny moved. Her little stiff body remained rigid, but she turned her head. Her clear brown eyes rested for a moment upon Florence Brand. They said, “Judas.” Her clear young voice said,
“You are in a great hurry, Aunt Florence.”
Cassy Remington came into the silence that followed. Her chain jingled. She said in what Eliza called her vinegar voice,
“Always a most uncongenial child. Such a shocking temper.”
Penny looked away. It was perhaps the more damning gesture of the two. She went back into her stillness.
The sound of heavy feet came in through the garden door. A constable came up the two steps and stood there looking across at the Inspector.
“Excuse me, sir-”
“Well, what is it?”
“We’ve found the clothes.”
“Where?”
“Shoved in under the bank above high water mark.”
Crisp had a frowning stare. He barked out,
“All right, what are you waiting for? Bring them in!” The frown was turned on Florence Brand. “Son or stepson, madam, I suppose you can identify his clothes?”
She sat affronted. Cassy Remington played with her chain, primmed up her lips, patted the regular waves of her hair.
Coming out of the bright sunshine, the constable found the room embarrassingly full of people. It was really quite light, but it didn’t seem so, coming in like that. He had to thread his way amongst the chairs, the tables, the people. He felt as crowded and uncomfortable as if he was wearing a suit that was too tight for him, but he got up to the table without mishap and dumped the clothes he was carrying in front of Inspector Crisp.
Felix Brand’s old grey flannel slacks. The Inspector picked them up and held them dangling. He addressed Florence Brand.
“Are these your son’s?”
She stared back at him with her prominent brown eyes.
“If they belong to Felix they will have his initials inside the waistband. I have already told you that he is not my son.”
“F.M.B.-is that right?”
“Felix Martin Brand-yes, that is right.”
He let the slacks fall in a heap and picked up the sweater. As he shook it out, there was a sound in the room, a movement, a drawing in of breath. The front of the sweater was stained and spotted, and the right sleeve soaked with blood from elbow to wrist.
Chapter 23
When Miss Silver got back from the beach that morning she found Richard Cunningham waiting for her. She had intended to write some letters, but a single glance informed her that they would not be written. She took him into a bright bare room which contained a sofa, two chairs, and a carpet- very little else. She indicated the largest chair, removed her coat before taking the sofa corner, and extracted Derek’s current stocking from the bag which she had taken to the beach.
Richard watched her without impatience. No hurry and no fuss. He could imagine that she had been brought up on such maxims as, “Self-control is the essence of good breeding,” and “A gentle-woman is never in a hurry.” He found her reposeful, and very steadying to the nerves.
When she had taken up her knitting she gave him her peculiarly sweet smile and said,
“What can I do for you, Mr. Cunningham?”
He was leaning forward in the rather unyielding chair. He made no pretence to anything except gravity as he said,
“I hope you can help me.”
Her eyes dwelt thoughtfully upon his face.
“Something has happened?”
“Yes. Miss Adrian has been murdered.”
After the briefest possible pause she said,
“Yes?”
“You are not surprised?”
She coughed.
“The abnormal is always surprising, and murder is always abnormal.”
“But you are not surprised?”
She was knitting evenly and fast. Her regard dwelt on him as she said,
“It is the abnormal itself which is surprising, not its results.”
“And you were aware that the conditions at Cove House were abnormal?”
“I think you were aware of it yourself, Mr. Cunningham.”
“Not to that extent. I wonder whether you would tell me just what you were aware of.”
Miss Silver quoted from the Book of Common Prayer.
“ ‘Envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness,’ Mr. Cunningham. Where these are present, murder can never be surprising. May I ask who is suspected of having caused Miss Adrian’s death?”
He said, “Felix Brand. But I don’t know-I am very uneasy. That is why I am here. May I give you the facts very shortly?”
She inclined her head.
“Pray do so.”
“Miss Adrian’s body was found at half past seven this morning by Mrs. Woolley, the daily cook who works for Mrs. Brand. Finding that neither Felix nor Helen Adrian were in their rooms, she imagined that they had gone for a swim, and went down the garden to see if they were in sight. She had made some tea, and was afraid that it would spoil. She found Helen Adrian lying dead under the steep drop where the steps go down from the last terrace to the beach. She may have fallen over, but it was not the fall that killed her. There were horrible injuries to the head. It had been literally battered in-probably with one of the larger stones. The place is above high water mark, and there are plenty of them lying about. No weapon has been found, but if a stone was used it could have been very easily disposed of. The tide was high between twelve and two last night, and that seems to be the most likely time for the murder to have been committed. Miss Remington says she heard a cry, but she cannot fix the time, except that it was dark, and she tangles the whole thin
g up by suggesting that what she heard was a seagull, a bat, or a cat-I think she put them forward in that order. Now Marian did not hear anything, but she woke very much startled just about high tide. She heard the water very plainly, and you don’t hear it unless the tide is high. I haven’t the slightest doubt that it was a cry that waked her, but she didn’t actually hear anything, so it’s no good as evidence. Everybody else says they didn’t hear anything at all. Helen Adrian went out, and Felix Brand went out, but nobody heard them. Helen was found dead at half past seven this morning, and Felix hasn’t been found at all.”
The busy needles checked for a moment. Miss Silver said,
“Dear me!”
“He apparently went out in a swim-suit, slacks, and a sweater-he often went out to bathe like that. Well, the sweater and the slacks have been found pushed in under the bank above high water mark. The sweater is quite horribly stained-the lower part of the right sleeve practically soaked with blood. If he didn’t kill Helen Adrian he must have handled the body. Whichever way it was, it looks as if he had stripped and just swum out to sea. He couldn’t have got anywhere in a swim-suit, and if he’d meant to try and make a get-away he’d have come back to the house for clothes and money. Whether he killed her or not, he was crazy enough about her to drown himself when she was dead.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“You say ‘whether he killed her or not.’ There is some doubt in your mind?”
He nodded.
“It looks like the plainest of plain cases, but-well, there are one or two things that stick in my throat.”
Her needles clicked.
“I shall be interested to hear what they are.”
“If I was sure that Felix Brand was the murderer I shouldn’t be here. You saw him for yourself. He had the sort of crazy passion for Helen Adrian which could quite easily end up in a case of murder-cum-suicide. That is just what this looks like. But there are one or two things that don’t fit in. Marian had an old raincoat down on the beach yesterday. The shingle was damp where the tide had left it. There were a lot of these rugs and old coats-”
“Yes, I was provided with one myself.”
He nodded.
“They were taken in afterwards. I carried Marian’s. It is kept hanging on one of the pegs in the passage which leads to the door between the two houses. I hung it there. There was a scarf on the peg already-a blue and yellow square which she wears over her hair when it is windy. I took it down in order to hang up the coat, and then put it back again.”
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