She remembered that Miss Rickerby-Carrick had been presented with some of Miss Hewson’s Trankwitones and that Dr Natouche had said they were unknown to him.
Now. Was there any reason to suppose that the base didn’t stop there but reached out all round itself like a spider to draw in Andropulos and behind Andropulos, the shadowy figure of Foljambe? The Jampot? The ultra-clever one?
Was it too fantastic, now, to think the Jampot might be on board? And if he was? Well, Troy thought, she couldn’t for the life of her name her fancy. Figures, recalled by a professional memory, swam before her mind’s eye, each in its way outlandish — black patch, deaf ear, club foot and with a sort of mental giggle she thought: “If it’s Caley I’ve been kissed by a triple murderer and Rory can put that on his needles and knit it.”
At this point Mrs Tretheway’s little bell that she rang for meal-times, tinkled incisively. Troy opened the door and heard Tillottson’s paddy voice and a general stir as of an arrival. While she listened, trying to interpret these sounds, the cabin door on her left opened and Mr Lazenby came out. He turned and stood on her threshold and they were face-to-face. Even as close to him as she was now Troy could make nothing of the eyes behind the dark glasses and this circumstance lent his face an obviously sinister look as if he were a character out of an early Hitchcock film.
“You are better?” he asked. “I was about to inquire, I’m afraid you were very much upset and distressed. As indeed we all are. Oh, terribly distressed. Poor soul! Poor quaint, kindly soul! It’s hard to believe she’s gone.”
“I don’t find it so,” Troy snapped.
She saw his lips settle in a rather sharp line. There was a further subdued commotion somewhere on deck. Troy listened for a second. A new voice sounded and her heart began to thud against her ribs.
“If a poor parson may make a suggestion, Mrs Alleyn,” Mr Lazenby said and seemed to peer at her. “I think perhaps you should leave the Zodiac. You have had a great shock. You look—” The bell rang again. He turned his head sharply and the spectacles moved. For a fraction of a second Troy caught a glimpse of the left eye-socket behind its dark window. There was no eye in it.
And then she heard a very deep voice at the head of the companionway.
Without thought or conscious effort she was past Mr Lazenby, out of the cabin, up the stairs and into her husband’s arms.
-3-
Of course it was an extraordinary situation. She could think: “how extraordinary” even while her delight in his return sang so loudly it was enough to deafen her to anything else.
There had been some sort of explanation at large — introductions even — to whoever had been in the saloon followed by a retreat with Alleyn to her cabin. She remembered afterwards that they had encountered Mr Lazenby in the passage.
Now they sat, side by side, on her bunk and she thought she could cope with Catastrophe itself.
He put his arm round her and swore briefly but violently, asking her what the bloody hell she thought she was doing and giving her a number of hasty but well-planted embraces. This she found satisfactory. He then said they couldn’t sit down here on their bottoms all day and invited her to relate as quickly as possible anything she thought he ought to know.
“I’ve heard your extraordinary spinster’s been found in the river and that you were the first to see her. Tillottson seems to think it’s a case of foul play. Otherwise I know nothing beyond what you wrote in your letters. Look at you. You’re as white as a sheet. Troy, my darling.”
“It only happened a couple of hours ago, you might remember. Don’t fuss. Rory, there’s so much to tell and I’m meant to be upstairs being grilled with the others.”
“To hell with that. No. Wait a bit. I think we must listen to Tillottson in action. I’ve thrown him into a fine old tizzy, anyway, by turning up. Tell me quickly, then: what’s happened since you posted your last letter at Tollardwark?”
“All right. Listen.”
She told him about the diary going overboard, the behaviour of Mr Lazenby, the disappearance of Hazel Rickerby-Carrick, her sense of growing tension and Miss Hewson’s discovery of the “Constable”.
“There are a lot of other little things that seemed odd to me but those are the landmarks.”
“We’ll have the whole saga in detail later on. You’ve put me far enough in the picture for the moment. Come on. Let’s give Tillottson a treat. I’ve arranged to sit in.”
So they went upstairs. There were the other passengers in an uneasy row on the semi-circular bench at the end of the saloon: the Hewsons, Mr Pollock, Mr Lazenby, Caley Bard and, a little apart as always, Dr Natouche. The Tretheways were grouped together near the bar.
Facing the passengers at a dining table were Superintendent Tillottson and a uniformed Sergeant.
Troy sat by Dr Natouche who, with Caley Bard, rose at her approach. Alleyn stayed at the other end of the saloon. The Zodiac was tied up alongside the wapentake side of the river, below Ramsdyke Lock and the shapeless thunder of the weir could be distinctly heard. Scurries of detergent foam were blown past the open windows.
It was easy to see that Mr Tillottson suffered from a deep embarrassment. He looked at Troy and cleared his throat, he turned and nodded portentously to Alleyn. His neck turned red and he pursed up his lips to show that the situation was child’s play to him.
“Yerse, well now,” Mr Tillottson said. “I think if you don’t mind, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll just have a wee re-cap. I’ll go over the information we have produced about this unfortunate lady and I’ll be obliged if you’ll correct me if I go wrong.”
The Sergeant pushed his book across. Mr Tillottson put on a pair of spectacles and began to summarise, consulting the notes from time to time.
It was very soon clear to Troy that he refreshed his memory, not only from the Sergeant’s notes on what the passengers had divulged but also from the information she had given him on her three visits to police stations. Particularly was this apparent when he outlined the circumstances of Hazel Rickerby-Carrick’s disappearance. Troy sensed her companions’ surprise at Mr Tillottson’s omniscience. How, they must surely be asking themselves, had he found time to make so many inquiries? Or would they merely put it all down to the expeditious methods of our county police?
She glanced quickly at Alleyn and saw one eyebrow go up.
Mr Tillottson himself evidently realised his mistake. His résumé became a trifle scrambled and ended abruptly.
“Well now,” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, since we are all agreed that as far as they go, these are the facts, I won’t trouble you any more just now except to say that I hope you will all complete your cruise as planned. The craft will proceed shortly to a mooring above Ramsdyke Lock where she will tie up for the night and she will return to Norminster at about eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to remain within reach for the inquest which will probably be held the following day. In Norminster. If there is any trouble about securing accommodation, my department will be glad to assist.”
Upon this the Hewsons broke into vehement expostulation, complaining that they were on a tight schedule and were due next evening, to make a connection for Perth, Scotland.
Caley Bard said that with any luck they might meet up with Mavis and everybody but Troy and Dr Natouche looked shocked. Miss Hewson said if that was a specimen of British humour she did not, for her part, appreciate it and Mr Hewson said he did not find himself in stitches either.