by M. M. Kaye
He drank deeply and subsided on to the sofa, and Valerie said: ‘Oh well, let’s leave it for the moment and get on with the case against Rosamund. For the prosecution: she plays a good game of tennis and is the best swimmer in the Islands, bar none, so she could have coped with the problem of disposing of Ferrers’s body without much difficulty. Then there was definitely something extremely queer behind that display of nerves on Christmas Eve. She was scared to death.’
‘She was,’ agreed Nick. ‘And on thinking back on her behaviour that night, I would like to advance a theory of my own that could account for it. It seems to me just possible that she saw Ferrers die.’
‘But you____’
‘Ssh! — don’t interrupt. Let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that she was holding on to the same boat as Ferrers, and saw just enough to realize that someone beyond him had deliberately cracked him over the head? If that were so, the chances are that she would have let go her hold in a panic, and swum around in the smother until forced to grab hold of a boat that she probably hoped was not the one she had originally been attached to. After that there’d have been no point in her saying anything. Unless she knew who had done the hitting, which is unlikely. I think it was Copper who remarked that same evening that Mrs Purvis appeared to be playing a peculiar game of “Is it you? — Is it you? — Is it you?” with herself. Which could support the theory that she was aware, even then, that Ferrers had not been drowned but murdered. It would also account for her subsequent behaviour.’
‘Um,’ said Valerie thoughtfully. ‘It does seem to fit. That is, if she didn’t do the job herself and wasn’t wondering who, if anyone, had seen her do it?’
‘For the defence,’ said Copper, taking over: ‘she wasn’t on the beach when Ferrers’s body turned up, and neither was she at the Christmas Day dinner party. Therefore she couldn’t have known of Dan’s interest in the corpse.’
Valerie said: ‘Against that we have Amabel and Dutt and Ronnie and Truda. All, or any of them, could have told her something. And even if she hadn’t heard any details, if she was the murderer she’d be scared to death at hearing that the corpse of her victim had turned up, and be pretty restless until the body was safely buried. She could easily have got out of the hospital that night, and perhaps gone to the Guest House to assure herself that the murder hadn’t been discovered, and found Dan there.’
‘Hell!’ groaned Charles. ‘Then that’s six of them who could have done it. Oh well, we might as well make a good job of it and prove that they all did it. Who’s next for the electric chair?’
‘Nick,’ said Valerie, and laughed. She appeared to be the only one amused. Charles was watching Nick over the rim of his glass, and Nick was watching Copper. Copper kept her eyes on the tips of her shoes and said nothing, and Valerie, suddenly aware of tension, looked up from her notebook and glanced from one to another of the three still faces. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again without speaking.
Nick said dryly: ‘Well, Copper?’
He saw Copper’s fingers clench themselves together in her lap, but apart from that slight movement she might not have been aware that he had spoken.
‘Why this magnanimity, sweet? I can take it, we murderers are tough. Produce your evidence, Coppy. Even if Val and Charles don’t see eye to eye with you about it, it’s as good as that signet-ring stuff any day!’
Charles saw Copper’s chin come up with a jerk, and rushed in where angels might justifiably have feared to tread: ‘Yes, come on young Sherlock. Spill the sinister beans and put us out of our misery. Then we can tear up all those appalling notes that Val has been preparing for the purpose of spreading confusion and despair, and fall on Nick in a body. I shall direct operations from behind the bookcase, and you and Val can do the actual arresting. After which we can bury him behind the squash court, and go off to dinner secure in the righteous conviction that we have faithfully administered the King’s Justice.’
‘I haven’t anything to say on Nick’s behalf,’ said Copper in a small cold voice. ‘Either for or against. To misquote him, “It takes a thief to —”’ she checked a little ostentatiously. ‘— I mean, it takes a man to prosecute a man. You can take it over, Charles.’
