Say It With Flowers

by Gladys Mitchell

  It was unlikely that an abandoned cruiser, if it had been seen so near Oxford and on so frequented a part of the river, would not have been reported, so he continued as far as Sandford before he tied up and questioned the lock-keeper. The man was certain that no motor cruiser answering the detailed description which Gavin, having actually seen it at Chelsea, was able to give of Plinlimmon’s boat, had passed his lock, so Gavin continued his trip and stopped again at Abingdon, with the same negative result.

  He was not disappointed, for he had made up his mind that Plinlimmon’s boat, if it had been abandoned, would be found in a backwater, and not on the main stream. However, he drew in and questioned a couple of shirt-sleeved youths who were fishing from the bank, and, moved by one of those mysterious flashes of insight which had brought him to his present position at a remarkably early age, he described not the boat but Phlox Carmichael.

  “Yes, he was up here with an old chap a week or so back,” said one of the boys at once. “A tall, scraggy, cissy-looking chap in a straw hat and sandals. The old chap looked like a fisherman or an old sailor or something. Gave me two bob for showing ‘em how to get to the Abbey.”

  “Did you notice their boat?”

  “Not to know it was theirs.”

  “What time of day was this?”

  “About a quarter after twelve. I knocked off at twelve and met them on the bridge on the way home to my dinner.”

  “Oh, I see.” Gavin was a little disappointed. “You didn’t actually see them come off a boat?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You left them after you had directed them to the Abbey?”

  “Yes, and never saw them again.”

  They had been seen together at Abingdon, though, thought Gavin. That was something. Abingdon was the farthest point upstream which they had visited. That seemed more than likely. He backed his launch out from the bank and, feeling cheerful, headed gently downstream past Andersay Island for the wide, mile-long stretch of Culham Reach.

  Here the necessity of avoiding and giving way to sailing dinghies took his attention from the true reason of his being there, and he thoroughly enjoyed himself. At Sutton Courtenay he stopped again, feeling sure that the dilettante Phlox would have shaken off the thoughts of murder in order to have a mind free to enjoy and appreciate the beautiful old Berkshire village.

  He was out of luck here. Nobody remembered the strangers. Possibly Phlox had thought Dorchester better worth seeing, or, equally possibly, Gavin had not hit upon the right people to question. Certainly the woman dusting pews in the church had not been there at the time of Phlox’s visit, if he had visited it. Gavin chugged gravely and enjoyably on, past Clifton lock and Day’s lock and so to Dorchester.

  He had had a fairly late breakfast, but he stayed in Dorchester for lunch, although not until he had visited the Abbey church for news of his suspect. There was none to be had. The church was completely deserted. He spent half an hour there, admiring the eleventh-century porch which masked the doorway by which he entered the chancel with its fine fresco on the east wall, the Norman font of lead with its eleven apostles and its Greek Orthodox effect, and the Jesse window in the north wall. He studied the effigies and the monuments and the tender inscription to Mrs. Sarah Fletcher who had died at the age of twenty-nine on the seventh of June, 1799 and was, it seemed, of “artless beauty, innocence of mind and gentle manners” and by these gifts and qualities had obtained “the love and esteem of all who knew her.”

  Gavin found his thoughts turning to Marigold Carmichael, who was certainly not possessed of beauty, artless or otherwise, but who, otherwise, appeared to fit the description. He would have been extremely surprised if he could have read the mind of Dame Beatrice and so learned her opinion of Phlox’s sister. As it was, he was spared the shock of this discovery until later and, failing to make any useful contacts in the great church, he took himself off for his lunch. An enquiry of the waitress again evoked no useful response.

  After lunch, on he went, past Little Wittenham, the Sinodun hills with their landmarks of beeches known as the Wittenham Clumps, and then he decided to explore the River Thame, which hereabouts joins the parent stream. His launch was of very shallow draught and he took it cautiously but with confidence, towards the Vale of Aylesbury.

