I
Craddock was escorted by the boys through the back door into
the house. This was, it seemed, their common mode of entrance. The kitchen was
bright and cheerful. Lucy, in a large white apron, was rolling out pastry.
Leaning against the dresser, watching her with a kind of dog-like attention, was
Bryan Eastley. With one hand he tugged at his large fair moustache.
"Hallo, Dad," said Alexander kindly. "You out here again?"
"I like it out here," said Bryan, and added: "Miss
Eyelesbarrow doesn't mind."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Lucy. "Good evening, Inspector
Craddock."
"Coming to detect in the kitchen?" asked Bryan with interest.
"Not exactly. Mr. Cedric Crackenthorpe is still here, isn't
he?"
"Oh, yes, Cedric's here. Do you want him?"
"I'd like a word with him - yes, please."
"I'll go and see if he's in," said Bryan. "He may have gone
round to the local."
He unpropped himself from the dresser.
"Thank you so much," said Lucy to him. "My hands are all over
flour or I'd go."
"What are you making?" asked Stoddart-West anxiously.
"Peach flan."
"Good-oh," said Stoddart-West.
"Is it nearly supper-time?" asked Alexander.
"No."
"Gosh! I'm terribly hungry."
"There's the end of the ginger cake in the larder."
The boys made a concerted rush and collided in the door.
"They're just like locusts," said Lucy.
"My congratulations to you," said Craddock.
"What on - exactly?"
"Your ingenuity - over this!"
"Over what?"
Craddock indicated the folder containing the letter.
"Very nicely done," he said.
"What are you talking about?"
"This, my dear girl - this." He half-drew it out.
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
Craddock felt suddenly dizzy.
"Didn't you fake this clue - and put it in the boiler room
for the boys to find? Quick - tell me."
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," said
Lucy. "Do you mean that -?"
Craddock slipped the folder quickly back in his pocket as
Bryan returned.
"Cedric's in the library," he said. "Go on in."
He resumed his place on the dresser. Inspector Craddock went
to the library.
II
Cedric Crackenthorpe seemed delighted to see the inspector.
"Doing a spot more sleuthing down here?" he asked. "Got any
further?"
"I think I can say we are a little further on, Mr.
Crackenthorpe."
"Found out who the corpse was?"
"We've not got a definite identification, but we have a
fairly shrewd idea."
"Good for you."
"Arising out of our latest information, we want to get a few
statements. I'm starting with you, Mr. Crackenthorpe, as you're on the spot."
"I shan't be much longer. I'm going back to Iviza in a day or
two."
"Then I seem to be just in time."
"Go ahead."
"I should like a detailed account, please, of exactly where
you were and what you were doing on Friday, 20th December."
Cedric shot a quick glance at him. Then he leaned back,
yawned, assumed an air of great nonchalance, and appeared to be lost in the
effort of remembrance.
"Well, as I've already told you, I was in Iviza. Trouble is,
one day there is so like another. Painting in the morning, siesta from three
p.m. to five. Perhaps a spot of sketching if the light's suitable. Then an
aperitif, sometimes with the mayor, sometimes with the doctor, at the cafe in
the Piazza. After that some kind of a scratch meal. Most of the evening in
Scotty's Bar with some of my lower-class friends. Will that do you?"
"I'd rather have the truth, Mr. Crackenthorpe."
Cedric sat up.
"That's a most offensive remark, Inspector."
"Do you think so? You told me, Mr. Crackenthorpe, that you
left Iviza on 21st December and arrived in England that same day?"
"So I did. Em! Hi, Em?"
Emma Crackenthorpe came through the adjoining door from the
small morning-room. She looked inquiringly from Cedric to the inspector.
"Look here, Em. I arrived here for Christmas on the Saturday
before, didn't I? Came straight from the airport?"
"Yes," said Emma wonderingly. "You got here about lunch
time."
"There you are," said Cedric to the inspector.
"You must think us very foolish, Mr. Crackenthorpe," said
Craddock pleasantly. "We can check on these things, you know. I think, if you』ll
show me your passport –"
He paused expectantly.
"Can't find the damned thing," said Cedric. "Was looking for
it this morning. Wanted to send it to Cook's."
"I think you could find it, Mr. Crackenthorpe. But it's not
really necessary. The records show that you actually entered this country on the
evening of 19th December. Perhaps you will now account to me for your
movements between that time until lunch-time on 21st December when
you arrived here."
Cedric looked very cross indeed.
