Death in the Andamans

by M. M. Kaye

  The warm strong fingers about her chin relaxed their grip and slid downwards to close gently about her throat, but Copper did not move. She stood as though frozen between anger and fear. A fear that held no considerations for her own safety, but was nonetheless real for that.

  It was, of course, absurd to think of Nick in connection with murder, and it would be a mis-statement to say that she had dismissed the idea. It being impossible to dismiss an idea that has never for a moment been entertained. But it had occurred to her that the authorities might well consider Nick as a possible suspect, and her imagination, stimulated by anxiety for him, had instantly presented her with several uncomfortable lines of thought: including an unfortunate recollection of his late sojourn in Calcutta. She had blurted out the results of her anxious meditations from a vague feeling that she must warn him that he might be regarded with suspicion, and she had expected him to laugh at her. But he had not laughed. He had merely been angry. Couldn’t he see…?

  The fingers about her throat tightened steadily, and suddenly Copper became aware of the blood drumming in her ears. She opened her mouth to cry out, but found that she could make no sound. And in the next instant Nick bent his head and kissed her parted lips, long and deliberately.

  A moment later the door was flung open behind them and Charles’s voice said: ‘What on earth are you two waiting for? A gong? Come along and have some tea. Val’s made enough toast for sixty.’

  Nick’s hand dropped to his side, and Copper stepped back — both hands to her throat and her heart beating jerkily.

  Nick swung round with a laugh: ‘As usual, Charles, you arrive in the nick of time — no pun intended. I was about to commit my third murder.’

  ‘Don’t let me stop you,’ said Charles.

  ‘Copper here,’ explained Nick lightly, ‘has just been proving, with a wealth of damnatory detail, that I could easily be the local murderer. What are you going to do about it, Charles?’

  ‘Nothing!’ said Charles firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Coppy: you’re probably dead right, but as he is a good deal larger than I am, I shall prudently ignore it and…’ He stepped back hurriedly as Copper brushed past him into the ante-room, her chin high and her cheeks scarlet.

  ‘Hullo!’ said Charles, recovering his balance and disentangling his feet from among a collection of carelessly placed fishing-tackle. ‘The lady seems annoyed. Have I put a foot into it somewhere?’

  ‘Both, I imagine,’ said Nick with unexpected bitterness. ‘And practically everywhere. Copper’s dead serious about this question of my having committed the local crimes. She almost convinced me!’ He laughed shortly, and Charles echoed the laugh; and then remembering Copper’s face as she had passed him, stopped laughing and frowned. ‘Do you mean to say,’ he demanded incredulously, ‘that you think that Copper thinks____? Of all the unmitigated drivel! Why, the girl thinks you’re____Ahem!’

  Charles pulled up abruptly on the brink of betraying certain strictly private confidences imparted to him by Valerie, and Nick said curiously: ‘Thinks I’m what?’

  ‘Oh, er — I forget. But if you ask me, she’s merely been trying to take the mickey out of you. You oughtn’t to buy it. Come and have some tea: Val’s collected enough to feed a school treat.’

  They ate toast and Christmas cake in the ante-room of the Mess, and afterwards, when the cups and plates had been cleared away, Valerie wrote steadily in the notebook and was presently able to announce that she had put down a rough outline of the happenings of the last two days, and that it was time they got back to work. ‘Where were we?’ inquired Charles.

  ‘Narrowing down the suspects. And now I suggest that we give each of the seven members of the sailing party a page apiece and put down any evidence we can think of, for or against, under each name. Here they are: JOHN SHILTO, RONNIE PURVIS, LEONARD STOCK, HAMISH RATTIGAN, ROSAMUND PURVIS, RUBY STOCK and NICHOLAS TARRENT. And I should think we could cross off at least three of those straight away, wouldn’t you?’

  Nick said curtly: ‘No, don’t cut any of them. Who was the first on the list? John Shilto, wasn’t it? Well, what have we got against him?’

  ‘Easy!’ said three voices.

  ‘All right. One at a time. Come on, Copper. You’d make the best counsel for the prosecution.’

  ‘I’ve already prosecuted one case this afternoon,’ said Copper coldly. ‘Charles can take this one.’