For a brief moment the knuckles of Nick’s hands showed white, and then he laughed and relaxed once more in his chair. Valerie gave Copper a puzzled look, and then turned back to Charles: ‘Last prisoner, darling. Take over the charge-sheet, and after that you can come up to the house and I’ll make you a mint julep and hold your hand on the drawing-room sofa.’
‘A clear case of bribery and corruption,’ sighed Charles. ‘But then I have always been a weak character. Oh, all right. Prisoner at the Bar, did you or did you not, on the afternoon of December the twenty-fourth, either of intent, or under the impression that you were slugging Mr Ronald Purvis, cause the decease of one Ferrers Shilto?’
‘Objection!’ said Nick. ‘I appeal to the court. That’s a leading question.’
Valerie said: ‘Objection sustained. Get on with it, Charles.’
‘All right — all right. Don’t rush me! Case for the prosecution: that the said Nicholas Tarrent, being a member of the sailing party, had full and ample opportunity for slugging the said Ferrers Shilto. Moreover he possesses the physical ability, together with the necessary nerve, guts, brains and what-have-you, to carry out the task to a successful conclusion. Added to which is the damning fact that he shared a room with the second victim, and therefore would certainly have been aware of his suspicions regarding the corpse of the said Ferrers Shilto____
‘In fact,’ said Charles, reverting to plain English, ‘for all we know, Dan may have spilt the beans to him and told him that he proposed to have a look at the corpse. In which case he would have had plenty of time to plan the whole thing before leaving the house: murder of Dan, disposal of Ferrers, the entire works. I will even withdraw my previous assertion that the job couldn’t have been carried out inside an hour and a half. Given quick thinking, it could probably have been done in that time and with a few minutes to spare.’
Nick said: ‘A bit more of this and I shall burst into tears and confess all. Go on, Charles. You’re doing fine.’
‘Matter of fact,’ confessed the counsel for the prosecution, ‘that about cleans me out of ideas. You see there’s the small matter of motive. Just between the two of us and strictly in confidence, what was your motive?’
‘Objection!’ murmured Nick.
‘Oh yes, of course. Leading question, an’ all that. It’s no good, Val, you’ll have to enter “No Motive” on the prisoner’s charge-sheet. And that, thank God, can go in reference to Ronnie as well as Ferrers, for if anyone had mentioned the word “ring” again I should have screamed aloud and burst a blood-vessel. You can put down that, as far as we know, the prisoner Tarrent had no quarrel and very small acquaintance with Mr Ronald Purvis. Was not sentimentally smitten by Mrs Ruby Stock, and had only laid eyes on Mr Ferrers Shilto a couple of hours or so before the murder. Otherwise all things are equal. Can I stop now?’
‘You can,’ said Nick. ‘And I may say that my case in your hands, as compared with Copper’s, is as a bucket of whitewash to a truck-load of coal.’
Charles hitched himself round in his chair and regarded Copper with interest. ‘You mean she’s suppressing evidence, do you? Well, far be it from me to discourage her. In fact if anyone else has any more evidence against anyone, I’d be everlastingly grateful if they would tie a brick to it and drop it in the harbour. I have had just about as much of it as I can stand in one day, and my brain is reeling. It appears to have been conclusively proved that there are not one, but seven murderers or potential murderers loose upon Ross, and I shall therefore retire to bed tonight wearing a bullet-proof vest under my pyjamas and clutching a loaded shot-gun in either hand. Amateur detectives and intending sleepwalkers, please note!’
Valerie laughed, and turning in her chair slid a hand under his arm. ‘Thank God our late librarian didn’
t have a yen for Ethel M. Dell! I don’t think I could have borne a stern, square-jawed hero in this situation. Thank you, darling. Your act has been terrific, and for about the first time in weeks I’ve really appreciated it.’
‘It was rather good, wasn’t it?’ agreed Charles complacently. ‘What the dramatic critics would have termed “a fine, sustained performance”.’
‘If you don’t watch it,’ observed Copper crisply, ‘you’ll wake up one fine morning and find that you’re talking like that naturally.’
