‘Well, no, because he would be Emden.’
‘There was no such discrepancy in their heights when you yourself visited the cave?’
‘No, no. They all appeared to be more or less the same height. Besides, they may have shrunk, you know, whereas his corpse would have been comparatively fresh.’
‘Rigor mortis would have passed off,’ said Dame Beatrice thoughtfully.
‘Rigor mortis? Oh, you mean the fact that the corpse had been made to sit down? Well, he had to, if the murderer wanted to make him look like one of the dead kings. It’s all very puzzling, isn’t it?’
‘Not if one remembers that everything that has happened is part of a logical sequence. There was only one flaw, so far as I am aware, in the self-proposed murderer’s programme.’
‘Oh? What was that?’
‘He himself was murdered.’
‘Emden? He intended to murder someone else?’
Dame Beatrice shrugged.
‘It is a matter of opinion,’ she said.
‘What did you get out of Telham?’ demanded Laura, when lunch was over.
‘Nothing at all. He came to make certain that I was not bullying his sister.’
‘They’re very thick, those two. What happened then?’
‘He came, as you know; he listened, and he preserved silence. Fortunately I had asked all the necessary questions before he arrived. There was nothing more that I wanted from Mrs Lockerby. They are not fond of one another; the fondness, I fancy, is entirely on Telham’s side. The young man appears to prize his sister’s happiness not only above rubies but above his own life and safety.’
‘What did Mrs Angel have to say?’
‘Those things which we knew already, but it was as well to get her to confirm them. She seemed surprised when I told her that I thought Emden was murdered before he had an opportunity of murdering.’
‘Murdering Telham and Caroline, who must know, I suppose, that he murdered Lockerby? But surely neither of them killed him? They’re not at all the type. Caroline is definitely squeamish and Telham is a born procrastinator, wouldn’t you say?’
‘It may well be so. I shall know more, perhaps, when I have spoken to Mr Peterhouse. And now there is something which you can do for me, if you will. You remember that Clement claimed to have seen twenty-four bodies in the cave?’
‘Oh, but we know that was a lie! He took it back afterwards, you know.’
‘I wonder who persuaded him to say it? You see, he went there the first time with a guide, was not molested by the bandits, and came back with this curious tale. The next time he went he was captured and, when rescued, said that the bodies were reduced to twenty-three.’
‘Then you had your bit of fun with Jose el Lupe and his men, and disclosed the body of Emden with the knife in its back. I remember. Right. I’ll bounce the truth out of that kid. There’s one thing: it would hardly have been the murderer who persuaded him to tell a lie like that.’
‘It depends upon which murderer you mean.’
Laura stared at her employer distrustfully.
‘And I suppose you’ll tell me next that there’s nothing up your sleeve,’ she said.
‘I don’t think there is, dear child. I have no intention of misleading you. One certainly needs to understand the psychology of the child Clement, but I think you understand him very well. I did tell you, did I not, that he went out of his way to inform me that, whoever had killed Emden, his father certainly had not?’
‘Yes, you did. I thought it a normal reaction on the kid’s part.’
‘Did you? I did not.’
‘Oh, really? You mean he loathes old Drashleigh enough to wish him hanged? Oh, no of course! It wouldn’t come to that here, so there wouldn’t be that motive. So you think this black-hearted lad had method in this madness of defending his father? No, I don’t get it. Explain.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Don’t you remember the reason he gave for rallying to his father’s defence?’
‘Yes, I do. He told you that Emden had punched him, and that his father did not know. But what was the object of telling you all that?’
