“Why, what has happened?”
“Nothing, really, I suppose. That’s what Marcus says. Only, you see, Jasper hasn’t been in touch with us since he finished his A-levels and went on holiday with his friends while we flew to Italy for a little break after the play.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Emma. I’ve got two boys and they are exactly the same. I expect Jasper is enjoying himself and letting time pass. If he is anything like our two, you will probably find you get a solitary picture postcard after he arrives home. He is abroad, I suppose?”
“Yes. There are four of them. They were to cross to France and will be touring, so I can’t get in touch with Jasper even if Marcus would let me, which he wouldn’t. He says I’m just making a fuss about nothing.”
“I’m sure he is right. Besides, if there is one thing more than another which young men resent, it’s somebody worrying about their safety.”
“Oh, I know, but I can’t help it.”
“Well, look, do you know the parents of the other boys?”
“Not really, but I’ve got the address and telephone number of one who came and stayed with us last year. Quite a nice boy, I thought.”
“Why don’t you ring his people up and ask if they’ve heard from their son, and whether they know how the boys are getting on?”
“I can’t do that. Jasper would never forgive me.”
“If I were worried about one of my boys I would chance that. Besides, ten to one he would never know you had made the enquiry. Wouldn’t it be worth it just to set your mind at rest?”
Nobody came forward to identify the body and the inquest on the dead youth was adjourned while further enquiries were made. Meanwhile Marcus and Emma Lynn received an unpleasant surprise. In response to his wife’s entreaties Marcus, who at first had dismissed Emma’s anxieties as ‘hen with one chick stuff, my dear, so for goodness’ sake snap out of it and leave the lad a bit of freedom from petticoat government’, yielded at last and rang up the family of the youth who had been last year’s guest at the Lynns’ house.
His consternation was immense when in response to his call, the youth’s mother informed him that her son certainly had gone on holiday and with two friends whom she named. Jasper Lynn was not one of them.
“Richard did invite him,” she said, “and all the arrangements were made, we thought, but at the last minute Jasper ducked out on the excuse that he could not afford the trip.”
At this Marcus could scarcely contain himself, but he retained sufficient self-control to thank her and apologise for troubling her.
“I do hope nothing’s wrong,” she said.
“No, no. Jasper did mention a possible change of plan, but we heard no more about it, so concluded that he had gone with Richard and the others after all,” Marcus assured her.
To Emma he exploded, while she, poor soul, wrung her hands and wept.
“You said he ought to have his freedom,” she sobbed, “and now he’s taken it you’re angry with him, but whatever can he be doing?”
“He’s a deceitful, humbugging, double-crossing young hound!” shouted Marcus. “Lies, lies, lies! What’s bred in the bone will come out in the flesh! His father was rotten to the core, lord or no lord, and the boy takes after him. Well, he gets nothing more out of me!”
“He isn’t responsible for his father, dear,” said Emma, lifting her head and blowing hard into her handkerchief.
“To dare to tell those people he couldn’t afford the trip! He was loaded with money! My only fear was that with so much on him he might be robbed. He could have had a fortnight at the best hotel in Paris on what I gave him. He’s absconded with the lot, that’s what he’s done. I’m going to keep my eyes skinned, I can tell you! He’ll be signing cheques in my name the next thing you know.”
“Oh, Marcus, of course he won’t! He is just having his little fling after all the hard work he put in for his exams. I expect he has gone off with some girl. I just hope he doesn’t get her into trouble, that’s all. He is far too young to marry.”
“Oh, it won’t come to that,” said Marcus, beginning to calm down. “If he’s gone off with a girl, she can’t be anybody respectable, or we should have heard by now. If he’s made a fool of himself she can be bought off. I’ll do that much, if it’s necessary. It’s the old Adam coming out, as I say, and this business puts the lid on it, but I’ll see he doesn’t ruin his life by marrying her.”
“But we don’t know yet that he has gone off with a girl. That was only an idea. You know how romantic he is, but I do think we ought to give him the benefit of the doubt until we know a bit more.”
Meanwhile an upheaval of a different kind was going on not so very far away. Simon and Penelope Bradley came back from their round-the-world cruise, Rosamund and Edmund were reunited with their parents, Jonathan and Deborah returned to their Cotswold home and Dame Beatrice went back to the Stone House.
“Sorry you’re leaving us,” said the Chief Constable when she called to say goodbye. “Unfinished business, what!”
“I have no intention of leaving anything unfinished, but there is nothing I can do here which I cannot do equally well from my own home.”
“Conway has given up hope of solving the mystery of Bourton’s death. There is talk of re-opening the inquest and allowing the coroner to pronounce the verdict he was prepared to give at the beginning.”
“Death by misadventure? But it was murder, carefully and deliberately planned. It was committed by one of the cast of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and fairly recently I have been inclined to add another name to my list of suspected persons.”
“Oh? May I ask—?”
“Certainly. Before I leave this neighbourhood I should like to talk to Mr Tom Woolidge.”
“Tom? Good Lord! Tom wouldn’t murder anybody. He’s a particularly decent chap and, incidentally, much too thick to have thought up this rather ingenious business of making a man commit suicide, which is the only other verdict the coroner can think up.”
“Is Mr Woolidge too decent to make love to another man’s wife?”
“You mean Barbara Bourton. Oh, I’m sure Bourton knew all about that and didn’t give a damn. They went their own ways, you know, Barbara being on the stage and all that. Tom is a very personable chap and could get any woman he wanted, but with Barbara he’s more like a lolloping old faithful hound than a gay Lothario. I wouldn’t waste any time over him if I were you. He’s been pursuing Barbara for years. That’s why he’s never married. If Tom had been the murderous type he’d have had a go at Donald long ago, but he’d have shot him or something open and above-board like that. He’s incapable of thinking out this hole-and-corner game of making the man murder himself.”
“But so is everybody else I have interviewed. I was co-opted into this affair as a psychiatrist and I cannot see anybody yet who conforms to the necessary pattern. I need time to mull over my case-notes and find in them some vital clue. From what you tell me, an interview with Mr Woolidge would be a waste of that time and would not assist that thought. There remains this other death, that of the boy found on the foreshore.”
“There’s a tie-up somewhere, but we shall never find out what it is. Apparently he purchased a rapier which may have been cut down to make the dagger which killed Bourton. Somebody decided it was best to put him out of the way, and that somebody may well be Bourton’s murderer. And now we’ve got something else on our plate. Lynn reports his adopted son as a missing person and wants us to trace him.”
“Yes, Deborah told me of Emma Lynn’s anxiety.”
“It seems that, as soon as he had finished with school and while they themselves—the Lynns—were in Italy, the lad was to go on holiday and hasn’t been seen or heard of since.”