‘But I am,’ said Charles. ‘I do! I find it’s a thing that grows on one — like boils. But not to worry. A good strong dose of Hemingway will eliminate the germs.’
‘Try Anouilh, darling,’ advised Valerie. ‘And now listen — I’m going to read out everything I’ve written this afternoon, and after that I suggest we clear out and go for a quick walk round the island before it’s dark. But before I start reading we’ll have a five-minute silence during which I want everyone to go over as much as they can remember of the last two days, starting with the Mount Harriet picnic. And if they can think of any incident, however tiny, that strikes them as odd or unusual, to produce it for inspection. Ready?’
The minutes ticked themselves away in a deep silence.
‘Time’s up! What are you frowning over, Coppy? Thought of something?’
‘Yes,’ said Copper doubtfully, ‘but — I know you’ll think I’m mad, because it’s something that I can’t catch hold of. I can only remember that something happened at the picnic that was odd. I can’t even remember anything about it, except that something that day made me think “That’s queer!” But perhaps I’ll remember it later. Anyway, it couldn’t have been very important.’
‘Shove down a question mark, Val,’ ordered Charles. ‘Here’s a red pencil — catch! Copper may think of it later. And now, if that’s all, I suggest we get on with the reading.’
Valerie returned to her chair, and picking up the notebook, added a large red question mark to the record. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I’m going to read straight through everything we’ve written down here, and I want you to please concentrate, and if anything strikes you as particularly important to make a note of it. Here goes____!’
She sat down and began to read in a clear emotionless voice while her audience sat silent and absorbed. Charles moved to switch on the light above her head, for it was getting too dark to see, and once during the reading Copper caught her breath in a small gasp and stiffened in her chair. The movement was as slight as the sound, but Nick turned his head sharply, and saw that her face was very white and her eyes wide and terrified.
‘That’s all,’ concluded Valerie. ‘Has anyone got anything to add to it?’
Two heads were shaken.
‘Did anything strike anyone as being of particular importance?’
Nick glanced sideways at Copper and saw her fingers tighten convulsively upon the arm of her chair. But she did not speak; though neither did she shake her head in denial as he and Charles had done.
‘Then that’s that!’ said Valerie, shutting the notebook with a bang. ‘And now let’s rush out and get some exercise. It’s still horribly misty, but a change of air will do us all good.’
She tossed the notebook into a corner of the window-seat, sublimely unaware of how close one twist to its tangled reasoning would have brought them to the truth.
18
It was almost dark when they left the Mess to take a brisk walk around Ross, and the tiny island was still close-lapped in a mist which veiled the last of the lingering daylight.
The faint breeze that had arisen earlier in the day had died with the approach of night, and except for the ceaseless thunder of the surf, which from long familiarity had become barely noticeable, an almost uncanny silence brooded over the island. Not a leaf rustled or a twig stirred, and they could hear the fog-dew dripping from the hibiscus hedges and the gold mohur trees.
For a while the four walked in silence, their footsteps in unison though their thoughts were widely divergent.
Charles, his arm tucked through Valerie’s, was thinking of what she had said when she had thanked him for ‘putting on an act’. She had thought it was only for her sake and Copper’s that he had done his best to keep their discussions on as light a level as possible. But it had also been for his own, because he had not dared let himself look too closely at the picture of Valerie — his own Valerie — lying asleep in that darkened house while a murderer fresh from his killing crept in from the mists of the grey island and barred the door behind him. For beyond that thought lay the knowledge that tonight she would once again pass the dark hours in the same house.
Registering a mental vow to act upon his recently expressed intention of spending the night at Government House, Charles tightened his hold on her arm and Valerie returned the pressure fervently: though she herself had not been thinking of the dark present, but of some golden, hoped-for future when she and Charles were married …
Nick, walking between her and Copper, his hands in his pockets and his long, loose stride restricted to their shorter steps, was thinking confusedly of the past. Of Calcutta, and of Ferrers Shilto’s face against the background of a corridor in the Grand Hotel. He had looked like a frightened, vicious rat — a cornered rat. Who could ever have supposed that they would meet again, and so soon? And how was Copper going to regard the Calcutta incident? Nick had never yet cared what others might think of his actions, but then Copper was not ‘others’… His mouth twisted wryly and he scowled into the gathering dusk.
