“Well, I never!” said Thackeray. “A man and a woman. Who would have thought-”
“You wouldn’t and that’s plain,” said Cribb ungraciously. “You’re coming with me to arrest ’em, Thackeray. Hardy can cope with Fernandez.”
Hardy had made his priorities patently clear before Cribb had got to the end of his speech by stepping into the road and whistling for a cab he had seen. It pulled up beside the curb.
“This will do,” said Cribb. “What are you waiting for, Thackeray? There’s another one behind for you, Hardy. Whistle him up, man, or he’ll pass you by.”
CHAPTER 36
Harriet reclined against the cushions watching clusters of foliage drift across her vision. She had the interesting sensation that the punt was stationary and the trees were travelling over her head in the direction of Oxford. Common sense dimly insisted that John Fernandez was poling the punt upstream, but common sense was a poor match for dark leaves moving against a blue sky after Chianti and Benedictine.
She should not have accepted the drinks. How many times had she heard Miss Plummer articulate the perils of insobriety? One sip, she would say, one sip will seep into your veins, depriving you of the will to resist the devil and all his works. And she was right! The dear old Plum was right! Harriet on her cushions was unable to resist even the glass of champagne John Fernandez had poured for her after they had pushed off from Magdalen Bridge.
Bubbly, Molly always called it when she talked about it in college. Molly, naturally, knew about champagne, the devil and any of his works you cared to mention. But had she ever shared a bottle of Pommery and Greno’s Extra Sec on a punt with a Fellow of the University of Oxford?
“We shall stop under the willow there,” announced Fernandez, so distantly he might still have been at Magdalen Bridge. “The leaves will form a natural canopy. Do not be alarmed if they brush your face as we pass underneath.”
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the coolness of the shade. Fernandez thrust the pole into the mud below and looped the painter round it. Then he brought the champagne bottle to Harriet’s end of the boat and sat level with her knees. “Before I begin, will you have another glass, Harriet? Of course you will.”
She held her glass unsteadily under the neck of the bottle.
“You must be asking yourself, my dear, how I was able to confirm so confidently that Bonner-Hill was murdered in error. It will interest you to know that you have held the evidence of this in your own pretty hands.”
“My own pretty hands?” Harriet repeated, wishing she could think of something more intelligent to say.
“I refer to the letter you found in Bonner-Hill’s rooms and so kindly returned to me. I still have it in my pocket.”
Harriet saw him take it out and open it. It was pale green in colour. She had remembered the envelope as white. She moved herself up on the cushions and saw that not only the envelope, but his hands were tinted green. With some relief she realized that it was due to the effect of the sunlight filtered through the leaves.
“Shall I read it?” he said. “It is only a note and there is no address and nor is it signed. It says, ‘If you would care to hook one of thirty pounds or more, take the backwater on the Osney side of the second railway bridge at 8:30 a.m. on Saturday, 28th August, and proceed towards North Hinksey. Bring live bait and hooking tackle. You will be shown the place. I promise you this one is no jack.’ ”
“I don’t understand it,” said Harriet. “Have I drunk too much champagne?”
Fernandez smiled indulgently. “It would make sense only to an angler, and a pike man at that. It promises to reveal the haunt of a pike of prodigious size. The person who wrote it knew precisely how to secure my interest.”
“I think I should be suspicious of a letter nobody had signed.”
“So was I, my dear-up to a point. The truth of it is that my curiosity was stronger than my suspicion. When you have been searching for two years for a large pike, a letter such as this is difficult to dismiss. The person who wrote it obviously knew something about pike fishing.”
“He knew something about you,” added Harriet, and thought it rather a profound remark.
“True, my dear. Oh, I considered the possibility of an undergraduate prank, but the students were still on vacation. Term doesn’t begin for another week. The trunks are starting to arrive, but not their owners. I ask you, where would be the amusement of a jape with nobody about to appreciate it? The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the letter was serious in intent. What I could not fathom was the reluctance of the writer to identify himself. The only explanation I could hazard was that somebody for his own malicious reasons wished to frustrate another angler who had traced the fish to its lair and was planning to take it. The pike, you see, is a fish that favours particular haunts. The backwater mentioned in the note happens to lead into Hinksey Stream, where the largest pike in Oxford was caught. In short, the letter was too convincing to ignore.”
“You decided to carry out the instructions?”
“That was my intention until Friday evening, when I felt so wretched after dinner that I knew I should be unable to get there on Saturday. I went to Bonner-Hill’s rooms and showed him the letter. I had made no arrangement with him to come with me because it seemed to me there was some question of confidentiality in the business, and I did not want to risk antagonizing my mysterious correspondent. Bonner-Hill read it carefully and agreed with me that it would be a pity to ignore it. He offered at once to go in my place, and I agreed. He would say, if he were asked, that he was John Fernandez. Neither of us realized what a fateful decision we had made. You may imagine how I felt when I learned that Bonner-Hill’s body had been found.”
Harriet took hold of a willow leaf and traced her fingers along its stem to the bough. “Did you tell the police about the letter?”
“I did not, I confess. I shall explain the reason, Harriet. As recently as last June, I had a profoundly disturbing experience at the hands of the police. The Warden called on me one afternoon and said that a detective sergeant had come to Merton and wanted to ask me certain questions. He had travelled up from Scotland Yard, so I gathered that it must be something important, although I couldn’t imagine what. I hold the view that we have a duty to co-operate with the functionaries of law and order, so I admitted this detective and a constable who had come with him, and the Warden very decently withdrew.”
“What did they want?”
Fernandez moved closer to Harriet. “My dear, I am sure that a young lady such as yourself can have had no experience of the police, except perhaps to ask for directions in some unfamiliar neighbourhood. Allow me to tell you that they are by no means so courteous or considerate as they may appear. These officers began at once to question me in a manner that was so far from being civil that I had to remind them more than once where they were and who I was.”
“How very unpleasant,” Harriet commented, at the same time moving more to the side of the punt so that her legs were less in danger of touching his.
“I would not describe myself as a gregarious person, Harriet,” he went on, “but I am fortunate in having a modest circle of acquaintances, including some of the fair sex. I am a bachelor, as you must know, and my position in the College necessarily reduces my opportunities of meeting ladies, but that does not mean that I do not enjoy their company. Without being indiscreet, at the risk even of sounding a little conceited, I would add that from time to time ladies have demonstrated more than a little interest in making my acquaintance.” He paused, as if to give Harriet the opportunity of making her own position clear, but she was dipping the willow leaf in her champagne and moistening the tip of her tongue with it. “If this bores you, my dear …”