‘No, she chose to stay behind. She went away before the others left and stayed with a cousin or something. It appears that she doesn’t — didn’t, I mean — love Eliza Chayleigh.’
‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!’
‘But how have I solved your problem? You don’t suppose Boobie disliked Eliza enough to pop over here and murder her before the others arrived?’
‘It would account for so much if she did,’ said Dame Beatrice thoughtfully, ‘but, although the thought is tempting, there is no proof except that Eliza must have met somebody here, and the chances are that that mysterious person was the murderer, or one of the murderers. Of course, apart from Mrs Lovelaine (whose movements, I admit, invite speculation) there are two obvious suspects.’
‘I agree about Miss Crimp.’
‘Who would, of course, have needed an accomplice.’
‘Yes, we’re pretty certain there must have been somebody else. Then isn’t there a chance the accomplice might be persuaded to turn Queen’s evidence?’
‘I think not in this case.’
‘Why not?’
‘I believe that the accomplice I have in mind would have been a most willing partner and had as good, although a different, reason for wishing that Eliza Chayleigh was dead.’
‘I can’t think who it is you’ve fixed on as the other murderer.’
‘And I am not going to name names until or unless I obtain the evidence I need.’
‘You might give me a hint. You’re not thinking of Allen Cranby as Eliza’s murderer, are you?’
‘I am not going to commit myself, but I will give you the hint you demand. Have you ever thought any more about those desecrated headstones in the churchyard?’
‘Sebastian and Margaret mentioned them to me, so of course I went and had a look at them. Somebody had had a shot at cleaning off the paint.’
‘That, I venture to think, was Ransome the churchman. There had been more vandalism, apart from those black magic slogans, had there not?’
‘Yes, but I don’t think it had anything to do with black magic.’
‘Some crude lettering, I believe you told me.’
‘That’s right. Somebody had tried to get rid of old Miss Chayleigh’s name on one of the tombstones and substitute Eliza’s.’
‘It proves nothing but vandalism, of course, but I am inclined to recognise it as a psychological pointer.’
‘But you think the accomplice had not the same motive as the murderer for wanting Eliza dead?’
‘No. As I see it, both nursed a grievance, but it was not the same grievance.’
‘And they decided to act at the same time? But why? And why wait years before they paid off the old score, whatever it was?’
‘I think the answer is that the Lovelaine family came to Great Skua at Eliza’s express invitation. That put the gunpowder among the smouldering fuel. Such, at any rate, is my theory.’
‘But if you know all this, why don’t you tell the police?’
‘You know the answer to that question.’
‘Well, but, if you’re pretty sure, the proof must exist somewhere. We’ve only got to keep on looking for it. Tell me just one more thing. You see, I know you’re right, because you always are right, and if I can follow what you’re thinking, something might crop up which is part of my knowledge, but not part of yours. Anyway, it does look as though somebody disliked the whole Chayleigh family. All the black magic paint was daubed on Chayleigh graves.’
‘And an attempt made to remove old Miss Chayleigh’s name and substitute Eliza’s.’
‘Indicates whoever did it hated both of them, as I say. But, you know, my thought on that is that it could hardly have been Crimp.’
‘Ah, you think she could not have been absent long enough from the hotel to carry out the work involved?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t take long to daub on the red paint, but it’s a different matter when it comes to cutting out one name and substituting another when you’ve got to do it on stone. I say, though! She couldn’t be this dispossessed relative, could she?’
‘We could ask her.’
‘But if she’s the murderer or the accomplice she’ll deny the relationship.’
‘Do you think Farmer Cranby was the accomplice?’
‘I have not said so.’
‘Well, it couldn’t be Mrs Cranby, could it?’
‘Why not? She may have spent the last thirty years in visualising herself as a deeply wronged woman in that her husband seduced Eliza who bore him a son.’
