“So that’s how it was done,” said Henry. “Very ingenious. Nobody’s going to notice if one of those stones is always in the same position. Go on.”
“Well,” said David, “I dug. I didn’t have to go far down. On the other end of the chain was a metal box in a waterproof bag. The box wasn’t even locked. And inside—”
He gestured toward the earring that glittered serenely on the table. “So,” said Henry, “you took just one earring to prove your story. What did you do then?”
“I b-buried the box again, in the same spot,” said David. His voice, which had been calm and strong while telling his story, now trembled again. “I th-thought the police would want to see the box in s-situ, as it were.”
“Quite right,” Henry commented. “What time was it by then?”
“It must have been about half past nine. The water was coming up fast, and Pocahontas was afloat again.”
“And then?”
There was a pause, and David said, “I went for a sail.”
Henry said, mildly, “That seems a slightly eccentric thing to do, in the circumstances.”
“I know.” David lit another cigarette, oblivious to the fact that a half-burnt one was still smouldering in the ashtray. “I knew you’d s-say that. I wanted to think.”
“About Pete Rawnsley.”
“Yes.”
“You wondered, suddenly, if Pete might have run his boat aground on purpose, because he knew very well where the jewels were. Because he had put them there.”
David raised his hands and let them fall again in a vague, helpless gesture. “I didn’t know what to think.”
“Were you at the famous Hunt Ball at Rooting Manor?”
“Y-yes. I went with Rosemary and Alastair.”
“Did you?” said Henry. “That’s very interesting. What time did you leave?”
David considered. “About three in the morning,” he said. “I know I got back to town about six, feeling lousy.”
“You drove back alone?”
“Yes. Rosemary and Alastair were staying the night at the Bush.”
“Right,” said Henry. “Now to get back to this morning. You had plenty to think about. You knew that Hamish had gone ashore and quarreled with his uncle the day he died.”
David managed to grin. “So you believe that now, do you?”
“Yes,” said Henry. “Do you want me to go on?”
David said nothing. Henry went on. “You’d had a suspicion all along that Hamish killed Pete, accidentally. Finding the jewels put a much worse complexion on everything. You began to suspect that Hamish and Pete together might have organized the robbery. Hamish’s remarks about money that day on Steep Hill took on a new and sinister significance. What’s more, you knew that Anne was with the two Rawnsleys at the Hunt Ball, and that she stayed the night in their cottage. You may, by then, have known something else about Anne which would have provided an even stronger motive for—”
“I’m not saying anything,” said David stubbornly. “You’re doing the talking, not me.”
“All right, we’ll leave it at that,” said Henry. “You wanted to think. So you went for a sail. What conclusion did you come to?”
“I couldn’t decide what to do. The only certain, ethical part of the whole business seemed to be that the jewellery belonged to Sir Simon—or rather, to Priscilla, but one can’t take her seriously. So finally I made up my m-mind to go and see him before I told the police. I b-beat back up the river to Steep Hill, anchored the boat, and rowed ashore. I got into the b-boathouse, and I was tying up the dinghy when I heard a n-noise in Priscilla’s fo’c’sle. I th-thought perhaps... I don’t know what I thought. Anyway I had a look, and I found Emmy.”
“Yes,” said Henry devoutly.
“I c-carried her up to the house. I was considerably shaken, as you can imagine. And then you told me...about Colin. I realized then that the whole thing was much too serious to fool about with. I f-felt I couldn’t trust anybody. So I decided to say nothing until I could tell you.”
“Quite right,” said Henry.
“And here I am,” David ended rather lamely.
“You behaved very sensibly,” said Henry. “I’m more than grateful to you.”
David said, awkwardly. “I’m glad. I mean, I want to help all I—”
“Just one more thing,” said Henry. “What time did you come back and anchor off Steep Hill?”
David looked surprised. “I don’t know exactly, but you can work it out. It must have taken me about half-an-hour to row ashore, find Emmy and bring her up to the Hall. I got there at a quarter to f-four, didn’t I? So say quarter past three.”
“You didn’t by any chance come back and drop anchor earlier? Say about half past twelve?”
“Of course not.”
“You didn’t row ashore then, and find the Hall deserted, except for—”
“No.”
“You could have,” said Henry thoughtfully.
“I could have,” said David angrily, “but I didn’t.”
Henry picked up the earring. “You haven’t told anybody about this?”
David shook his head.
“Not even Rosemary and Alastair?”
“Not a soul.”
“Good,” said Henry. “Don’t. May I keep it?”
“Of course,” said David, with a kind of disgust. “I don’t want the bloody thin
g.”
“Right,” said Henry. “That’s all. And thank you again.”
At the door, David hesitated. “I know I’ve got no right to ask,” he said, “but...well...how long do you think all this will g-go on? It’s pretty intolerable for...for all of us. Besides, we should all go back to L-London, and I gather that—”
“Don’t worry,” said Henry. “It’ll be over soon. One way or another.”
“Thank God,” said David. He walked out into the dark passage, a tall, disconsolate figure.
When David had gone, Henry sent for George Riddle. The first and most obvious thing that struck him about Sir Simon’s manservant was that he was in a bad state of fright. His thin, white face was twitching with nerves, and his voice, dropping all pretensions at gentility, was unnaturally high-pitched and loud. He started to speak as soon as he was inside the door.
“I didn’t ’ave nothing to do with it,” he said, in a rapid, high-pitched whine. “Honest, sir, I didn’t. I don’t know where she got it from. I left on me dad’s bike as soon as I got the Daimler parked. Never even went inside. It’s my day off, and I went to me sister Lil, what’s married to Johnny Burrows up Woodbridge way. You can ask ’er. I was there all afternoon.”
“You don’t know where who got what?” Henry asked patiently.
“Miss Priscilla. I just ’eard she’s ill...”
“She’s dead,” said Henry flatly. “Sit down.”
“Dead?” repeated Riddle, stupidly. “Gawd.” Sweat broke out on his pale face. He sat down heavily. “It couldn’t ’ave killed ’er,” he said. “It couldn’t ’ave.”
“What couldn’t have?”
“What I... I mean, nothing. I don’t know nothing.”
“You got Miss Priscilla’s gin for her, didn’t you?” said Henry.
Riddle was silent.
“There’s no use denying it,” said Henry. “Bob Calloway has told us.”
This was a shot in the dark, but Henry felt perfectly secure that it would find its target. Sure enough, Riddle gave in at once.
“I was under orders,” he whimpered. “I couldn’t do otherwise. It wasn’t none of my business.”
“Whose orders?”
“I don’t know.”
“Pull yourself together, man,” said Henry a trifle irritably. “If you were under orders, somebody gave them to you.”