  There was nothing, and, coming to water which, he felt, would hardly have taken a Thames motor cruiser as old as Plinlimmon’s boat, he turned back again and had tea at the Shillingford Bridge Hotel, from where he telephoned his wife, telling her that, unless something unforeseen or of dramatic interest turned up, he would be spending the night at Benson.

  “You lucky thing!” said Laura enviously. “Fancy being paid to cruise all by yourself on the Thames! Do you expect to find Plinlimmon’s boat?”

  “Oh, yes. It must be somewhere.”

  “It’s probably sunk.”

  “I’d thought of that, but they’re not such easy things to sink, you know.”

  “Oh, well, good hunting!”

  “Nice to be some people,” said Gavin.

  “You’re telling me!” said Laura. She turned to Dame Beatrice. “What good will it do if they find Plinlimmon’s boat?” she demanded. Gavin, after a good, substantial dinner at an ancient coaching inn at Benson, was beginning to ask himself the same question. Unless Plinlimmon had been killed on board his own craft, there seemed little point in tracing the missing cruiser.

  He slept well and woke up in a different frame of mind and with a new idea. He had been dreaming of Edgar Allen Poe and the missing letter and so, immediately after breakfast, he telephoned the hirers and told them where to collect their launch. Then he hired a car and was driven to Maidenhead.

  Meanwhile his sergeant, accompanied by a Hampshire uniformed policeman, was inspecting Phlox Carmichael’s house-boat. They found a man repairing—almost, it might be claimed, replacing—the damaged gang-plank. They told him that they had come to look over the house-boat and, as they were speaking, Phlox himself came out of the little galley. He smiled genially at the officers.

  “Good-day,” he said, “Can I help you?”

  “With your permission, sir,” said the detective-sergeant, “I should like to examine your boat.”

  “Surely, surely. But with what object in view, may I ask?”

  “Well, sir, that was a very nasty accident you had here. We understand that it could have been fatal.”

  “Indeed it could. My sister and I were most fortunate—most fortunate. You will see that I am taking steps to remedy the matter. How long will you be now, Sims?”

  “She’s just on done, sir. Safe enough to use if these—these gentlemen wants to step aboard.”

  “How did you get aboard, Mr. Carmichael?” asked the sergeant. “Our information was that you were stopping over at Wandles, in the vicarage there.”

  “Oh, I see! You were expecting to examine my home in my absence, were you? I am not well versed in the law, but I should have thought that was very wrong of you—very wrong indeed. What could you have hoped, in any case, to find out?”

  The detective-sergeant, in unabashed tones, said that he held a search-warrant and produced it. It had been his own idea to obtain one, as he was a little put out by the unorthodox methods sometimes employed by Gavin, and it had taken him sufficiently long, on the previous day, to get the warrant for him to be justified in postponing the visit to the house-boat until this particular morning. However, he wished now, with all his heart, that he had taken the questionable course dictated by his superior. It would have been infinitely preferable to conduct the thorough search which was under contemplation not in the presence of the owner. He answered Carmichael’s question.

  “I am not at liberty to tell you what I’m looking for, sir. I hope, however, that you will give the constable and myself every facility. I trust we shall not need to trouble you long.”

  “You may search my boat for as long as you like, but I shall answer no questions, and if you see fit to remove any of my property I
shall require a receipt for it.”

  “Fair enough, sir, so, by your leave—” He stepped across the three-foot gap between the boat and the bank with athletic ease. The uniformed man made a more sedate entry by using the new gang-plank. Phlox watched in silence as they searched the tiny galley, then passed to the cabin which Marigold used and so to the large, well-lighted saloon in which the brother and sister lived and in which Phlox slept. This, apart from a small bathroom, an Elsan, and the open sun-deck, comprised the total accommodation of the house-boat.

  The search did not take long, but it was thorough and when it was over Phlox gravely commended the officers.

  “A very neat effort,” he said approvingly. “I trust you have found your labours rewarding.”

