‘What took you to Gilverton?’
‘Hedges,’ said Alec. ‘Your steward is an excellent chap with hedges, Dandy. I’m thinking of trying to poach him.’
‘Not my steward,’ I said. ‘And he loves Hugh with a devotion you could not hope to dent.’
‘Anyway, it seemed uncivil to drive right past when I might have been able to bring a message or something.’
‘Damn,’ I said. ‘What a chump I am. You might have collected my things. I was only meant to be here a day or so, and I’m running out badly. Practically going to be wrapped in brown paper by tomorrow.’
‘Of course,’ said Alec. ‘What would have been easier than for me to rummage through your wardrobe and pick out a few frocks?’
‘Grant is there doing the picking, idiot,’ I said, severely. ‘I meant you could bring them. Now for goodness’ sake let’s get on with it.’
‘Yes, do stop wittering on about frocks and fish tanks, Dandy, please.’
I ignored him, gathered my thoughts briefly, and began.
‘Humph,’ he said, when I had finished. ‘It’s a bit thin, isn’t it? If I’ve got you aright. Between teatime and dinner on Thursday, Dudgeon suddenly developed a strong disinclination to carry out his yearly duty as this green man character. I shall have to see a photograph of it, you know, because at the moment the mind rather boggles. He would not elucidate the problem, but when you tried to persuade him he promptly changed his mind back again for no obvious reason. He walked the town, drinking whisky, eating nothing, and not even – as you put it – powdering his little green nose, from nine in the morning until six in the afternoon. He was then going to go straight home with his wife – another departure from the norm – but changed his mind again, came back to the Fair, climbed the pole as was his wont and there, in the most theatrical way imaginable, died. The police were suspicious at first, but the post-mortem showed heart failure caused by alcohol -’
‘I’m not happy about that,’ I said. ‘Could we say that the examination found heart failure, enough alcohol to explain the heart failure, and nothing else that would have caused him to die. Can you see how that makes a difference?’
‘I can indeed, and it’s a salutary point, humbly taken. Right then, his wife was upset, but not – what would you say? – not as upset as she ought to be?’
‘No, it’s not that. I don’t think for a second she did it. She was considerably distraught. Devastated would hardly be too strong a word. But she was also worried by something, and when she heard that there was to be no investigation, that there was no question of foul play, she seemed…’
‘Relieved? She would be.’
‘Not relieved exactly. More like unwilling to believe her… I don’t want to call it her luck for after all her husband did die and I’m sure she loved him and is heartbroken, but I think she suspects something, or maybe even knows something, so while she’s relieved, she’s also puzzled and not quite ready to trust that it won’t still blow up in her face.’
‘She must be cultivated, clearly.’
‘Of course.’
‘And not to shirk, darling, but that would rather fall to you.’
‘Of course, of course. I shall have to take Buttercup along, I expect, but nothing could be more natural. Now, where you come in is to -’
‘Hold on. Don’t just plunge. I take it, by the way, that “Buttercup” is Frederica? Not kind. Anyway, all that – Dudgeon’s ambivalence, Mrs Dudgeon’s distraction and the death – that’s what we know, but what do we think, Dandy? What does de Cassilis think happened? And why did the doctor miss it? Who are our suspects? What are our theories?’
I had to work hard not to let my spirits and my shoulders droop under the weight of all this. Suspects? Theories? There were none. And yet, when I set my mind to it, various little sparks did begin to flash.
‘To start with,’ I said, ‘I don’t know about you, but I feel very wary of admitting the notion that the doctor “missed” something. I know Cad is leaping gaily on to the “untraceable poison” wagon, but it seems altogether too far-fetched to me.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Also Dr Rennick is practically suppressing the facts as it is, putting the heart thing centre-stage and drawing a thick veil over the whisky. He wouldn’t do that if he had been less than thorough.’
‘Let’s hope not. But you’re dismantling our case before we’ve even started and on the telephone you seemed to think there was something in it.’
‘I do. Dudgeon was not himself. Something happened on Thursday afternoon. After his death Mrs Dudgeon was terribly worried that an inquiry was going to reveal what that something was. There is our mystery. There is our case. But I believe, I really do, that the death was exactly as Dr Rennick described it.’
‘A meaningless coincidence?’ Alec looked at me, inquiringly.
‘I’m afraid so, unsatisfactory as it seems. Or perhaps not exactly. Perhaps the mystery contributed to the strain on Dudgeon’s heart in some way.’
‘And have you any idea what that mystery is?’ said Alec.
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘But have you asked yourself why Buttercup and Cad were catapulted into such a prominent role in the Fair within minutes of hanging their hats here?’ Alec shook his head. ‘Well, there are a clutch of interlocking little stand-offs – stands-off? – stand-offs being enacted very subtly by various parties. I haven’t quite sorted the players out yet, but there’s a teetotal element, which would like the Ferry Fair shut down, or at least turned into a tea-party which would amount to the same thing. There’s also a rather grim religious element which disapproves of the Burry Man for obvious reasons, and probably isn’t too mad about the general frivolity. There’s also a fearful bore of a schoolmaster who seems to straddle both camps. And I just wonder – Cad put me on to this, actually – whether Robert Dudgeon was, I believe the term is nobbled.’
‘Murdered by a representative of the Temperance Movement?’
‘Not murdered, Alec you goose. Haven’t you been listening? Nobbled. Bribed maybe, or blackmailed.’
‘I see!’ said Alec. ‘He undertook not to do his thing, then he double-crossed them and did it anyway and the added stress of knowing he was for it led to his heart attack and now Mrs Dudgeon is dreading the comeback. He must have been remarkably suggestible. Practically spineless.’
‘Hmm, he didn’t strike me that way, I’ll grant you. But it’s only a thought.’ I stopped, since we had come to a fence, and rested my arms upon one of its posts.
‘So,’ said Alec. ‘Worming away at Mrs Dudgeon is the first task for you. What about me? Am I to infiltrate a Temperance meeting? I doubt that the blackmail would be minuted and the sum entered into the accounts.’
‘Quite the reverse,’ I said. ‘The first thing I’d like you to do – with Cad if it’s easier or alone – is to go on what I believe is called a pub crawl. I want to get some idea of just how much whisky was involved on Friday so that we can talk Cad out of his fevered imaginings, and at the same time you can gossip away to the landlords and the bar regulars and might pick up a scent of what was on Dudgeon’s mind.’
‘So I’m to be quaffing beer and chatting up serving wenches and you’re to be holding the hand of the widow. That seems fair.’
‘As luck would have it, though, darling, Brown’s Bar where the comeliest of the local barmaids – Miss Brown – can be found is already ticked off the list. That’s the one place we know he had nothing. So sucks to you.’
‘Dandy, you must stop quoting those horrible children of yours.’
‘Make me,’ I replied. ‘To which the answer is “Watch me.” And then I think it’s “You and whose army?” You’re right, Alec. They’re unspeakable. I shall have them adopted. Now where shall we go? Into the woods, over the fields, or back to the castle?’