Beside him, her blond head bent and her slim shoulders a little hunched as though against an imaginary wind, the subject of his thoughts walked with her eyes fixed upon the wet road. And for once — perhaps for the first time for over a week — she was not thinking exclusively of Nicholas Tarrent.
Copper was re-living an apparently trivial incident that had occurred two days before, and hearing again a single line from the notebook that was lying discarded on the window-seat in the ante-room of the empty Mess. An incident and a statement that contradicted each other. Had no one else noticed it? Would no one else remember it? Would Valerie? She longed desperately to tell Nick; to beg for his advice and reassurance. But Nick had suddenly become a stranger; and he, too, had got something to hide. Perhaps they all had? Even Charles — even Valerie…!
Why had Nick been so angry with her for pointing out that he might lie under suspicion of murder? Admittedly, she had wanted to hurt him. She had tormented herself with the knowledge that he must, in the past, have attracted more than his fair share of fluttering feminine adulation, and she resented bitterly the recurring suspicion that she might appear to him as just another infatuated little idiot who took his casual attentions as proof of something more serious, and entirely non-existent.
Nick, she had thought, would probably expect her to believe that although the rest of the island might be under suspicion, he alone could do no wrong in her too openly admiring eyes, and she had therefore decided to show him that he meant no more to her than any other member of that fatal sailing party. But the result of her ill-advised disclosures had been to turn Nick from a friend into a stranger from whom she could not ask for help. And even if she could do so, would she dare risk it? Dan had been a friend of Nick’s, and Nick might____Copper’s hunted brain returned helplessly to its original groove and started on the same round once more, like a caged mouse on a wheel.
Silent and preoccupied, the four walked down the dim deserted roads past the hospital and the little bazaar whose doors, close-shuttered against the damp sea-mist, still showed friendly chinks of yellow lamplight in the growing darkness. On a clear night they would have seen the sprinkled lights of Aberdeen across the narrow strip of heaving waters that separated Ross from the mainland. But tonight the mist lay thick upon the yeasty seas, and as they looked into that blank, shifting wall they might have been isolated by hundreds of miles of empty ocean.
They passed the sheds that stood behind t
he jetty, where their footsteps, muffled until now by the wet ground, suddenly rang loud, and came out by the little bandstand that had once, long ago, been a centre of social life in the glittering tropic evenings, though no band had played there for many a long year. Beyond it their feet left the crushed coral of the roadway and encountered the yielding sponginess of rain-soaked grass as they crossed the Club lawn, beyond which the breakers still sent up ghostly fountains of spray.
A small dark building at the edge of the lawn, barely discernible in the dusk, sent a cold shiver down the spine of more than one of the four who passed it, and instinctively they drew closer together: remembering that sometime last night, in the misty rain-spattered darkness, someone had carried Ferrers Shilto’s body to that same small building, and that for more than twelve hours afterwards it had hung there in the blackness above the shadowy tank, while the turtles snapped and splashed in the storm-clouded water below and Dan lay dead in the Guest House.
As if by mutual consent they turned simultaneously and walked quickly across the lawn to where a yellow glow from the Club windows gleamed comfortably through the mist. But apart from the barman and a Burmese waiter there was no one there but Ronnie Purvis, whom they found aimlessly flicking over the pages of a nine-weeks-old illustrated London weekly at one end of the deserted ballroom, and who was plainly the worse for drink.
Apparently he had been there for several hours, imbibing steadily, and had long since passed the convivial stage and the subsequent quarrelsome one, and Nick, eyeing him with detached interest, wondered if this was a usual procedure with him or whether he had merely set himself to get drunk as a relief from other and grimmer realities.