‘That’s all very well, and I know all about Ransome, but why should the coming of the Lovelaines have galvanised her into action after all those years? Besides, it couldn’t have been their actual coming which pushed her over the edge, because, as we’ve already said, Eliza Chayleigh must have been dead for a week before the Lovelaines set foot on the island. And how did she and Miss Crimp ever get together over an awful business like murder?’
‘I have said more than once that we have no proof of the identity of the murderer, or that the murderer may have had an accomplice. However…’
‘Ah, yes, I was going to ask you about that. Why did there have to be an accomplice? To help tip the body over the top of the cliff? That’s what you think must have happened, don’t you?’
‘Because of the contusions on the body? Those could have been caused by the body’s having been bruised by its pounding against the rocks, of course. It was the nature of the head-wound which prompted me to think about murder in the first place. I think death was caused by the use of a sharp-edged piece of slate which somebody with malicious intent had picked up in the quarries.’
‘I thought you believed she was killed here at the back of this house.’
‘It is a simple matter to pick up a piece of slate and carry it away. I think the murder did take place at the back of this house. There is the evidence of the dead pig. But all this is mere speculation. There is much to be cleared up. We need some help, I’m afraid, and I do not see where it is to come from, unless the Lovelaine family have knowledge which they have not disclosed.’
‘I don’t know much about the father, but I don’t think Sebastian and Margaret have kept anything back,’ said Laura.
‘Not deliberately, I feel sure, but in talking together in their own home and in recounting their experiences, something may strike them. I propose to call upon them in the hope that it may be so.’
‘And what about the smugglers? I hope Dimbleton won’t get into trouble. I did my best for him.’
‘Gun-running is not the most innocuous of occupations.’
‘No, I agree about that. He’ll have to take his chance, of course. By the time Gavin gets our message, though, I don’t think anything will be found on the island. We still haven’t actually seen any rifles or ammunition or anything, have we, when one comes to think of it.’
‘Neither do we know where the guns, if any, came from, or what was their destination, but all that can be left to the police.’
‘Anyway, we’ve spoilt the smugglers’ little game, I expect, and the authorities can pick the stuff up at sea, perhaps, but the whole thing must be on a very small scale, wouldn’t you think?’
‘Even one gun is a lethal object, of course,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘and it gives me great satisfaction to think that we may have helped to queer somebody’s pitch, however small it may be. Our dear Robert must be told all about that locked old lighthouse.’
chapter seventeen
The End of the String
‘Turn darkness into day,
Conjectures into truth,
Believe what the envious say,
Let age interpret youth.’
Thomas Campion
« ^
As soon as she and Laura had returned from Great Skua to the Stone House at Wandles Parva, Dame Beatrice rang up Gavin and asked him to come over.
‘Well, that’s fine,’ he said, when he heard the story of their short stay on the island. ‘It’s certain t
hat we shan’t pinch these smugglers on the island itself, but we’ll get them all right if they try to shift any more of the stuff, and then we must have a coast-guard station there. Moreover, we can get away with ransacking that old lighthouse, because we can claim it as belonging to Trinity House and therefore that it’s Government property. I’ll let the Customs and Excise people know. They’ll soon sort it all out. But your theory that Eliza Chayleigh was murdered comes into a different category altogether. I don’t see that you’ve much to go on, either, even in view of the open verdict given at the inquest. I’ll ask for a full report and see what your inspector chap has got. What’s your own next move, Dame B?’
‘I propose to visit the Lovelaines who, by this time, will have been reunited.’
As it happened, Laura had the address because she had promised to write to the two young people. Marius and his children welcomed her and she was introduced to Clothilde. She came to the point with what Laura, who had accompanied her, thought was singular abruptness.
‘Not to beat about the bush,’ she said, ‘I am looking for evidence that your sister, Mr Lovelaine, was murdered either by Constance Crimp and Ruth Cranby, or by the latter and an accomplice, probably a man.’