  ‘Right,’ said Charles, nothing loth. He lifted his tea cup: ‘Here’s to logic; never sell her short! To begin with, John doesn’t — I mean didn’t — hit it off with Ferrers. Everyone in the Islands knows that. However, coming down to more concrete evidence, we all overheard a couple of pretty crisp scenes between them on the day of the Harriet picnic, so I think that can go down on his charge-sheet as a start.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Valerie, scribbling hard, ‘but was it enough of a scene to make John want to murder Ferrers?’

  ‘Judging from what I know of John Shilto, easily! But whether it was enough to make him actually do the deed is another matter.’

  ‘Yes, it would help a lot if we knew what was behind that row at Mount Harriet.’

  Copper said: ‘I think I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘Another one?’ murmured Nick, lifting an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes!’ snapped Copper dangerously. ‘Another one. Any objection?’

  ‘None at all. I was merely expressing admiration.’

  Valerie glanced up sharply from the notebook on her lap and looked inquiringly from Copper’s face to Nick’s. Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown and she said quickly: ‘What’s your idea, Coppy?’

  Copper jerked her gaze angrily away from Nick’s mocking eyes, and collecting her thoughts with an effort, said: ‘You remember how anxious Mr Shilto was that we shouldn’t stop at his cousin’s bungalow for water, and how furious he was when he heard that the Dobbies had taken Ferrers on to the picnic?’

  ‘Do we not!’ said Charles. ‘Said he wasn’t going on with us if Ferrers was going to be there, and after making a fatuous fuss about it, suddenly changed his mind and came with us after all.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Copper. ‘It was too sudden. And I don’t believe for one minute that any change of heart or Christmas spirit was responsible for it. I believe he must have seen something or heard something that made him change his mind about coming.’

  ‘Such as what?’ said Valerie.

  ‘I don’t know. But he might have seen that the plantation was doing very much better than he had ever imagined it could, and realized that his cousin was on the verge of making it pay at last.’

  ‘And decided to stage a big reconciliation scene and buy it back before Ferrers realized that it was on the upgrade? Yes, I suppose there’s something in that. Did he go into the house, Charles?’

  Charles considered the point and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. He strolled around a bit at the back, but as I thought he wasn’t coming with us, I left him to it. And anyway the place smelt like a sewer, so I didn’t linger.’

  ‘Oh well, it’s a sound idea, Copper. Has anyone else got any more theories on the subject of Public Suspect Number One?’

  ‘I have,’ said Valerie. ‘You can call it feminine intuition if you like, because I’ve got no proof. But I’m prepared to bet my entire allowance for the next two years, against Amabel’s bridge winnings, that John was delighted about Ferrers’s death. He’s been going about in a sort of nasty gloating trance ever since.’

  ‘And I’ll endorse that,’ said Copper.

  Charles sighed. ‘Righto,’ he said. ‘Enter two dollops of feminine intuition on the debit side. Anything more?… No? All right, account closed for the moment. Nick will please sum up.’

  Nick lay back in his chair and stared meditatively at the ceiling again, and presently he said: ‘Will this do? Points against John Shilto. One: he had a long-standing quarrel with his cousin, which culminates in a hell of a row a few hours before the murder. Two: he could ea
sily have murdered Ferrers during the storm. (Against that one, so could any of the other six suspects.) Then, if he was the murderer, he would instantly have spotted Dan’s unhealthy interest in the corpse, and a guilty conscience would have given him the clue to it____

  ‘His room was at the end of the passage, next to the one Dan and I were in, and he might have heard Dan leave. Or again, he might have been waiting in the ballroom for fear he should do so. In which case, of course, he would have watched Dan go out and wouldn’t need to be told where he was going. He collects a weapon, follows him to the Guest House and kills him …

  ‘The problem then is how to get rid of the body, and the answer is right under his nose — together with a ball of twine and an outsize cobbler’s needle! He sews Dan into the tarpaulin, carries Ferrers down to the Club breakwater where he discovers that it’s no good trying to chuck him into the sea again, and hits on the idea of dumping him in the turtle tank. Having done that, all he has to do is to throw the weapon into the sea, put on Dan’s mackintosh cape and get back to the house. That’s all, I think.’

  Copper said: ‘Can I add something, please? It – it was only an idea of mine, but when Dan was discovered to be missing and we were all getting a little worried about it, I thought that Mr Shilto seemed to be amused.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Nick, ‘we’d better add another Maltese Cross, indicating adverse feminine intuition, to the charge-sheet. Anybody got anything else to add? No? Well I have. Write it down, Val. When it was suggested that a search be made for Ferrers’s body, Shilto was against it, tooth and nail. Said it was a complete waste of time, and sundry other things, and when I insisted, barged out of the room in a hell of a temper, spitting with wrath. Altogether a pretty peculiar demonstration; and with the discovery of Ferrers’s body and the added discovery that he had been murdered, it begins to look even more peculiar. Well, that’s about all I think. Who’s next on the list?’

