‘And, so far as is known, she occupied it.’
‘Yes, and got them to ring up a taxi for her in the morning. Tynant may have brought her back to the Holdy Bay hotel, but he did not go in that Sunday night.’
‘What about the Saltergates?’
‘Same old story. They came back to the Horse and Cart when they said they did, went up to their room and appeared at the usual time for breakfast before preparing to go off to the castle for their morning’s work on the ruins, only to be stopped by a phone call from Tynant informing them of Veryan’s death. What they did or where they went between about midnight and breakfast time, with that fire-escape so safe and handy, is anybody’s guess. My trouble is that they don’t fit the picture.’
‘In what way?’
‘I can imagine Saltergate getting sore enough with Veryan to throw him off the tower and hurl his telescope after him, but I can’t imagine him wiping his own fingerprints off the telescope. I don’t believe it would have occurred to him to take those sort of precautions.’
‘So we are dogs chasing our own tails. There is just one source of information we might tap, although I doubt whether we shall get much help from it. I wonder what the arrangements were in respect of giving permission to three separate parties to go to work on the castle ruins?’
‘Three separate parties, ma’am?’
‘Certainly, and each had to get permission from the landowner. The Saltergates wanted to tidy up and, to some extent, to restore the defences of the castle; Professor Veryan, assisted by Mr Tynant, wanted permission to excavate, as I understand it, a late Neolithic or Early Bronze Age burial mound; and my godson and his friend had heard rumours of treasure hidden in one of the castle wells. Each party must have asked permission and none seems to have been refused it.’
‘You regard that as significant, ma’am?’
‘Yes, indeed I do. The interests of the various parties were bound to clash and it is my opinion that, if the owner is away from home, permission may well have been granted only by the caretaker and to give three separate permits seems extremely strange unless there was some very good reason for it, don’t you think? It seems to me that if the owner is absent he may not even have been consulted. I am told that the caretaker has visited the ruins, yet, from what I have gathered, one would hardly suspect him of taking an interest in mediaeval fortifications or prehistoric burials. What kind of man is the owner? Is anything known about him?’
‘Bought the estate only a couple of years ago. Not a native, as they call it in these parts. Made money and is a bit jumped up. Not exactly out of the top drawer, so to speak. He wouldn’t care tuppence whether the castle is a historical monument or a broken-down cowshed, so far as I can make out from the local people. A good enough chap in his way, by all accounts, charitable and a good landlord and all that, but your view that the caretaker gave permission for the tidying-up and the dig is very interesting.’
‘Would you describe the owner as a wealthy man?’
‘Made his money on the stock market, so I’m told, ma’am.’
‘Go and see whether he has returned. If not, contact the agent or whoever is in charge. Ask which of the three parties was first in getting permission to carry out a survey of the castle ruins. Somebody must have had priority and that may be the answer to our problem of why Veryan was killed and who killed him.’
The next development was unexpected but occasioned no particular surprise. It was reported by Bonamy to Dame Beatrice.
‘I say, you know,’ he said, ‘those chaps who are supposed to do most of Tynant’s digging, well, they don’t turn up any more and Tom and I are getting a bit cheesed off at lugging our guts out. It’s not as though we are ever going to get anywhere with the wells. If the treasure is in one of them, there it’s likely to stay and, that being so, our real reason for being here and using up the vac has gone.’
Dame Beatrice responded sympathetically, but offered no advice as to his and Tom’s future procedure. She was far more interested in Mowbray’s attempts to confirm or discredit the rest of the alibis. His next move had been to check with Tynant exactly what had happened concerning the breakdown of the car on the night of Veryan’s death, but made no headway against a practised debater, particularly as the outdoor staff at the Barbican were fully prepared to confirm Tynant’s story that they had found him waiting patiently to be admitted to the hotel before breakfast time on the Monday morning.
Susannah proved equally obdurate. The car had broken down, Tynant had escorted her to the hotel, they had provided her with a bed and she had asked them to ring up a taxi after she had had an early breakfast on the following morning. The all-night garage consulted their records at Mowbray’s request and confirmed that they had had the car, adjusted what had proved to be a very slight fault and had returned the car at midday to the Barbican hotel, where Tynant, ‘in a tizzy because he had found the other gentleman dead’, had paid for the repairs and got a receipt for the money. Tynant produced the receipt.
Mrs Veryan stuck to the story she had already told Mowbray.
‘I told you,’ she said somewhat peevishly, ‘I was on a friend’s cruiser for the whole weekend. We were off the Suffolk coast and did not land until Tuesday morning, when I read of the death. Of course I can prove it. You said yourself that my friends had backed up my story. Besides, why on earth would I want to kill Malpas? He was generous and understanding and much more use to me alive than dead. It has now been confirmed that the income his money will bring me in is a good deal less than the alimony which he most faithfully paid and, as my lawyers have told you, I can’t touch the capital. That remains in trust until I die and then it will go to archaeological research. I’ve told you all this. Why do you go on badgering me?’ Mowbray left it at that.
‘So I still don’t understand, sir,’ he said to Tynant, ‘why, having taken Dr Lochlure back to the hotel, you did not commandeer a bed for yourself as well as one for the lady, after you had telephoned the garage.’
‘Do I have to keep spelling it out?’ demanded Tynant irritably. ‘Susannah and I were resolved not to return to Holdy village together. I am deeply concerned for her reputation. We were not supposed to have spent the weekend together. She was supposed to have stayed at the home of Fiona Broadmayne and nobody cared a damn what I did on my own, but there soon would have been wagging tongues if it was known – as it is now, unfortunately – that we spent the weekend together at Holdy Bay. I may add that I have made a formal proposal of marriage to Susannah.’
‘So all’s well that ends well, sir.’
‘No. If you must know, she turned me down. If you really want something useful to do, you might find me another couple of stalwarts to help on my dig. You remember them, Stickle and Stour? Well, I’ve enquired at the hostel in Pureford where they were living, but they seem to have walked out from there without giving notice and it’s three days now since anybody has seen them.’
‘Pureford seems a long way off from here, sir. It’s all of fifteen miles, isn’t it?’
‘They came in on a motorbike and sidecar every morning and rode back to the hostel at midday. We don’t work in the afternoons because of the weather and the women. We paid the men a generous petrol allowance. They were not permanent residents, I believe, but itinerants who usually picked up jobs on building sites or any other casual labour they could get. They were glad enough of this job here, I thought, because it offered steady work for a couple of months or even longer. I can’t see any reason why they should have walked out on me.’