‘The farmer’s wife? What can she have had to do with it? There was no communication between the Cranbys and Lizzie!’ exclaimed Marius. ‘My son has told me that neither Allen Cranby nor Ransome Lovelaine ever visited the hotel. They supplied dairy and garden produce, but that was the extent of their dealings with Miss Crimp and Lizzie.’
‘So far as the two men are concerned, that is very likely true. I doubt whether Ruth Cranby was a stranger to Miss Crimp, though, and one must remember also that it is possible that Dimbleton and Miss Crimp had built up a flourishing little business smuggling guns on to the island and exporting them at a profit.’
‘Yes, it was guns,’ said Clothilde, in a small voice. The others stared at her, her husband in amazement, her children with sardonic amusement and Dame Beatrice interrogatively. ‘Oh, yes,’ Clothilde went on. ‘You had better have the whole story. It is time it all came out.’
‘You do not need to tell Dame Beatrice your reason for going to Great Skua,’ said Marius, recovering himself and speaking gently. ‘It has nothing to do with the present discussion.’
‘She had better hear it all,’ said Clothilde, ‘if we are going to talk about Eliza’s death. To my shame, Dame Beatrice, I ran out of money. In fact, I got into debt and had to overdraw at the bank. This had happened before, and on that occasion my husband took a lenient view which I did not deserve. I could not face him with the same situation again.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Boobie!’ exclaimed her son. ‘It was a joint account! You had every right to draw on it.’
‘But not to get myself into debt and then to overdraw on it,’ said his mother, determined to martyr herself, ‘and when the same thing happened a short time ago, Dame Beatrice, I felt I could not go to my husband and confess until I had tried to find some means—any means—to put things right. My husband himself, I thought, found me the answer. He received a letter of invitation from his sister to spend a paid holiday on Great Skua at the hotel she owned. When I studied the brochure she sent, I realised that her prices were high and this caused me to decide that she must be in a fair way of business.’
‘Instead of which, the hotel is head over ears in debt, just like you,’ said Sebastian.
‘I could not possibly know that,’ said his mother, impatient at the interruption. ‘Well, Dame Beatrice, I knew that my husband had always sent money regularly to his sister. You see, he had inherited everything from his parents and she had been left nothing. It occurred to me, therefore, that by going to Great Skua I could point out to Eliza that for many years she had been sent money which belonged rightly — that is to say, lawfully — to our family purse. I then intended to ask her to hand enough of it back to me to clear my debt to the bank. It was not a great sum and, had it been my first peccadillo in this respect, I should have had no hesitation in going to my husband and confessing what had happened.’
‘Shows a lack of confidence in a loving spouse that you didn’t,’ muttered Sebastian. ‘Oh, Boobie, darling, well art thou named!’
‘I have other resources,’ said Marius to Dame Beatrice before he turned an irate face towards his son. ‘There was no need for my wife to distress herself.’
‘At first—before I over-spent—I was extremely angry that Marius was determined to accept the invitation and take the children with him,’ continued Clothilde, ‘and I think my over-spending was really a kind of revenge. Later on, when I came to my senses, I was relieved that I had taken my stand. On the excuse of going off on holiday to my cousin’s, I pawned my watch and one or two things for the fare — this was before the others were due to travel — and I went to Great Skua, intending to go from there to Cousin Marie’s cottage, as I had said I would.’
‘And did you contact Mrs Chayleigh?’ asked Dame Beatrice, as the narrator paused.
‘No, I did not. I enquired for Eliza at the hotel and they said at first that she was far too busy, they thought, to see anybody. (I did not give my real name at the desk, but used my maiden name, which I did not believe Eliza would remember. I was most anxious, you see, that, when Marius and the children arrived, they should not be told that I had been there). I said that my business was urgent, so I was told that if I cared to book a room they would let Eliza know that I was there. Well, I needed a room, in any case, so I booked in.
‘In the morning I enquired again for Eliza, but the woman at the reception desk said that Eliza had gone over to the mainland on hotel business.’
