A sudden, uneasy silence greeted his entrance. David made as if to get up, but sat down again when he saw Henry making his way over to Hamish and Anne.
Henry said, “Would you two mind coming into the lounge and talking to me for a bit? This is official.”
Anne stood up at once. She was solemn and very calm, like an overawed child. “Of course, we’ll do anything we can to help,” she said.
Hamish got up more slowly. He looked at Anne with some concern, and then said to Henry, “I don’t think it’s right that Anne should be worried by any more interviews. We’ve already had the inspector...”
“I’m really sorry,” said Henry. “It must be done.”
“I’m perfectly all right,” said Anne, and walked composedly out of the bar.
The lounge was small and dingy, but unoccupied. The three of them sat at a small circular table, from which Henry removed a drooping green plant in a brass pot. Then he brought out his notebook and said, “Let’s start with this afternoon. Inspector Proudie tells me you went to Berry Hall.”
There was a tiny silence, and then Hamish said, “That’s right.”
“Why?”
“I—” began Anne, but Hamish stopped her.
“Let me tell this,” he said. “There’s nothing to it, anyway. I was feeling pretty bloody about what happened last night. Colin, I mean.” He glanced surreptitiously at Anne, but she seemed quite unmoved. “I felt,” Hamish went on, in a rush, “that it was all my fault. It was I who got angry with Herbert and provoked Colin into that ridiculous display, which got him overexcited, and when he’s—when he was excited he always got drunk. I don’t suppose all this sounds very logical, but I wanted to—to confess, as it were, and take the blame. There didn’t seem to be anybody to apologise to, except Sir Simon. He’s the person one tends to go to in these parts when there’s any trouble. So I decided to go and see him and tell him it was my fault. I suppose I wanted an excuse to get out of Berrybridge, too. I’m afraid my motives aren’t very clear, but—”
“All right,” said Henry. “Never mind. Just go on. What happened?”
“I went upstairs to see Anne and tell her where I was going and why. We talked for a bit, and then she—”
“I insisted on going with him,” Anne broke in. “I didn’t want to be left alone, and I—”
“What time was this?”
Hamish frowned. “About a quarter to two, or a bit after, I suppose,” he said. “Anyway, we set out in the car for Berry Hall.”
“Did you,” Henry asked, “meet anybody on the way? Think hard. It’s very important.”
Quickly, Hamish said, “We saw George Riddle.”
“Where?”
“About a mile from the Hall. He was on a bicycle, riding towards Berrybridge, but as we came up to him he turned down the lane that leads to Woodbridge.”
“That’s very interesting,” said Henry. “Anybody else?”
There was a pause. Then Anne said, “We saw Old George, too, in his taxi.”
“Did we?” Hamish sounded genuinely astonished.
“I did,” said Anne. “You were probably too busy driving. He was coming down the lane into Berrybridge as we went up it.”
“Anybody else?”
“Not that I
can remember,” said Hamish. He looked interrogatively at Anne. She shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think we passed another car at all.”
“And what happened then?”
“Nothing,” said Hamish. “We drove up to Berry Hall, but it was completely deserted. We knocked and rang, but got no reply. So we came away again.”
“You didn’t go in?”
There was a silence.
“No,” said Hamish.
“Neither of you?”
“Well...”
“I went in,” said Anne. She turned to Hamish. “There’s no sense in lying to Henry. I can’t see that it’s important but I went in. Not for long. I just walked into the hall, and called, because the front door was open.”
“And you saw nothing and nobody?”
“Not a thing.” Anne was quite definite.
“You didn’t go into the Blue Drawing Room and look out over the river?”
“No. I walked about a bit on the terrace outside. So did Hamish.”
“I see.” Henry made a note. “And then?”
“Then we came away,” said Hamish.
“And you got to Berrybridge—when?”
Anne and Hamish exchanged the smallest of glances. Then Hamish said, “About half past four.”
“What were you doing in the meantime?”
“Just driving.”
“Where did you go?”
“I don’t know. I just drove. Anywhere.”
Henry looked at the two of them for a moment. They both seemed to be holding their breaths. Then he said, cheerfully, “Oh, well, that seems to cover the afternoon.”
There was a perceptible relaxation. Henry went on, “Now I want to talk about something else. The day Pete Rawnsley was killed.”
Instantly, the tension tightened again. Anne said, quickly, “Henry, I thought we’d—”
Henry said, “Everything has changed now, Anne. Colin’s dead.”
“Yes,” said Anne. It was a whisper.
“First of all,” said Henry to Hamish, “I’d like to know whether your uncle had made any night trips by himself in his boat shortly before he died.”
Hamish looked very surprised indeed. “Why do you ask that?”
“That’s my business,” said Henry. “Had he?”
“No.” Hamish was definite. “I’m certain he hadn’t. I’d have known if he had.”
“Right,” said Henry. He made a note. Then turned to Anne. “Now,” he went on, “I have two conflicting accounts of what happened after you and David rowed ashore that day. One from him and one from you. I want to know which is true.”
Hamish looked at Henry with a sort of horror. “Anne wasn’t on Steep Hill Sands that day.”
“Oh, yes, I was,” said Anne. A flush had come into her cheeks.
“It’s not true.”
“I was.” Anne leant forward. “I told Henry. I went ashore and I spoke to Pete and he—”
“She’s lying,” said Hamish calmly. He squared his shoulders. “I suppose I’ll have to make a clean breast of it. I was the only person who went ashore and spoke to Pete.”
“No!” Anne cried. There was a suspicion of hysteria in her voice. “It’s not true, Henry! It was me!”
Henry said to Hamish, “What time did you go ashore?”
“Ten o’clock,” said Hamish. “I looked at the time before I went, because I wanted to be sure not to miss the weather forecast.”
“You shared a house with your uncle,” said Henry. “You could have spoken to him whenever you wanted to. Why couldn’t you talk to him quietly in your own drawing room?”
“That’s what I mean,” Anne broke in. “It’s so silly. Of course Hamish didn’t go ashore. He’s only—”
“Go on, Hamish,” said Henry. “Why did you have to see him so urgently? It was about money, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Hamish. There was a long pause. Then he went on, “I can’t expect you to understand. You’re not a sailing man...”
“Tell me, anyway.”
“Pete and I,” said Hamish slowly, “inherited quite a bit of money two years ago. My parents are dead, you see, and Pete was like a father to me. A pretty heavy-handed father sometimes, too. This money was inherited jointly, but he had absolute control of it until his death, or until I reached the age of thirty-five, whichever was the sooner.”
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“That meant ten years to wait for your new boat, unless Pete—”
“You’re very quick,” said Hamish ironically.
“Thank you,” said Henry gravely. “Go on.”