  “Too soon to say that, sir. Have you any objection to my taking these letters and these receipted bills for closer examination?”

  “Of course I have—every objection, but I don’t suppose that will stop you from pursuing your nefarious activities. Really, one might as well be living in a police-state! What on earth do you want them for, anyway?”

  “Would you have the same objection if I examined them in your presence, sir?” asked the sergeant, avoiding an answer to Phlox’s question.

  “No, no. An objection, naturally, as I see no reason why my private affairs should be the concern of the police, but not so great an objection, as I shall be in a position to keep a watch on my property. You do not propose to purloin any of it, I trust?”

  “Purloin is not a word to use to a police officer when he is discharging his duty,” said the tall young sergeant, in dignified rebuke.

  “I see. Very well. I have nothing to hide, but I confess I should be glad to know how your activities tie up with my sister’s unfortunate accident.”

  “They may not so tie up, sir. I have my orders.”

  He seated himself at the table in the saloon, in a chair which faced the broad flow of the river. The constable sat on a wooden, cushion-covered bench from which he could, if he wished, obtain a view of the bank against which, except for the three feet of water into which Marigold had fallen, the house-boat was moored. As the constable untied the neat bundles of letters and handed them over, the sergeant rapidly perused them. As each bundle was finished with, the constable neatly and carefully tied it up again.

  “Thank you, sir,” said the sergeant. “There is no need for me to take any further action over these.”

  “Oh! Then perhaps you will now be good enough to tell me exactly what you think you’ve been looking for!”

  “Evidence that Miss Carmichael’s accident was deliberately planned,” said the sergeant. “That’s what I’ve been looking for.”

  “Deliberately planned? I don’t understand you!”

  “The suggestion was made, sir, and had to be dealt with.”

  “You mean to tell me that somebody reported me as having pushed my sister into the water? I can credit most things of my evil-minded neighbours, but this is incredible! May I be told . . .?”

  “I am not at liberty, sir, to give you any more information, except, in their own interest and yours, to assure you that it was not any of your neighbours.”

  “Oh!” said Phlox. “Oh!” He flushed deeply and swallowed. “I see! In that case, if the suggestion was made by Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, I wonder you did not charge me with attempted murder and march me away and have done with it!”

  “Come, sir,” said the sergeant, “there’s no need to say things like that. I’m sorry we’ve had to inconvenience you, but there it is. Good-day, sir.”

  The police returned to Culminster. Gavin, as the sergeant had hoped he would do, had returned, and was with the Superintendent at Culminster police station. The sergeant made his report and was told to go off and get himself some lunch. When he had gone, the Superintendent puffed out his cheeks and looked at Gavin. The young man nodded gravely.

  “I’ll point out to him the error of his ways,” he said, “but I won’t do it in front of you. He’s a smart lad. He’ll learn. His instructions were to go there yesterday in the hope that Carmichael would still be at Wandles, out of the way. In that case, the young idiot could have snooped round that boat in peace, and without alarming the quarry.”

  “Well, I’m damned!” said the Superintendent. “So Scotland Yard works by breaking and entering, does it?”

  Gavin grinned.

  “Not as a general rule,” he said, “but at last I’ve got enough on that wriggling snake to justify taking my gloves off to him.”

  “Anyway, you’ve found Plinlimmon’s boat.”

  “I have. What’s more, I’ve got a description of the man who moored it at Maidenhead, and it is not a description of Plinlimmon.”

  “Carmichael?”

  “To the life. I’m off there—to his house-boat, I mean—to get him to answer a few pertinent questions. He’s been seen talking to Hilary Beads near the place where her body was found. He can explain that to me, for a start. Then I’ve had a tip from Dame Beatrice which I intend to use.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I called up my wife yesterday from Shillingford, and she asked me to hang on, as Dame Beatrice wanted to speak to me. The Dame then advanced the startling but by no means unlikely theory that Miss Beads had to be eliminated because she knew that her sister, Phlox Carmichael’s wife, had disappeared and she hitched on to the idea that the two Carmichaels knew something about it. Then there’s the question of the handbag. He can explain to me why he was seen to chuck it into the river. By the time he’s finished explaining, I hope to have enough to charge him with. I don’t think we’ll ever prove that he killed his wife, but I hope to get him for Hilary Beads’ murder. It’s that or Plinlimmon, and the Beads affair seems the more likely at the moment.”