‘Which day of the week would this have been?’ Dame Beatrice enquired. ‘I mean, which day did you arrive on Great Skua?’
‘It was on the Thursday, nearly a week before my husband and the children were due to arrive. I was particularly distressed that I could not see Eliza immediately, since I had given my cousin a date for my arrival at her cottage and I most certainly did not want her telephoning my home to find out why I had not arrived. To add to my perturbation, I learned that there was not another boat until the Saturday, so I was left to get through the whole of Friday the best way I could. Well, to pass the time, I went to look at a house which the chambermaid had mentioned as being to let for the summer. I walked up to the front window, but could not see much because of the curtains, so, having plenty of time in hand, I went round to the back. There was a most unpleasant sight just outside the kitchen door.’
‘We know about the pig,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Covered in flies! And blood all around and about! It was absolutely nauseating, and I left the house more quickly than I had come to it. Before I got back to the hotel, however, it struck me that it was very strange to have killed a pig and left it outside the kitchen door, so I went to take another look. There was nobody about. I tried the outhouses. All but one were open. I looked in through the window of the locked shed and saw something under a sheet. It looked so much like a body covered up that, without more ado, I fled back to the hotel, but on the way upstairs I ran into the woman Crimp.
‘ “Ah”, she said, “you are finding something to do with yourself, I hope. I am sorry you’ve missed Mrs Chayleigh, but she’ll be here on Saturday’s boat.” ’
‘ “I didn’t want Mrs Chayleigh,” I said. She looked surprised.
‘ “You asked for Eliza,” she said. “I took it for granted you meant Mrs Chayleigh. She is the only woman on the island, so far as I know, whose name is Eliza.”
‘ “This is Great Skua, isn’t it?” I asked.
‘ “It’s Great Skua, certainly,” she answered. “Oh, well, I must get on. You haven’t been looking at Puffins, have you?”
‘ “Puffins?” I said. “I don’t know one kind of seabird from another.” ’
‘They call the nearby house Puffins,’ said Marius.
‘Well, how could I know that? There was nothing to say
so. Anyway, I was not going to tell anybody that I had been to the house because I knew there was something strange about it, apart from the thing under the sheet.’
‘Something strange?’ asked Dame Beatrice.
‘There were big packing cases in all the other sheds. I was curious enough to prise up a loose board in one of them. It contained rifles. I was seriously alarmed, then, for my own safety, as I realised that no stranger would be expected to explore the premises without permission. I wondered whether any eyes had been watching when I approached the house and what would happen if such had been the case.’
‘Yes, we live in a lawless age,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I can only add that all the packing-cases had been removed before Laura and I moved in.’
‘I cannot think what possessed you, Clothilde,’ said Marius severely.
‘Well, how was I to know about all those guns and things?’
‘I think you must tell your story to the police,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘It is most important.’
‘Well, really, I feel I must agree with Dame Beatrice,’ said Marius. ‘What do you think, my dear?’ he asked, turning to his wife and speaking in a gentle tone. ‘Are you prepared to do your duty as a citizen?’
‘Oh, I suppose so,’ Clothilde replied.
‘Well, if you do,’ said Sebastian, ‘be sure to have your solicitor present and don’t answer anything unless he says you may, will you?’
‘I’m not an idiot,’ replied his mother with asperity.
‘I must have notice of that reply,’ murmured her son.
‘Besides,’ his mother went on, ‘I have not finished my story. By the time I got to Cousin Marie’s cottage I was almost penniless.’
‘Surely you didn’t suppose you could ask Cousin Marie for your fare home!’ exclaimed Marius.
‘I was in great distress, but when I arrived at the cottage Cousin Marie was even more affected. Miss Potter had left her.’
‘How do you mean — left her?’ asked Marius.
‘I mean exactly what I say. Miss Potter had gone off, leaving a note in which she said that her expectations had at last been realised, so she could stop being a burden on Cousin Marie, as justice had been done at last and she was off to foreign parts and hoped never to return to England.’
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