  Valerie flicked over a page of the notebook: ‘Romeo Purvis. Anyone got anything to say about Ronnie?… No?’

  ‘What? Not even a Maltese Cross?’ gibed Nick. ‘Lucky devil!’

  ‘I’ve got something,’ said Valerie, ‘and Copper can vouch for it that it isn’t just something I’ve thought up recently, but something I noticed at the time. When Rosamund made that silly scene on Christmas Eve, Ronnie was scared out of his wits. It’s not much, but I’m prepared to swear to it. I told Copper about it at the time.’

  ‘Yes,’ endorsed Copper, ‘and you were dead right, because when she yelled the place down later that evening, Ronnie was scared again. And not for her sake, either.’

  ‘Oh God!’ sighed Charles. ‘More feminine intuition!’

  Valerie threw a sofa cushion at him and said: ‘One more crack like that from you, my own, and I’ll throw my engagement ring after it!’

  ‘Is that a promise?’ inquired Charles eagerly.

  ‘No. It’s an awful warning. So close down, Charles darling, unless you want a two carat diamond in your eye. To return to Suspect Number Two — anything else? No? Very well, Ronald Purvis — no evidence. Go on, Charles, make a case out of that.’

  Charles sat up indignantly: ‘Good Lord, why me? Give me an easier one for heaven’s sake. Oh well____’ He subsided gloomily, and cleared his throat: ‘In the prisoner’s favour: no reason for killing Ferrers Shilto.’

  ‘No known reason,’ corrected Valerie. ‘For all we know he may have had half a dozen.’

  ‘So might Amabel!’ retorted Charles with some asperity. ‘Are you conducting this prosecution or am I? Then leave me the floor, my love. Where was I? Oh yes. Against the prisoner: as a member of the sailing party he had the opportunity of killing Ferrers Shilto. For the prisoner: so, apparently, had six other people.’

  He brooded for a moment or two, and then added: ‘From that point on, if Ronnie is our murderer, all that Nick said about John Shilto can equally well apply to him. He spots Dan’s interest in the corpse and hangs about outside the house to make sure that he doesn’t make a move towards further investigation. Sees Dan come out, hears him speak to the sentry, follows him down to the Guest House, kills him, disposes of the bodies and returns to the house disguised as Dan in order to delay the search for him until the supposed Ferrers is well and truly underground. After which he slides out of the house by a back door and trots off home. And that appears to be all. M’Lud, the case rests!’

  He threw himself back in his chair and closed his eyes with ostentation.

  Valerie said: ‘That’s all very well, darling, but you haven’t suggested any reason why he should have killed Ferrers in the first place.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart! He can’t possibly have had any reason for doing such a thing. Ergo, he did not kill Ferrers. I was merely endeavouring to show that had he done anything so fantastic, he could also have killed Dan. Who’s next?’

  ‘Leonard Stock,’ said Valerie, turning a page. ‘Anyone got anything to say about Leonard? No? All right: you take over, Coppy.’

  Copper said: ‘In the absence of any concrete evidence, I plump for Leonard Stock as the murderer. First, because he’s the most unlikely person, and as anyone who has ever read a murder story knows, it’s always the most unlikely person who turns out to have done the deed — and fifty thousand authors can’t be wrong.’

  ‘I suppose,’ drawled Nick, ‘that, acting on that assumption, you would unhesitatingly have nominated Amabel if she had been in the running for the Suspect Stakes?’

  ‘Then you suppose wrong!’ snapped Copper. ‘I should have known Amabel couldn’t possibly have done it even if I’d found her standing over the corpse with a bludgeon in one hand and blood all over her! I should merely be convinced that she’d just turned up, at the wrong moment as usual, and picked up the weapon out of mere cow-like curiosity. But I do not know that Leonard couldn’t have done it. It seems to me that he stands as good a chance as anyone of being the murderer. Because____’ She hesitated for a moment, as though doubtful as to how her next observation would be received, and then continued in a tone of some diffidence: ‘Have any of you ever noticed that Ronnie Purvis wears a cornelian signet ring on his left hand?’