  “Well, I wish you luck.”

  “I only hope he’s still on the house-boat, and that my sergeant’s zeal hasn’t scared him away. If it has, we may have to lose a lot of time catching up with him. He’s a slippery customer and he’s got brains. Besides, he’s had one bit of bad luck and it may have got him worried.”

  “You mean running into Miss Beads that first time in Wandles Parva.”

  “Yes. Well, I’ve had lunch, so I think I’ll be pushing off. The sooner I strike, the better now.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gathering Phlox

  “Everyman is not a proper Champion for Truth nor fit to take up the Gauntlet in the cause of Verity.”

  Ibid (Section 6)

  * * *

  IT was clear, when Gavin arrived at the house-boat, that Phlox had not expected another visit from the police so soon. He was seated on the open end of the boat in a deck chair with a foot-extension, and he was leaning back against a cushion in an attitude of relaxation and ease.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Carmichael,” said Gavin. “May I come aboard?”

  “I suppose,” said Phlox, looking up from the book he was reading, “that you’ve come to apologise for the abominable behaviour of the two policemen who’ve already been here.”

  “Not exactly,” said Gavin, stepping on board by way of the new gang-plank. “Had this mended, I see.”

  “Practically replaced, I’m glad to say.”

  “Quite. Shall we go into your cabin, or wherever you go when you’re indoors?”

  “I see no reason for that. If you haven’t come with apologies, I don’t know why you’re here.”

  “To caution you that anything you say, from now on, I shall take down in writing and ask you to sign. Later, it may be used in evidence.”

  “Against me? But I haven’t the slightest intention of incriminating myself. I should find it immensely difficult to do so, as a matter of actual fact, since, to the best of my knowledge and belief, I have committed no criminal act.”

  “I hope for your sake that that is true. Matters have been brought to our notice, however, which need an explanation from you.”

  “Yes? What have I any
need to explain?”

  “We have evidence that you met Miss Hilary Beads on the evening of her death. Can you tell me anything about that meeting?”

  “I don’t remember it.”

  “No? Let me assist you. You had put your sister into the convent, thus leaving yourself free for three days. During the evening of the first of these days you met Miss Beads by assignation in the grounds of the Manor House. You were seen there by a most reliable witness.”

  “One witness?”

  “One witness.”

  “Isn’t my word as good as his or hers?”

  “I am afraid not, Mr. Carmichael. She has nothing either to lose or to gain by giving us this information.”

  “What does that prove?”

  “Merely that she is a reliable witness.”

  “What else do you need to ask me?”

  “No questions, but I would like to put certain suggestions before you.”

  “I do not entertain suggestions from the police.”

  “No? Well, I will give you a sample. I suggest that Miss Hilary Beads was your sister-in-law.”

  “What?”

  “Just that. Mr. Carmichael, I don’t think you realise how deadly is the evidence against you. You are known to have met Miss Beads twice during Wednesday, May twenty-second. On the second occasion you killed her, and you placed her body in the wine-cellar of the Manor House. Subsequently, you removed her body to the top of the observation tower where you hoped and expected that it would remain unobserved until, like that of your wife, it had become a skeleton.”

  “This would be a monstrous accusation, except that it is all nonsense,” said Phlox Carmichael. “You had better confront me with this precious witness of yours! I’ll soon change her tune!”

  “We shall see,” said Gavin, in an equable manner. “Another witness, I may add, heard a conversation between yourself and Miss Beads. Now, touching the matter of old Plinlimmon and his ancient motor-cruiser . . .”