‘Although he is basically intelligent, he is, of course, still very young and, for that reason, still simple-minded. His intention was to mislead me into believing that Emden was his enemy. The opposite, I fancy, was the case. Emden was using and bribing the boy, but with what evil purpose it is not possible to say until you persuade Clement to talk. There is nothing for him to fear, and he is greatly attached to you, so you stand some chance, I feel, of obtaining the truth.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Dame Beatrice, sleuthing diligently some time later, found Peterhouse pottering round the grotto of the hotel. The grotto was of natural origin and had been added to with more imagination than good taste. It consisted of a series of uneven caverns which had been deepened from the natural fissures to form cool, dim summer-houses in which were wooden benches of so-called rustic type, possibly picturesque but very uncomfortable as seats. These natural-cum-artificial arbours formed three sides of a square and in the middle of the square there was a pool (the one, incidentally, into which Clement had untimely thrust Caroline at an early stage in their acquaintanceship) and in the middle of the pool a fountain. Peterhouse was attracting the fish in the pool by scattering crumbs of cake for them. It was mid afternoon and the grotto was the coolest outdoor part of the hotel.
‘“The Compleat Angler,”’ remarked Dame Beatrice, stopping to watch. ‘Have you ever tickled trout, Mr Peterhouse?’
‘Not I,’ replied the horticulturalist, straightening up. ‘Why, dear lady, do you ask?’
‘A pleasantry,’ replied Dame Beatrice, waving her hand. ‘A preliminary skirmish before I ask you some very personal questions.’
‘I saw you in conversation with Mrs Angel. I suppose she told you we are man and wife. Don’t believe a word of it. The woman is mentally deranged.’
‘Why did you throw your packet of chocolate into the sea the other day?’
‘What packet of chocolate?’
‘The one which you offered to Clement and which I would not permit him to accept.’
‘I don’t remember the incident. It didn’t take place at this hotel.’
‘No, no. It took place on your island of Tiene.’
‘Really? I have a very poor memory, I fear.’
‘So you have forgotten that you married the woman who is known as Mrs Angel? You must keep a diary, you know. Bigamy is a serious offence.’
‘Nothing is a serious offence on Hombres Muertos, dear lady. We are all dead men here, and among the dead there is the harmony of disinterested mercy.’
‘That remains to be proved. But I spoke in jest. I dislike to think that you would commit a serious crime.’
Peterhouse shook his head.
‘You underestimate me,’ he said. ‘The chocolate, of course, was poisoned, as you guessed. I had never tried the effect of my distillations on any human being, and I thought the boy, unwanted and, you must admit, extremely tiresome at times, would be a suitable subject for experiment.’
‘Quite, quite. Which particular aconite did you use for your purpose, I wonder?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’ He squatted on his heels beside the pond, scattered a few more crumbs, then slid his hand into the water, scooped out a fish, and flung it at her. Dame Beatrice picked up the streak of silver as it writhed in the dust and gently replaced it in the pond.
‘And now,’ she said, seating herself on the stone surround, ‘sit beside me and sing me songs of Araby, or, if you prefer it, tell me tales of fair Kashmir.’
Laura, prowling restlessly, found them, half an hour later, deep in a learned discussion of the best ways to cook and use English edible fungi. Dame Beatrice gave her an almost imperceptible signal to stay. Laura sat down on the coping and dabbled her fingers in the water while she listened to the gastronomes conversing.
‘Well,’ she said, as she an
d Dame Beatrice strolled towards the cliff path which led to the beach, ‘he didn’t sound particularly insane.’
‘He is perfectly sane on the subject of edible fungi.’
‘Yes. I suppose you mean there’s the converse.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I mean, the opposite of edible, which, in the case of fungi, is apt to be poisonous, isn’t it? And that’s him riding his hobby horse again!’
Dame Beatrice looked at her admiringly.
‘Do you really think so?’ she asked.
‘I think it was because he knew you’d rumbled that the chocolate he offered Clement was poisoned with his awful ranunculus plants that he threw it into the sea so that you couldn’t send it anywhere to be analysed. That’s what I think.’
‘I don’t think the chocolate was poisoned, but I wanted Peterhouse to think I thought it was.’
‘Why should you? I don’t see the point.’
‘Do you not? Does it not strike you that Peterhouse is our deus ex machina?’
‘Well, yes, but we can’t possibly prove it, can we?’
‘I think we can. Señor Ruiz is chief witness for the prosecution.’