  It was obvious that her question had not only taken her hearers by surprise, but that its connection with the subject under discussion completely eluded them. Valerie’s forehead wrinkled in a puzzled frown, and she said: ‘Yes, but I don’t see…’

  ‘I think I do,’ said Nick abruptly. ‘She means that someone might have seen a hand and thought____’

  He broke off without finishing the sentence, and Copper turned to look at him for a moment. It gave her a queer stab of uneasiness to find that Nick should instantly know what she implied by what she had not said. She looked away again swiftly, and turned to Valerie: ‘I – I was thinking of Ferrers,’ she said uncertainly. ‘He wore a garnet ring on his left hand, and in the rain it might have been mistaken for Ronnie’s. They were both red, you see.’

  ‘But I still don’t____’

  Nick said: ‘Shut up, Val!’

  ‘Supposing____’ Copper was choosing her words with some difficulty, ‘supposing that during the storm somebody wearing a red ring had caught at the same boat that Leonard was holding on to? I know Nick said that the rain and spray had reduced visibility to a matter of inches, but Leonard might have seen a hand where he couldn’t see a face. He could have thought that the hand belonged to Ronnie, and taken a crack at the owner.’

  Charles sat up with some violence: ‘But damn it, Coppy, why the hell should Stock want to murder____’ He stopped, and then said more slowly: ‘You mean — Ruby? I get you. Hmm!’ He fidgeted restlessly with his cigarette-case for a moment and said at last: ‘Yes, I suppose there might be something in it. But supposing you’re right about that? I’m not saying that Stock hadn’t damned good reason for wanting to do in Ronnie Purvis, but why only Ronnie? God knows I don’t want to cast nasturtiums at dear Ruby, but what is Ronnie among so many?’

  ‘
Perhaps the proverbial last straw? You must admit it was a pretty blatant straw.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll admit that,’ said Charles impatiently. ‘More like a haystack, if you ask me. But unless rumour lies more than ordinarily blackly, there have been a good many haystacks of that kind in poor old Leonard’s matrimonial meadow. Also — forgive me for pointing it out — hadn’t one of the members of our jury rather — er — usurped the limelight of late?’

  ‘You mean Nick,’ supplied Copper before anyone else could speak. ‘Of course. But that might be an added reason in favour of killing Ronnie, because it would provide an alibi. You see,’ she added with a touch of malice, ‘Leonard would know perfectly well that the minute the Sapphire left, Ronnie would move back into favour again.’

  Charles shifted uncomfortably: ‘Well, as a matter of fact, Coppy, my charmer, I meant you. Ronnie has rather turned from his old allegiance since your arrival on the scene.’

  Copper intercepted Nick’s amused glance, and flushed hotly, and Nick said: ‘Nice to know that as a professional homebreaker I’m in such good company.’

  ‘Charles is quite right,’ interrupted Valerie hastily, frowning at Nick. ‘I can’t see why, if Leonard was feeling murderous on Ruby’s account, he should have reached the breaking-point at a time when the Ronnie affair, from both his and Ruby’s angle, had taken a bit of a back seat.’

  Copper said: ‘Because he may never have had an opportunity before. I mean a chance of doing Ronnie in without getting hanged for it. And then the storm may have provided the chance he had been looking for.’

  ‘Oh well, I suppose we’d better put it down as a remotely possible motive,’ sighed Valerie. ‘LEONARD STOCK. Opportunity: same as everyone else. Motive: Ruby. Bumped off Ferrers in mistake for Ronnie. Rest of the case same as the other two. On the debit side: Copper says he’s done it because he’s the most unlikely person, and because he thought he was writing off Ronnie because of Ruby. Anyone got anything for the credit column?’

  Nick said: ‘Yes. You can put me down for the defence. Copper’s theory may or may not hold water, but here’s something that holds gallons. Has it occurred to anyone that Leonard Stock stands about two foot two in his bedsocks and is about the weediest little specimen, with the possible exception of the late Ferrers Shilto, in the entire Islands? I’m well aware that even the most miserable misfit can wang a man over the head with a marlinspike or a hammer or what-have-you. But it would take a considerable quantity of sheer solid guts and muscle to drag a dead body single-handed from the Guest House to the turtle tank. And it must have taken wrists of iron to carry it round the narrow wall of the tank and hang it from that crossbeam under the floor of the summer-house.