‘Could be,’ he said, ‘but I wouldn’t like to swear to it. This one is dead, then?’
‘Yes,’ said Dame Beatrice. She produced her Home Office credentials. ‘The police are interested in him, so I hope that you will be prepared to co-operate if they ask you to substantiate your recognition of the youth you knew as Todhunter. There is more than a suspicion that his death was no accident. That is why the police are so anxious to get him identified.’
‘I’ve never had dealings with the police and I don’t want to begin at my age.’
‘You could sell your story to the papers, Mr Smallwood,’ said his assistant. ‘They pay big money for stories about murder.’
Before they left Castercombe, Dame Beatrice and Laura, having asked to be directed to the chemist’s at which Todhunter had been an assistant, obtained no confirmation of Smallwood’s identification of the model in the coloured photographs, for the shop had changed hands. Nevertheless, as Laura said, there was now something to report to the Axehead police. The detective-inspector was interested but cautious. He did not see, he said, that the identification of young Todhunter got him very much further in identifying the body of the man found in the river, since nobody had yet come forward to put a firm name to this man. They could not be certain he and Todhunter were the same.
‘If the young fellow went abroad,’ he said, ‘we should have the devil of a job proving that he ever came back, especially as we don’t know to what part of the world he went. Then, again, if this shopkeeper in Castercombe recognised the youngster in your photograph, but can’t swear to the man in ours, well, there you are. In any case, we haven’t a clue as to why anybody should murder him, any more than we know why Goodfellow was murdered. What’s your theory, ma’am?’
‘I believe the man in the river knew of something in the murderer’s past and that the man found dead in the valley had been a witness of the river murder.’
‘Ingenious, ma’am, but where is the proof?’
‘Still to be sought.’
‘Do you know who the murderer is?’
‘Not, as you point out, without proof. I was told that young Todhunter was dismissed from his job for petty pilfering. Did the shopkeeper give him in charge as well, I wonder? If so, the police at Castercombe might also be able to identify my photograph and (a remote possibility, no doubt) recognise the man in yours.’
‘Well, I’ll get in touch with them, of course, since you suggest it, but, in my opinion, it’s a very long shot, ma’am.’
It turned out that there had been no charge laid against Todhunter, but the Castercombe police agreed to find out what they could and whether the youth had indeed left the town. If he had, they would do their best to discover where he had gone and whether he had got into any trouble or made any enemies there, but they indicated that it was a forlorn hope.
‘And, if he changed his name as, being in disgrace, he most likely did,’ they said, ‘we shall be left without a clue and and it might seem a waste of time and trouble to start looking into things now that he’s dead.’ The detective-inspector transmitted this opinion to Dame Beatrice when he received it and added that, great though he knew her reputation to be, even she would find this particular nut too hard to crack. Meekly she agreed.
‘Are you really giving up?’ asked Laura. Dame Beatrice cackled, but made no other reply. Meanwhile the police continued with their enquiries into the antecedents of the so-far mysterious Goodfellow and with some, although limited, success. To Bryony’s annoyance, Susan’s curiosity and Morpeth’s alarm, they began at Crozier Lodge just as lunch was being cleared away, so that all three women were in the house. Detective-Inspector Harrow began with Susan, but the interview produced nothing. She denied, quietly but firmly, ever having met Goodfellow.
‘I’ve been told about him, of course,’ she said, ‘but the only time he came here I was out with a couple of the hounds and when I got back I was told about his visit and what a screwball he seemed to be. Scared both the girls, I guess, so Bryony wished him on to Dame Beatrice, she being trained to deal with such cases and, so far as my knowledge goes, he never came here again.’
15
Watersmeet Again
« ^ »
There is something I ought to tell you,’ said Bryony. Dame Beatrice looked interested and nodded.
‘A confession of sorts,’ she said. ‘I have been expecting it, although I have no idea at all of what is about to be disclosed.’
‘I did it with the best of intentions.’
‘One so often does.’
‘It’s about that Watersmeet business. I know it was murder. I know what the murder weapon was and where it is.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘No. They will be so angry with me that I am quite alarmed at the thought. I believe they could put me in prison for withholding evidence and concealing a murder weapon.’
‘No doubt you had a reason for what you did. You spoke of good intentions.’
‘Oh, yes, of course I had a reason. I thought Susan had done it. She found Sekhmet and the body. I thought perhaps she had seen the man kicking Sekhmet or something of that sort, and had attacked him with a sharp piece of flint. I found it — or, rather, one of the dogs did.’ Bryony proceeded to tell the story of how curiosity had taken her to Watersmeet and of the hole in the bank which had interested the hound.
Dame Beatrice listened and did not interrupt. At the end of Bryony’s confession she said, ‘So why do you now think that Susan is innocent?’
‘Oh, because whoever killed that man at Watersmeet must be the valley murderer. That stands to reason. Susan has an alibi for the whole evening on which Goodfellow was murdered. She was here for supper and we had it later than usual. She spent the rest of the evening at the Crozier Arms. She told us she did and I was mean enough to check. Regrettably, in a way, she got very drunk and the poacher Adams took her home and put her to bed. He seemed to think it was a good joke. I checked again, because it seemed very necessary in view of my previous suspicions, and it seems they made so much noise that they disturbed her neighbours, so there are witnesses.’
‘Susan has now told me where she was at the time of the Watersmeet death, too, and I believe her. I am sure that Susan is not a murderess. I have almost enough evidence to convict the same person of both the crimes.’
‘I suppose I mustn’t ask.’
‘Better not. I should not answer you at this juncture. We had better go and find the Watersmeet weapon, don’t you think? If it was a sharp piece of flint, it should be identifiable among the other stones in the river.’
‘The police will be so angry with me,’ repeated Bryony unhappily.
‘Then let me bear the brunt. Laura and I will go to Watersmeet and retrieve this talisman and bear our sheaves rejoicing to the Axehead police station.’
‘You will have to involve me, of course.’
‘Not unless you are a murderess,’ said Dame Beatrice, with a grim cackle, ‘but, if you were, you would hardly have come to me with this somewhat belated confession.’
‘Remorse might have overtaken me.’
‘Well, it has, but only because you now know that your suspicions of Susan were unjustified, although, to my mind, they were reasonable enough. I shall not involve you with the police if I can help it. After all, the piece of flint can hardly of itself identify the guilty party.’
‘Would the running water have washed away fingerprints?’
‘Yours and those of the murderer? As neither of you is likely to have had your fingerprints taken by the police, the question is immaterial at present.’
‘Do you know who the murderer is, then?’
‘I think I do, but actual proof is missing.’