‘It looks less and less like one of the Wild Thyme dancers, don’t you think?’
‘So you’ve hinted before, ma’am, and I don’t want you to name me any names. I can’t pre-judge the case and I’ve got to get sufficient evidence to produce in court. I take it that you can’t supply me with that?’
‘Most unfortunately, no, I cannot, and you are right not to allow prejudice to distort your mind.’
‘That Willie Nicolson distorts it, ma’am. He’s a Highlander and that race are apt to be very dark horses compared with the likes of you and me. Devious is the word.’
‘My secretary is a Highlander, and a more open, and, in every way, a more ingenuous woman, I have yet to meet.’
‘The ladies come outside the scope of my argument, ma’am. I’m only saying that Nicolson was the owner of that tandem.’ He chuckled and rang off, but there was soon another story to be told and it concerned another set of records, this time those of the forest warden. When she heard of this, Dame Beatrice confessed to Ribble that she was perturbed.
‘There is only one interpretation to be put upon these two thefts, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Our murderer is what my secretary would call ‘in business’ again.’
‘You may well be right, ma’am, and a very nasty business it is. What’s in his mind, do you suppose?’
‘Revenge,’
‘Sounds more like a foreigner, then.’
‘Well, the English are not good at hating, but, unlike Bottom, who could merely gleek, no doubt they can murder, upon occasion.’
‘And the Scots, ma’am?’
‘Ah,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘I see that you are still barking up the same tree. ‘Out with your man and set him against the wall.’ Your mind still runs on Mr Nicolson.’
‘It would, if I had a little more to go on,’ said Ribble. ‘He has no alibi for the first murder and, as I see it, the rest of them would lie themselves black in the face to cover up for him for the second one.’
The story told by the forest warden was similar, in many respects, to that told by Mrs Beck. Having received his telephone call, Ribble went to see him.
‘You know the set-up here, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Non-residents are entitled to enter the forest on payment of a toll, so although we have a check on all the cabin parties, we have virtually none on our occasional visitors. However, I really can’t think that one of these could be responsible for the disappearance of my records. I mean, somebody just passing through could have no possible interest in them.’
‘What records would these be, sir? Names and addresses of your cabin people?’
‘Exactly. I need them for reference and, in any case, they are nobody else’s business and are not in any way what one may call confidential. Why should anybody take my records?’
‘You don’t suspect any, in particular, of your tenants, I suppose, sir?’
‘Nobody in particular, but it is possible, I suppose, that one of the younger men might want to check the address of a young woman who had taken his fancy.’
‘Was any damage done, sir?’
‘The window-catch on the ground floor — my office is on the ground floor with my flat above it — the window-catch had been forced, so I suppose the intruder climbed in by the window. The door has a Yale lock and there had been no tampering with that. No, there was no actual damage. I have no lock on my desk or to any of the drawers in it, and I have never troubled to lock my filing-cabinet as it never contains anything of a strictly confidential nature or anything of value. Money is never left on the premises. I need hardly tell you that.’
‘When did you miss the records, sir?’
‘Immediately before I telephoned you. I have my routine and I adhere to it. My office hours — that is to say, the times when I am available for interviews or to listen to complaints — are from nine until eleven each morning and from five o’clock to six each afternoon. I very seldom get complaints, but I like to welcome new residents on the first evening of their stay. As for my morning sessions, they are devoted to paperwork and sometimes to checking on those visitors who propose to take the long forest trail. As you probably know, there are four marked trails in the forest. One is a short walk which takes about three-quarters of an hour, the second and third take from an hour and a half to two hours. There are coloured route-signs which are simple to interpret. The long trail, however, covers ten miles and we like to know at what time the walkers set out and we ask them to clock in at the office when they get back.’
‘So you check in this way in case anybody gets lost, I suppose.’
‘That is the idea. They can hardly get lost unless they stray from the marked course, but part of it is in open country and then, if the mist comes down suddenly, or if they loiter too long and it gets dark, well, then they can be in trouble and we advise them before they start to stay put until the search party finds them if they do get lost or benighted.’
‘Yes, sir, very interesting, but what about the theft of your records? You telephoned me at ten this morning and you say you did so as soon as you discovered the records were missing. Could I have the whole story?’
‘Oh, certainly, but there is not much I can add to what I said over the phone. We let the cabins on a weekly basis from Saturday to Saturday. We don’t encourage people to clock in before lunch because the cabins are cleaned when the outgoing tenants leave at ten or earlier on the last Saturday of their stay. Some people book for a week, others for longer. A fortnight is the average in the summer, a week in Spring or at this time of year.’
‘So in mid-week you would not be as busy as at weekends, whatever time of year it was.’
‘That is correct. I left the office at six last evening when everything was still in order and came in at nine this morning as usual. I did not take my records out of the filing-cabinet immediately, as I had some odds and ends of correspondence to clear up and that involved nothing but opening my desk.’
‘May I look at your filing-cabinet, sir? Detective-Constable March will check it for fingerprints. We have some from a break-in at the Youth Hostel at Long Cove Bay which we should like to match.’
‘You mean the same man broke in there?’
‘We shall know when we have the prints.’
‘But a person who would use a youth hostel is hardly a person who would book accomodation in the forest, Inspector. Aren’t the hostellers birds of passage? Here, you know, we never take bookings of less than a week, except—’
‘Except when the police commandeer a cabin for a couple of days. Yes, I know. Much obliged for your help in that little matter, sir.’
‘Oh, I made the books tally up to a point. I recorded your dancers as having been accomodated in the cabin evacuated at the beginning of the week by those four women who went off at such short notice. The cabin had been paid for, you see, and they were not entitled to any reimbursement, neither did they ask for any. Your dance people did not occupy that particular cabin, but it tidied things up a little to pretend they did.’
‘So you dealt with your correspondence, sir, and then went to your filing-cabinet?’
That’s right. I thought it ought to be on record that those girls had left. I mean, it would look very odd if they were—if they had a road accident in, say, Cornwall, when they were supposed to be on holiday up here. Well, of course, when I looked for the file on Cabin Eight it wasn’t there.’
‘Was that the only file which was missing?’
‘No. Several others had gone, and that one was among them. All the missing files were under the initial L.’
‘L could be for Lestrange or for Lyndhurst. That might be significant. Well, I’m glad you reported this, sir. It may help us. As soon as Constable March has finished, perhaps you will permit me to inspect one or two of the files which are left.’