"That's the hell of life nowadays," he said angrily. "All
this red tape and form-filling. That's what comes of a bureaucratic state. Can't
go where you like and do as you please any more! Somebody's always asking
questions. What's all this fuss about the 20th, anyway? What's
special about the 20th?"
"It happens to be the day we believe the murder was
committed. You can refuse to answer, of course, but –"
"Who says I refuse to answer? Give a chap time. And you were
vague enough about the date of the murder at the inquest. What's turned up new
since then?"
Craddock did not reply.
Cedric said, with a sidelong glance at Emma:
"Shall we go into the other room?"
Emma said quickly: "I'll leave you." At the door, she paused
and turned.
"This is serious, you know, Cedric. If the 20th
was the day of murder, then you must tell Inspector Craddock exactly what you
were doing."
She went through into the next room and closed the door
behind her.
"Good old Em," said Cedric. "Well, here goes. Yes, I left
Iviza on the 19th all right. Planned to break the journey in Paris,
and spend a couple of days routing up some old friends on the Left Bank. But, as
a matter of fact, there was a very attractive woman on the plane…. Quite a dish.
To put it plainly, she and I got off together. She was on her way to the States,
had to spend a couple of nights in London to see about some business or other.
We got to London on the 19th. We stayed at the Kingsway Palace in
case your spies haven't found that out yet! Called myself John Brown - never
does to use your own name on these occasions."
"And on the 20th?"
Cedric made a grimace.
"Morning pretty well occupied by a terrific hangover."
"And the afternoon. From three o』clock onwards?"
"Let me see. Well, I mooned about, as you might say. Went
into the National Gallery - that's respectable enough. Saw a film. Rowenna of
the Range. I've always had a passion for Westerns. This was a corker…. Then a
drink or two in the bar and a bit of a sleep in my room, and out about ten
o'clock with the girl-friend and a round of various hot spots - can't even
remember most of their names - Jumping Frog was one, I think. She knew 』em all.
Got pretty well plastered and to tell you the truth, don't remember much more
till I woke up the next morning – with an even worse hangover. Girl-friend
hopped off to catch her plane and I poured cold water over my head, got a
chemist to give me a devil's brew, and then started off for this place,
pretending I'd just arrived at Heathrow. No need to upset Emma, I thought. You
know what women are - always hurt if you don't come straight home. I had to
borrow money from her to pay the taxi. I was completely cleaned out. No use
asking the old man. He'd never cough up. Mean old brute. Well, Inspector,
satisfied?"
"Can any of this be substantiated, Mr. Crackenthorpe? Say
between 3 p.m. and 7 p.m."
"Most unlikely, I should think," said Cedric cheerfully.
"National Gallery where the attendants look at you with lack-lustre eyes and a
crowded picture house. No, not likely."
Emma re-entered. She held a small engagement book in her
hand.
"You want to know what everyone was doing on 20th
December, is that right, Inspector Craddock?"
"Well - er – yes, Miss Crackenthorpe."
"I have just been looking in my engagement book. On the 20th
I went to Brackhampton to attend a meeting of the Church Restoration Fund. That
finished about a quarter to one and I lunched with Lady Adington and Miss
Bartlett who were also on the committee, at the Cadena Cafe. After lunch I did
some shopping, stores for Christmas, and also Christmas presents. I went to
Greenford's and Lyall and Swift's, Boots』, and probably several other shops. I
had tea about a quarter to five in the Shamrock Tea Rooms and then went to the
station to meet Bryan who was coming by train. I got home about six o'clock and
found my father in a very bad temper. I had left lunch ready for him, but Mrs.
Hart who was to come in in the afternoon and give him his tea had not arrived.
He was so angry that he had shut himself in his room and would not let me in or
speak to me. He does not like my going out in the afternoon, but I make a point
of doing so now and then."
"You're probably wise. Thank you, Miss Crackenthorpe."
He could hardly tell her that she was a woman, height five
foot seven, her movements that afternoon were of no great importance. Instead he
said:
"Your other two brothers came down later, I understand?"
"Alfred came down late on Saturday evening. He tells me he
tried to ring me on the telephone the afternoon I was out – but my father, if he
is upset, will never answer the telephone. My brother Harold did not come down
until Christmas Eve."
"Thank you, Miss Crackenthorpe."
"I suppose I mustn't ask" – she hesitated - "what has come up
new that prompts these inquiries?"
Craddock took the folder from his pocket. Using the tips of
his fingers, he extracted the envelope.
"Don't touch it, please, but do you recognise this?"
"But…」 Emma stared at him, bewildered. "That's my
handwriting. That's the letter I wrote to Martine."
"I thought it might be."
"But how did you get it? Did she –? Have you found her?"
