‘Well, there isn’t much more to tell. I felt compelled to apologize to Tidson for walking about where he was fishing, but he seemed to have taken it all in pretty good part, and the last I saw of him was when he began packing up his belongings to go home. I came on here to see you, and that was that.’
‘Interesting,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I must see what Mr Tidson has to add to it all. It would be a pity if, after all this time, he had lost the chance of seeing his nymph. I should call it quite unbearable, in fact.’
The inspector looked her straight in the eye.
‘And, after that masterly display of side-stepping, what do you really think?’ he demanded. ‘I suppose you mean that the nymph I heard and half-saw was Mrs Tidson, but, if so, what was she up to?’
‘Trying to work herself up to the point of committing suicide, perhaps,’ said Mrs Bradley. Gavin looked at her, but she seemed to be thoroughly in earnest.
‘Weave your spells,’ he said. ‘I am your attentive and open-mouthed listener. Go ahead, please, and be as theoretical as ever you like. After all, the atom bomb began as a theory, I suppose.’
‘So, probably, did the conception of good and evil,’ Mrs Bradley remarked. ‘Light your pipe, then, child, and let us be cosy. First, though, what about the dog?’
Gavin took out his pipe.
‘Ah, yes, the dog,’ he said. ‘I’ve been asking the local people more about it. They are confident that the wretched carcase was not there at the time, or immediately after, the boy Biggin’s body was found, and the vet. says the dog had not been dead as long as that, and that agrees with the post-mortem.’
Before this entrancing subject could develop, Mr Tidson came into the smoke-room.
‘I can’t find Thomas,’ he said.
‘Ah,’ said Mrs Bradley, not at all taken aback by his sudden appearance, although Gavin wondered how much he had heard from outside the door, ‘You are just the person, Mr Tidson! You now have ample confirmation of the presence of your naiad in the Itchen. Mr Gavin has not only seen her, but he has heard her speak.’
‘That wasn’t the naiad. That was Crete,’ said Mr Tidson snappishly. ‘I told her the water was too cold, and that bathing wasn’t permitted. I am really rather cross with Crete. I wish you would speak to her for her good. As a doctor, I mean. She has a high temperature and a cold in the head to-day. I don’t care for a snuffling wife. It is most annoying when people sniff, and complain of a headache, and all through their own fault, too! If she must bathe, she ought to go to Bournemouth. I won’t have her frightening the fish!’
Mrs Bradley said that she was sorry to hear that Mrs Tidson had taken cold, and that the bathing at Bournemouth was enjoyable, but that it seemed a long way to go for a swim, although Connie Carmody had done it.
‘At any rate, it will teach her not to make fun of my nymph,’ went on Mr Tidson. ‘I dislike practical joking, especially on subjects of academic interest.’
‘Talking of those,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘I am still most intrigued by those contusions you all sustained on the morning after the night when I threw the nail-brush. Do you remember? Not that I intended that as a practical joke, but it must have seemed rather like it.’
Mr Tidson looked bewildered.
‘When you threw—?’ he said, blinking, as though he found her statement too difficult to follow.
‘Yes. An intruder or marauder, or even—’ She paused and eyed him beadily.
‘Or even?’ said Mr Tidson boldly.
‘Or even a murderer, entered the room I had exchanged for my own, and I threw the soap. It slipped, so I tried the nailbrush. It got home. Next morning Connie, you and your wife, and even poor Miss Carmody, all had bruises on the face. Do you remember?’
‘I remember Crete’s criminal carelessness,’ said Mr Tidson. ‘And I remember that we explained to you what had happened. But why did you throw anything at all at the intruder? Would it not have been better to arouse the household? – Perhaps not, though, as it wasn’t a private house. Were you much alarmed? I suppose you must have been. And how did you come to be near the nailbrush to throw it?’
‘Well, Connie complained of ghosts,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘and we exchanged rooms. It occurred to me that she might have been the victim of an intentional intrusion, so I thought I would wait up to find out what happened, or, rather, whether anything would happen.’
‘And somebody really came in?’
‘Yes, by way of the air-raid-precautions passage, which, later, upon my representations, the management kindly blocked up.’
‘Really?’
‘And next day you all had those bruises.’
‘Even Connie!’ said Mr Tidson with meaning. ‘Yes, even Connie,’ Mrs Bradley agreed.
‘But only one person entered the room that night?’
‘Precisely. Only one person.’
‘Coincidence,’ said Mr Tidson, with a shrug.
‘She must have had a very long arm to black four people’s eyes on the same morning,’ said Gavin. Mr Tidson turned round on him at once.
‘In a city which harbours a naiad in a chalk stream, anything may happen,’ he said in a tone of reproof; but before he could continue he heard Thomas come into the vestibule, and, breaking off his remarks, he darted to the door to waylay him.
‘There is one more thing,’ said Mrs Bradley, when Mr Tidson, having demanded an ABC time-table from Thomas, had gone off to the lounge to peruse it. She described the early-morning walk on which she had followed Crete Tidson out of the town.
‘And somebody in a car brought her a letter?’ said Gavin. ‘What do you make of it? – an assignment? She’s a very beautiful woman, and Tidson isn’t very exciting, I imagine.’
‘Well, whatever I make of it,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘this peculiar case is mostly guess-work.’
‘Then you do make something of it? – Come on! You agreed to put your cards on the table.’
‘Right. I should not be at all surprised if the letter did not contain a message from Connie Carmody.’
‘But isn’t Miss Connie Carmody supposed to dislike and distrust the Tidsons? I understood that she was afraid of Mr Tidson, in fact.’
‘She gave that impression, but their interests in some matters are the same.’
‘You mean she is jealous of the boy, young Preece-Harvard, and the Tidsons want his money? I’d like to have a look at that letter.’
‘There is no need to trouble about that. I can guess what was in it. You might be able to trace the man who brought the letter, but I don’t really think that is necessary. If the letter was what I think, we shall prove it from the Tidsons’ reactions, particularly those of Crete. I should not be surprised if she is getting rather tired of the business.’
‘She wouldn’t give the whole thing away if we pressed her hard, I suppose?’
‘I doubt it. It would make her an accessory. Besides, whatever she might tell us, I doubt whether she could prove it. The murderer has made one bad although unavoidable mistake, but I don’t think Crete was there, and I don’t think she knows how significant it was.’
‘How do you mean – a bad mistake?’
‘In killing the second boy. I don’t think that was part of the original plan.’
‘I see. This lad Biggin might have seen the first murder committed, I suppose. He must have been sleeping out, from what we can gather. Is that what you mean?’
‘I should say there was little doubt of it. The boy was in hiding, as you say, from the authorities, and may easily have seen what was done. He may even have tried to threaten the murderer on the strength of it.’