‘You’d better begin at the beginning.’
Peter began at the beginning, and went on, interrupted only by the older man’s shrewd questions, to the end. It took a long time.
‘Well, Peter, you’re handing me a nice pup. Including the criminal’s own confession.’
‘He didn’t give that on oath. Shock-nerves-frightened into it by my unfair trick with the pot.’
‘Suppose he’s made it again to the police?’
‘Badgered into it by questions. Surely you’re not going to be worried by a little thing like that.’
‘There’s the chain and the hook and the lead in the pot.’
‘Who’s to say Crutchley put them there? They may have been part of one of old Noakes’s little games.’
‘And the watering of the cactus and wiping of the pot?’
‘Bagatelles! We’ve only the vicar’s opinion about the metabolism of cacti.’
‘Can you dispose of the motive, too?’
‘Motive doesn’t make a case.’
‘It does, for nine juries out of ten.’
‘Very well-several other people had motives.’
‘Your Twitterton woman, for instance. Had I better try to hint that she might have done it?’
‘If you fancy she’d have the wits to realise that a pendulum must always pass directly beneath its point of suspension.’
‘H’m!-By the way, supposing you people hadn’t turned up, what would have been the murderer’s next step? What did he think would happen?’
‘If Crutchley was the murderer?’
‘Well, yes. He must have expected the body would be found lying on the sittingroom floor by the next person who entered the house.’
‘I’ve thought that out. The next person to enter would, in the ordinary way, have been Miss Twitterton, who had the key. She was completely under his thumb. Remember, they used to meet in the evenings in Great Pagford churchyard. He’d have no difficulty in finding out whether she intended to go over at any time during the week to see her uncle. If she’d announced any such intention, he’d have taken steps-asked for an hour off from the garage on private business and contrived to run across Miss Twitterton on her way to the house. If Mrs Ruddle had thought to tell Miss Twitterton that old Noakes had disappeared, it would have been easier still. The first person to be consulted would have been dear Frank, who knew all about every’ thing. Best of all would have been what nearly happened that Mrs Ruddle should have taken the situation for granted and said nothing to anyone. Then Crutchley would have arrived at Talboys as usual on the Wednesday morning, I found (to his surprise) he couldn’t get in, gone to fetch the key from Miss Twitterton and discovered the body for himself. In any case, he’d have been the first on the scene, with or without Miss Twitterton. If he was alone; very good. If not, he’d have dispatched her on her bicycle to fetch the police and taken the opportunity while her back was turned to rescue the string, polish the pot, remove the other chain from the chimney and generally see that the whole place presented an innocent appearance. I don’t know why the chain was put up the chimney in the first instance; but I imagine old Noakes came in on him unexpectedly, just as he’d made the exchange, and he had to get rid of it quickly. Probably he thought it would be safe enough there and didn’t bother too much.’
‘And suppose Noakes had come into the sittingroom between 6.20 and 9 o’clock?’
‘That was the risk. But old Noakes was “reg’lar as clockwork.” He had his supper at 7.30, The sun set at 6.38 and the room is low-windowed and darkish. At any time after 7 the chances were that he would notice nothing. But make what play you like with that.
‘He must have had a disagreeable morning the day you arrived,’ said Sir Impey. ‘Always supposing, of course, that this prosecution is justified. I wonder he made no efforts, after the crime was discovered, to get the chain removed.’
‘He did,’ said Harriet. ‘He came in three times while the furniture-movers were there; and made a quite determined effort to get me out of the room to investigate some tinned goods. I did go out once, and met him in the passage, making for the sitting-room.’
‘Ah!’ said Sir Impey. ‘And you’d be prepared to go into the box and swear to that. You don’t leave me much chance between you. If you’d had any consideration for me, Peter, you’d have married a less intelligent woman.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve been selfish about that. But you’ll take the case, Biggy, and do your best?’
‘To please you, I will. I shall enjoy cross-examining you. If you think of any awkward questions to put to yourself, let me know. Now be off with you. I’m getting old, and bed’s the place for me.’
‘So that’s that,’ said Peter. They stood on the pavement, shivering a little. It was nearly three in the morning and the air was sharp. ‘What now? Do we seek a hotel?’
(What was the right answer to that? He looked at once tired and restless-a state of body in which almost any answer is the wrong one. She decided to risk a bold shot.)
‘ How far is it to Duke’s Denver?’
‘Just over ninety miles-say ninety-five. Would you like to drive straight down? We could pick up the car and be out of Town by half-past three. I’d promise not to drive fast and you might be able to get a bit of sleep on the way.’
Miraculously, the answer had been the right one. She said, ‘Yes; let’s do that.’
They found a taxi. Peter gave it the address of the garage where they had left the car and they trundled away through the silent streets.
‘Where’s Bunter?’
‘He’s gone on down by train, with a message to say we I might be a little late.’
‘Will your mother mind?’
‘No. She’s known me for forty-five years.’
And the moral of that is,’ said the Duchess…
Lewis Carrolclass="underline" Alice in Wonderland.
The great north road again, mile upon mile, through Hatfield, Stevenage, Baldock, Biggleswade, north and east to the Hertfordshire border-the same road they had travelled four days earlier, with Bunter sitting behind and two-and-a-half dozen of port stowed under his feet in an eiderdown. Harriet found herself dozing. Once, Peter’s touch on her arm roused her to hear him say, ‘That’s the turn for Pagford…’ Huntingdon, Chatteris, March-still north and east, with the wind blowing keener over the wide flats from the bitter northern sea, and the greyness that heralds the dawn lifting coldly into the sky ahead.
‘Where are we now?’
‘Coming into Downham Market. We’ve just passed through Denver-the original Denver. Duke’s Denver is about fifteen miles further on.’
The car swung through the little town and turned due east.
‘What time is it?’
‘Just upon six. I’ve only averaged thirty-five.’
The fen lay behind them now, and the country was growing more wooded. As the sun rose. they slipped into a tiny village with a church from whose tower a clock struck the quarter.
‘Denver Ducis,’ said Peter. He let the car dawdle down the narrow street. In the cottages, lighted windows showed where men and women were rising to go early to work. A man came out from a gate, stared at the car and touched his hat. Peter acknowledged the salute. Now they were out of the village, and running along beside a low wall, with high forest trees hanging over it.
“The Dower House is on the other side,’ said Peter. ‘It’ll save time to go through the park.’ They swung into a tall gateway, with a lodge beside it. The growing light showed the stone beasts crouched upon the posts, holding each a shield of arms. At the noise of the horn, a man hurried out of the lodge in his shirt-sleeves and the gates swung back.