“What on earth…?” Patrick said, coming up to her.
“Get Dr. Mayne, could you? Up to her room. And Patrick — there are two fishermen and Mr. Pender outside. She wants them to have drinks on her. Can you fix it? I’ll explain later.”
“Good Lord! Yes, all right.”
Jenny overtook Miss Emily on the landing. She was shaky and, without comment, accepted an arm. When they had reached her room she sat on her bed and looked at Jenny with an expression of triumph.
“I am not surprised,” she said, “it was to be expected, my dear”—and fainted.
“Well,” said Dr. Mayne, smiling into Miss Emily’s face, “there’s no great damage done. I think you’ll recover.”
“I have already done so.”
“Yes, I daresay, but I suggest you go slow for a day or two, you know. You’ve had a bit of shock. How old are you?”
“I’m eighty-three and four months.”
“Good God!”
“Ours is a robust family, Dr. Mayne. My sister, Fanny Winterbottom, whom I daresay you have met, would be alive today if she had not, in one of her extravagant moods, taken an excursion in a speedboat.”
“Did it capsize?” Jenny was startled into asking.
“Not at all. But the excitement was too much and the consequent depression exposed her to an epidemic of Asiatic influenza. From which she died. It was quite unnecessary, and the indirect cause of my present embarrassment.”
There was a short silence. Jenny saw Dr. Mayne’s eyebrows go up.
“Really?” he said. “Well, now, I don’t think we should have any more conversation tonight. Some hot milk with a little whisky or brandy, if you like it, and a couple of aspirins. I’ll look in tomorrow.”
“You do not, I notice, suggest that I bathe my injuries in the spring.”
“No,” he said, and they exchanged a smile.
“I had intended to call upon you tomorrow with reference to my proposals. Have you heard of them?”
“I have. But I’m not going to discuss them with you tonight.”
“Do you object? To my proposals?”
“No. Good night, Miss Pride. Please don’t get up until I’ve seen you.”
“And yet they would not, I imagine, be to your advantage.”
There was a tap on the door and Mrs. Barrimore came in.
“Miss Pride,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I’ve just heard. I’ve come to see if there’s anything…” She looked at Dr. Mayne.
“Miss Pride’s quite comfortable,” he said. “Jenny’s going to settle her down. I think we’ll leave her in charge, shall we?”
He waited while Mrs. Baltimore said another word or two, and then followed her out of the room. He shut the door, and they moved down the passage.
“Bob,” she said, “what is it? What happened? Has she been attacked?”
“Probably some lout from the village.”
“You don’t think…”
“No.” He looked at her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Don’t worry so, Margaret.”
“I can’t help it. Did you see Keith?”
“Yes. He’s overdone it, tonight. Flat out in the old bar-parlour. I’ll get him up to bed.”
“Does Patrick know?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“He wasn’t flat out an hour ago. He was in the ugly stages. He — he — was talking so wildly. What he’d do to her — to Miss Pride. You know?”
“My dear girl, he was plastered. Don’t get silly ideas into your head, now, will you? Promise?”
“All right,” she said. “Yes. All right.”
“Good night,” he said and left her there with her fingers against her lips.
On the next day, Tuesday, Miss Emily kept to her room, where in the afternoon she received, in turn, Mr. Nankivell (the Mayor of Portcarrow), Dr. Mayne and the Reverend Mr. Carstairs. On Wednesday, she called at Wally’s cottage. On Thursday she revisited the spring, mounted to her observation post, and remained there, under her umbrella, for a considerable time, conscientiously observed by Sergeant Pender, to whom she had taken a fancy, and by numerous visitors as well as several of the local characters, including Miss Cost, Wally Trehern and his father.
On Friday she followed the same routine — escaping a trip wire, which had been laid across her ascent to the ledge and removed by Mr. Pender two minutes before she appeared on the scene.
An hour later, this circumstance having been reported to him, Superintendent Alfred Coombe rang up Roderick Alleyn at his holiday address.
Alleyn was mowing his host’s tennis court when his wife hailed him from the terrace. He switched the machine off.
“Telephone,” she shouted. “Long distance.”
“Damnation!” he said and returned to the house. “Where’s it from, darling?”
“Portcarrow. District Headquarters. That’ll be Miss Emily, won’t it?”
“Inevitably, I fear.”
“Might it be only to say there’s nothing to report?” Troy asked doubtfully.
“Most unlikely.”
He answered the call, heard what Coombe had to say about the stone throwing and turned his thumb down for Troy’s information.
“Mind you,” Coombe said, “it might have been some damned Ted, larking about. Not that we’ve had trouble of that sort on the Island. But she’s raised a lot of feeling locally. Seeing what you’ve told us, I thought I ought to let you know.”
“Yes, of course. And you’ve talked to Miss Pride?”
“I have,” said Coombe with some emphasis. “She’s a firm old lady, isn’t she?”
“Gibraltar is as butter compared to her.”
“What say?”
“I said: Yes, she is.”
“I asked her to let me know what her plans might be for the rest of the day. I didn’t get much change out of her. The doctor persuaded her to stay put on Tuesday; but ever since, she’s been up and about — worse luck. She’s taken to sitting on this shelf above the spring and looking at the visitors. Some of them don’t like it.”
“I bet they don’t.”
“The thing is, with this Festival coming along tomorrow the place is filling up and we’re going to be fully extended. I mean, keeping observation, as you know, takes one man all his time.”
“Of course. Can you get reinforcements?”
“Not easily. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. I don’t reckon it’s warranted. I reckon she’ll watch her step after this. But she’s tricky. You’ve got to face it: she is tricky.”
“I’m sorry to have landed you with this, Coombe.”
“Well, I’d rather know. I’m glad you did. After all, she’s in my district — and if anything did happen…”
“Has there been anything else?”
“That’s why I’m ringing. My chap, Pender, found a trip wire stretched across the place where she climbs to her perch. He was hanging about, waiting for her to turn up, and noticed it. Workmanlike job. Couple of iron pegs and a length of fine clothesline. Could have been nasty. There’s a five-foot drop to the pond. And rocks.”
“Did you tell her?”
“Yes. She said she’d have spotted it for herself.”
“When was this?”
“This morning. About an hour ago.”
“Damn.”
“Quite so.”
“Does she suspect anyone?”
“Well, yes. She reckons it’s a certain lady. Yes, Mr. Mayor. Good morning, sir. I won’t keep you a moment.”
“Has your Mayor just walked in?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you, by any chance, mean the shopkeeper? Miss Cost, is it?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll ring up Miss Pride. I suppose she knocks off for lunch, does she? Comes off her perch?”
“That’s right. Quite so.”
“What’s the number of the pub?”