‘What now?’ she asked. Dame Beatrice waved a yellow claw.
‘The boat from Rosslare is just coming in,’ she said. ‘A good lunch, did you not think? Also, if I mistake not, here comes a motor-coach party. I would prefer to retain our privacy and peace. Shall we return by way of Hereford? I booked rooms there for tonight.’
‘And we’re really not going to Swansea?’
‘And we really are not going to Swansea. I must speak to Mr Honfleur again, and as soon as I can.’
‘But you’ve nothing to report, have you?’
‘I shall say that we made no enquiries in Swansea.’
Laura gave it up. They got into the car and headed for Carmarthen and Brecon.
It was impossible to leave Hereford next morning without visiting the Cathedral, so it was not until half-past ten that Dame Beatrice and Laura left the hotel. When they were headed for Winchester Dame Beatrice said,
‘I have a strange yearning to inspect the Westgate ahead of us.’
‘Haven’t you seen it before?’
‘Only the exterior.’
‘May I ask why this sudden enthusiasm?’
‘Because I have often suspected you of possessing second sight, and, as I told you, it is you who have directed my attention to gatehouses.’
Laura, who often suspected her employer of laughing at her, disdained to continue the conversation. She parked the car as near the Westgate as the regulations allowed and together they ascended the flight of stone steps which led up to a vast door. The room they entered was furnished as a tiny museum and behind a table sat the curator.
‘There is a way up to the roof, if you wish,’ he said. Laura guessed that this roof was their objective, but they looked at the exhibits in what had been the thirteenth-century gatekeeper’s lodging and then they climbed a second staircase, a shorter one this time, and stepped out into the open air.
The parapet was crenellated with alternate embrasuers and merlons. Dame Beatrice regarded it with approval, while Laura went from side to side of the flat roof to obtain the views.
‘What next, then?’ she asked, when she had done this.
‘Home, when I have telephoned Henri that we shall arrive in time for dinner. The afternoon is yet young. Let us walk alongside the delightful River Itchen wherein an acquaintance of mine once assured me that he had seen a naiad. We will go as far as St Cross, a modest mile or so away, and hope to see a kingfisher or maybe a wily trout as we wander across the water-meadows.’
On the following morning, chauffeur-driven, this time, by her man-servant George, Dame Beatrice went to report to Basil Honfleur.
‘So you did not go to Swansea,’ said Honfleur, when they met.
‘I thought it unnecessary. All the possible enquiries there have been made by the police.’
‘Yes, well, naturally I’ve had to answer their questions. It seems that the port authorities are accustomed to seeing our coaches in the parking lot, and thought nothing of it when Daigh’s coach arrived.’
‘But did they expect it to stay so long?’
‘The police asked them that and they said it was unusual, but they weren’t worried. The point is, as I told you, that an Irish coach takes over when our passengers reach Cork. The tour really starts from there.’
‘With an Irish driver, I think you said.’
‘Oh, yes. You’ll remember that our man brings our coach back here so that it can be used for one of our shorter tours while the passengers are over in Ireland. Then it returns to Swansea in time to pick them up again. It takes them to Llanelli for the night, because the boat does not get in very early. They’re due for an extra dinner, bed and breakfast, anyway, before we bring them back here. Besides, it’s a lovely drive on the last day. They come by way of the Severn Bridge, and feel they’re getting a bonus.’
‘Tell me, where would you hide a murdered body, should you chance to have such an incubus about you?’
‘Murdered? You don’t think these poor chaps of mine have been murdered?
‘Your affectation of astonishment does not deceive me. Our first conversation convinced me that you yourself already feared as much.’
‘Only because I couldn’t think of any other reason for their disappearance. I never mentioned murder, did I?’
‘I do not remember, but it was clear to me that you had murder in mind.’
‘Well, they were such good chaps, you see. I couldn’t imagine them just walking out on their jobs, let alone on their wives and children.’
‘Have they wives and children?’
‘Now that you ask me, I must confess that I’ve no idea.’
‘You suggested, I remember – or somebody did – that they might have domestic troubles.’
‘Oh, well, now! After all, their domestic complications are no business of mine.’
‘Oh, quite. No doubt the police have made that sort of enquiry their affair, if only to be sure of getting the bodies identified if my fears prove to be justified.’
‘Look here, you’re hinting at all sorts of horrible things. What do you think has happened? You’re holding out on me, aren’t you? You know something you haven’t told me.’
‘It is not knowledge. It is merely surmise. Moreover, it takes me back to a question which, so far, you have not answered.’
‘Where would I hide a murdered body? That is if I had been the murderer, I assume.’
‘The murderer or his accomplice.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘On this occasion, yes.’
‘You’re thinking of Derbyshire, I suppose. Well, there’s plenty of space on the moors.’
‘And in West Wales?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, but there must be plenty of places. I suppose it would depend upon how quickly one wanted to get rid of the body.’
‘Yes, no doubt a great deal would depend upon that.’
‘Look, what are you getting at?’
‘I hardly know.’
‘Well, I know this much: you wouldn’t be talking like thus unless you had something to go on. Why don’t you tell me what it is?’
‘Because I do not trust your walls.’
‘Good God, they’re not bugged!’
‘No, but they are said to have ears.’
‘You don’t trust my drivers?’
‘I am not sure that I have ever fully trusted anybody except Laura and my servants.’
‘But that’s a terrible philosophy!’
‘Not at all. Remember what Gilbert Keith Chesterton said.’
‘About what?’
‘ “Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall be gloriously surprised.” ’
‘Well, suppose you surprise me, and not necessarily gloriously. What are you getting at? Let’s go outside if you don’t want to talk here.’
‘We could talk in my car.’ They went out to it and took the back seat. ‘Drive us around a little, George,’ said Dame Beatrice to her chauffeur. Then, as they moved into a stream of traffic, she settled herself as though she had no more to say.
‘Well?’ said Honfleur at last. His query was answered by another.
‘I have it from you that Noone and Daigh were efficient drivers, but what kind of men were they?’
‘I’ve already told you that I know nothing of their private lives.’
‘I am not thinking of them as husbands and fathers, but as comrades and fellow-workers. You have indicated that your driver-couriers are closely knit. Were Noone and Daigh any different from the rest?’
‘No, not in that way. They got on well with everybody, so far as I know.’
‘Apart from the other drivers, who must be weary of police interrogations, have you any other employees who would know something about these two men?’
‘Oh, I expect a certain amount of chatting-up and chaff goes on between our drivers and the two women behind the counter in our main booking hall. Any cancellations, you see, come in by telephone (often at the last minute, unfortunately for us), and are taken by the counter clerks. It’s then their business to contact me or my secretary and then to inform the drivers.’