‘Poor old Ruiz! How can he be?’
‘You have realized that there is no extradition from Hombres Muertos?’
‘Yes, of course. That’s why crimes can be committed with impunity, as they say.’
‘But there is such a thing as deportation, you know.’
‘Deportation?’
‘Certainly. Señor Ruiz is an important man in Reales. He would not stoop to murder, but I think he has it in his power to get rid of a nuisance.’
‘That lends a different complexion.’
‘So do cosmetics, dear child, but the facts remain the same.’
‘Meaning that you can’t alter the construction of bones? I couldn’t do less than agree. But where does this lead us?’
‘It leads us to the anatomy of the twenty-third or – if you prefer it – the twenty-fourth man.’
‘You mean because he was taller than the others?’
‘I do. The interesting feature is that the one man who ought to have noticed the difference forbore to comment upon it.’
‘Peterhouse?’
‘Exactly. He, of all people, accustomed as he was to leading parties to the cave, should have realized at once that one of the dead kings was noticeably taller than the rest. In other words, he must have noticed it.’
‘But forbore to comment? I say, that opens up a field of thought.’
‘No, no. It leads to one conclusion.’
‘Oh, dear! He’s a nuisance, but I don’t dislike Peterhouse. Can’t you get him out of it? It would be nice if you could. Anyway, why should he do it? There were people with far better motives. What about Telham, for example?’
‘Motive is almost always the weakest link in a chain of evidence. Means and opportunity – those are usually considered more important.’
‘Means? Well, the proved possession of the knife should settle that. But, then, dozens of people on the island possessed a similar type of knife, and – oh, of course, Peterhouse must have had two.’
‘Opportunity?’
‘You mean the island of Tiene. He could easily have killed him there. But why should Emden have gone to Tiene with Peterhouse? That’s what I still don’t understand.’
‘There was no doubt that Emden had to leave the hotel.’
‘No, that seems clear enough. I think I see what you mean. Peterhouse offered him shelter?’
‘It seems that he did. I can get no further until I have talked with Peterhouse again.’
‘You be careful, then. If Peterhouse did kill Emden he’s a dangerous man.’
‘So was the late Dan McGrew, of doubtful fame.’
CHAPTER 17
Brother Cain
‘I WISH’, SAID Dame Beatrice, ‘that you would tell me the whole story. I know you may have killed Emden. I can guess the reason. There appears to be no judicial penalty here for what you did, therefore I see no reason why you should refrain from telling me all.’
‘I remember nothing of it,’ said Peterhouse. They were sitting in deck-chairs on the beach. Peterhouse had an umbrella of extraordinary size and hue stuck in the sand to protect him from the sun. He was wearing sun-glasses and shorts and his bulging, pink torso reminded Dame Beatrice vaguely and not unpleasantly of her nephew’s Large White pigs. She herself was full in the sun, a smiling, saurian old woman, ageless, implacable, kindhearted.
‘Very possibly not,’ she said. ‘Freud, despite those who would discredit him, was sound on the subject. He averred, if you recollect his writings, that we forgot what we choose to forget. Memory, in fact, is selective.’
‘Really? Well, dear lady, since you insist, I will endeavour to prove him wrong. I will delve into my memory, poor though it be, for the details you require. I don’t know how far you look upon human life as sacred?’
‘I don’t know, either. I suspect that we all imagine our own lives to be sacred, but I feel that most of us are not nearly as certain when it comes to the lives of other people. Colour of skin, too, makes a difference; so does ideology. Let us by-pass the matter for the moment and argue it later.’
‘Very well. I perceive that you think as I do. I killed Emden. That I do remember. What interests you is the reason. It is simple enough to state. If I had not killed him, he would have killed me. That was the situation in a nutshell. Are you satisfied?’
‘Except in fairy stories, that which can be contained in a nutshell is of little importance. Tell me more.’
‘Diamonds can be put in a nutshell.’
‘I do not regard diamonds as important.’
‘Lives have been hazarded and lost because of them.’