"It would seem possible that we have – found her. This empty
envelope was found here."
"In the house?"
"In the grounds."
"Then - she did come here! She… You mean - it was Martine
there - in the sarcophagus?"
"It would seem very likely, Miss Crackenthorpe," said
Craddock gently.
It seemed even more likely when he got back to town. A
message was awaiting him from Armand Dessin.
"One of the girl-friends has had a postcard from Anna
Stravinska. Apparently the cruise story was true! She has reached Jamaica and is
having, in your phrase, a wonderful time!"
Craddock crumpled up the message and threw it into the
wastepaper basket.
III
"I must say," said Alexander, sitting up in bed, thoughtfully
consuming a chocolate bar, 「that this has been the most smashing day ever.
Actually finding a real clue!"
His voice was awed.
"In fact the whole holidays have been smashing," he added
happily. "I don't suppose such a thing will ever happen again."
"I hope it won't happen again to me," said Lucy who was on
her knees packing Alexander's clothes into a suitcase. "Do you want all this
space fiction with you?"
"Not those two top ones. I've read them. The football and my
football boots, and the gum-boots can go separately."
"What difficult things you boys do travel with."
"It won't matter. They're sending the Rolls for us. They've
got a smashing Rolls. They've got one of the new Mercedes-Benzes too."
"They must be rich."
"Rolling! Jolly nice, too. All the same, I rather wish we
weren't leaving here. Another body might turn up."
"I sincerely hope not."
"Well, it often does in books. I mean somebody who's seen
something or heard something gets done it, too. It might be you," he added,
unrolling a second chocolate bar.
"Thank you."
"I don't want it to be you," Alexander assured her. "I like
you very much and so does Stodders. We think you're out of this world as a cook.
Absolutely lovely grub. You're very sensible, too."
This last was clearly an expression of high approval. Lucy
took it as such, and said: "Thank you. But I don't intend to get killed just to
please you."
"Well, you'd better be careful, then," Alexander told her.
He paused to consume more nourishment and then said in a
slightly offhand voice:
"If dad turns up from time to time, you』ll look after him,
won't you?"
"Yes, of course," said Lucy, a little surprised.
"The trouble with Dad is," Alexander informed her, "that
London life doesn't suit him. He gets in, you know, with quite the wrong type of
women. He shook his head in a worried manner."
"I'm very fond of him," he added; "but he needs someone to
look after him. He drifts about and gets in with the wrong people. It's a great
pity Mum died when she did. Bryan needs a proper home life."
He looked solemnly at Lucy and reached out for another
chocolate bar.
"Not a fourth one, Alexander," Lucy pleaded. "You'll be
sick."
"Oh, I don't think so. I ate six running once and I wasn't.
I'm not the bilious type." He paused and then said:
"Bryan likes you, you know."
"That's very nice of him."
"He's a bit of an ass in some ways," said Bryan's son; 「but
he was a jolly good fighter pilot. He's awfully brave. And he's awfully
good-natured."
He paused. Then, averting his eyes to the ceiling, he said
rather self-consciously:
"I think, really, you know, it would be a good thing if he
married again…. Somebody decent…. I shouldn't, myself, mind at all having a
stepmother… not, I mean, if she was a decent sort…."
With a sense of shock Lucy realised that there was a definite
point in Alexander's conversation.
"All this stepmother bosh," went on Alexander, still
addressing the ceiling, "is really quite out of date. Lots of chaps Stodders and
I know have stepmothers – divorce and all that - and they get on quite well
together. Depends on the stepmother, of course. And, of course, it does make a
bit of confusion taking you out and on Sports Day, and all that, I mean if there
are two sets of parents. Though again it helps if you want to cash in!" he
paused, confronted with the problems of modern life. "It's nicest to have your
own home and your own parents – but if your mother's dead – well, you see what I
mean? If she's a decent sort, said Alexander for the third time."
Lucy felt touched.
"I think you're very sensible, Alexander," she said. "We must
try and find a nice wife for your father."
"Yes," said Alexander noncommittally.
He added in an offhand manner:
"I thought I'd just mention it. Bryan likes you very much. He
told me so…."
"Really," thought Lucy to herself. "There's too much
match-making round here. First Miss Marple and now Alexander!"
For some reason or other, pigsties came into her mind.
She stood up.
"Good night, Alexander. There will be only your washing
things and pyjamas to put in in the morning. Good night."
"Good night," said Alexander. He slid down in bed, laid his
head on the pillow, closed his eyes, giving a perfect picture of a sleeping
angel; and was immediately asleep.
|