Wimsey was staggered. It was as simple as that, then. All this mystification, and nothing behind it but a trivial local feud. He glanced sharply at Jem. It was getting dark, and the young man’s face was nothing but an inscrutable profile.
‘Very well, Jem,’ he said. ‘I quite see. But now, about this business on the shore. Why did you and your grandfather persist in saying you saw nobody there?’
‘But that was right, sir. We didn’t see nobody. You see, it was like this, sir. We had the boat out, and we brings her along there; round ‘bout the slack, knowin’ as the other boats ‘ud be comin’ home with the tide, see? And Grandad says, “Have a look along the shore, Jem,’ he says, ‘and see as there’s none o’ them Gurneys a-hangin’ about.” So I looks, an’ there weren’t a soul to be seen, leaving out this chap on the Flat-Iron. And I looks at him and I sees as he’s asleep or summat, and he’s none of us by the looks of him, so I says to Grandad as he’s some fellow from the town, like.’
‘He was asleep, you say?’
‘Seemingly. So Grandad takes a look at him and says,’”He’s doin’ no harm,” he says, “but keep your eyes skinned for the top of the cliffs.” So I did, and there wasn’t a single soul come along that there shore before we gets to the Grinders, and that’s the truth if I was to die for it.’
‘Now, see here, Jem, said Wimsey. ‘You heard all the evidence at the inquest, and you know that this poor devil was killed round about two o’clock.’
‘That’s true, sir; and as sure as I’m sitting here, he must ha’ killed himself, for there was nobody come a-nigh him — barring the young lady, of course. Unless it might be while we was taking them pots up. I won’t say but what we might a-missed summat then. We finished that job round about two o’clock — I couldn’t say just when it were, not to the minute, but the tide had turned nigh on three-quarters of an hour, and that’s when I looks at this fellow again and I says to Grandad, “Grandad,” I says, “that chap there on the rock looks queer-like,” I says, “I wonder if there’s sum mat wrong.” So we brings the boat inshore a bit, and then, all of a sudden, out comes the young lady from behind them rocks and starts caperin’ about. And, Grandad, he says “Let un bide,” he says, “let un bide. Us have no call to be meddlin’ wi’ they, he says: And so we puts about again. Because, you see, sir, if we’d gone a-meddling and it was to come out as we was thereabouts with the boat full of Tom Gurney’s, lobsters, Tom Gurney’d a-had summat to say about it.’
‘Your grandfather said you saw Alexis first at about 1.45. It ‘ud be before that, sir. But I’ll not say as we kept our eyes on un all the time, like’
‘Suppose someone had come along, say, between 1.45 and two o’clock, would you have seen him?’
‘Reckon so. No, sir; that poor gentleman made away with himself, there’s no doubt of it. Just cut his throat quiet-like as he sat there. There’s no manner of doubt about that.’
Wimsey was puzzled: If this was lying, it was done with a surprising appearance of sincerity. But if it was truth, it made the theory of murder still harder. to substantiate than before. Every fragment of evidence there was, pointed to the conclusion that Alexis had died alone upon his rock aid by his own hand.
And yet — why wouldn’t the bay mare go near the Flat-Iron? Was it possible Wimsey was no friend to superstition, but he had known such things happen before — was it possible that the uneasy spirit of Paul Alexis still hung about the Flat-Iron, perceptible to the brute though not to self-conscious man? He had known another horse that refused to pass the scene of an age-old crime.
He suddenly thought of another point that he might incidentally verify.
‘Will anybody be up and about at your home, Jem?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. Mother’s sure to be waiting up for me.’
‘I’d like to see her.’
Jem offered no objection, and Wimsey went in with him to Pollock’s cottage. Mrs Pollock, stirring soup for Jem in a saucepan, received him politely, but shook her head at his question.
‘No, sir. We heard no horse on the beach this afternoon.’ That settled that, then. If Wimsey could ride past the cottages unnoticed, so could any other man.
‘The wind’s off-shore today,’ added Mrs Pollock.
‘And you’re still sure you heard nothing of the sort last Thursday week?’
‘Ah!’ Mrs Pollock removed the saucepan. ‘Not in the afternoon, what the police was asking about. But Susie have called to mind as she did hear something like a trampling round about dinner-time. Happen it might be twelve o’clock. But being at her work, she didn’t run out to look.
’Twelve o’clock?’
‘Thereabout, sir. It come back to her all of a sudden, when we was talkin’ over what that young Ormond wur askin’ about.’
Wimsey left the cottage with his ideas all in disorder. If someone had been riding on the shore at twelve o’clock it accounted for the horseshoe, but it did not account for the murder. Had he, after all, been quite wrong in attaching so much importance to the horseshoe? Might not some mischievous lad, finding the bay mare at large, have ridden her along the beach for a lark? Might she not even have strayed away on her own-account?
But that brought him back to her strange behaviour of that afternoon, and to the problem of the ring-bolt. Had the ring-bolt been used for some other purpose? Or suppose the murderer had come to the rock on horseback at twelve o’clock and remained talking there with Alexis till two o’clock? But Jem said that there had been only the one figure on the Flat-Iron. Had the murderer lurked hidden in the rocky cleft till the time came to strike the blow? But why? Surely, the sole reason for riding thither could only have been the establishment of an alibi, and an alibi is thrown away if one lingers for two hours before taking advantage of it. And how had the mare got home? She was not on the shore between one o’clock and two o’clock if — again Jem was to be trusted. Wimsey played for a few moments with the idea of two men riding on one horse — one to do the murder and one to take the animal back, but the thing seemed far-fetched and absurd.
Then an entirely new thought struck him. In all the discussions about the crime, it had been taken for granted that Alexis had walked along, the coast-road to the Flat-Iron; but had this been proved? He had never thought to ask. Why might not Alexis have been the rider?
In that case, the time of the mare’s passing might be explained, but other problems bristled up thick as thorns in a rose-garden. At what point had he taken horse? He had been seen to leave Darley Halt, by road in the direction of Lesston Hoe. Had he subsequently returned and fetched the mare from the field, and so ridden? If not, who had brought her and to what rendezvous? And again, how had she, returned?
He determined to hunt out Inspector Umpelty and face him with these problems.
‘The Inspector was just going to bed, and his welcome was not a hearty one, but, he showed signs of animation on hearing Wimsey’s fresh information.