‘We are asking ourselves why Emden’s life was lost.’
‘Ah, yes. It was not long before he ferreted out the truth about me.’
‘That you have been living on blackmail?’
‘Really, dear lady, you use harsh terms! Put yourself in my position. My wife had a child by Ruiz. Was I not entitled to compensation?’
‘I have no idea. I presume that you must have been an inadequate husband, but in what particular way I do not inquire. Marital infidelities have various roots. So Emden discovered your secret – by talking to your wife, I presume?’
‘He was an insinuating kind of man. I have never met a cleverer fellow where women were concerned.’
‘Still, I hardly see what use he could make of his knowledge – in the way of gain, I mean.’
‘He intended to marry Luisa Ruiz. She has no idea that Ricardo is anything but her full brother, and Emden thought he could force Ruiz to give consent by threatening to enlighten Luisa. Ruiz is very fond of his daughter and would hate her to know the truth.’
‘But I think Luisa does know the truth. She must have noted the affection Ricardo had – forgive me, but I do not think of her by your name – for Mrs Angel. I myself hold the opinion that Emden tried to compromise Luisa, thinking that, by so doing, he could force her father into consenting to their marriage, but it seems that he reckoned without Luisa’s strength of character. She appears to have been annoyed, not carried away, by his blandishments.’
‘He was accustomed to the conquest of women. I do not imagine – supposing you to be right – that it would occur to him that Luisa could resist him. She must have told her father of the matter, I suppose.’
‘Yes, she did, and Señor Ruiz was extremely angry about it. He was determined to get rid of Emden out of the hotel, and even threatened to have him deported. I am of the opinion that this was a particularly powerful threat in this particular case. You may or may not be aware that, once back in England, Emden would have placed himself in jeopardy of being tried for murder.’
‘I did not realize that, but, now I come to think of it, he did say to me once – it was when you arrived at the hotel in company with Clun – he saw (to use his own expression) the wr
iting on the wall.’
‘How very much mistaken he was! I knew nothing of his connexion with the murder of Ian Lockerby until very much later.’
‘Ian Lockerby? Mrs Lockerby’s brother-in-law?’
‘No, her husband.’
‘I see. He killed her husband with the intention of marrying the lady! No wonder he made a connexion between your appearance and his probable fate! You may have me to thank for that! I take all the English papers and as soon as I saw your signature in the hotel register I remarked upon your august connexions. He saw the Home Office tracking him down, I suppose.’
‘Interesting. So then he persuaded you to hide him on your island of Tiene, and there you murdered him.’
‘But you must not think of it like that. It was not murder; it was self-defence, dear lady.’
‘Ah, but you poisoned his wine!’
‘But I did not poison the child’s chocolate! It was cruel to have made such a suggestion! Why would you not let him eat it?’
‘I wanted to warn you that I knew all. I will tell you the rest of the story, if you like. Emden, who, I agree, was a thorough-paced villain, bribed you to hide him on Tiene. You may live at the Hotel Sombrero without payment, but, if I may put it bluntly, you are woefully short of money to spend.’
‘Well, that is perfectly true. My wife holds the pursestrings. Always has. A mean-spirited person is the self-styled Mrs Angel! Angel, indeed!’
‘Emden then suggested that Ricardo Ruiz – or do you prefer to call him Ricardo Angel or Ricardo Peterhouse? – should be decoyed, on his next visit, which was about due, to Tiene, there to be murdered, and his South American papers confiscated. These papers were to become the property of Emden, who hoped, with their help, to enter South America, from which, again, there is no extradition. In other words he hoped to achieve his personal safety by going to live in a place to which the English law could not follow him.’
‘That is correct. But I did not see myself tackling Ricardo with such an object in view. Ricardo dislikes me, you know, although I doubt whether he is aware of the fact that his mother is my wife. I did not think he would come to Tiene at my invitation. Emden threatened me when I told him this. He frightened me very much. I am not a bold man, Dame Beatrice, and I’m no longer young.’
The Twenty-Third Man Page 21
