W
hen the plain-clothes men turned up, they checked all the names and addresses, took each person outside the door for questioning, and ascertained that, except for myself and the two unlucky hash-slingers, nobody had left the party until Bull brought Trickett out to speak to me. Then they let everybody else go, but hauled Trickett, myself, the caretaker and the two youngsters off to the nick to be questioned.
We were interviewed separately, of course, and they kept me until the last. I can’t say that talking to a policeman who makes it obvious that he thinks you are lying is a pleasant experience. I heard later that they had soon let the youngsters go. All they wanted from them was the assertion that, so far as they knew, nobody except themselves, Bull and myself had been anywhere near the dark passage while the party was going on.
The interview with Trickett had taken longer. They had wanted full details about the Scottish tour, whether he had known Carbridge before he met him in Glasgow, why the students and Perth had left him and the others before the end of The Way and exactly where, when and why they had caught up with him again and, finally, where Perth was and why he had not accepted the invitation to the reunion.
On their part (said Trickett later) they had told him nothing, although he had asked point-blank how long Carbridge had been dead.
‘That’s for the inquest,’ the detective-inspector told him. We all knew that, before the five of us had been ushered into the police cars, James Minch had been closely questioned, for he had given the rest of us a lively account of the interview before the five of us had been shipped off to the nick. It seemed, according to James Minch, that they suspected him of having had a
sgian dubh
tucked into his colourful woollen, right-leg stocking.
‘You are also wearing a sporran, I see, sir.’
‘It’s an essential part of the outfit. No pockets in a kilt, you see.’
‘I thought a dagger was also part of a Scotsman’s native attire, sir.’
‘A
dagger
? On the dance floor?’
‘One of those small, ornamental knives they wear in their football-style socks, I meant.’
‘Oh, a
sgian dubh
. I do have one at home, but I didn’t bring it with me. As you see, I’ve nothing up the sleeve of my shirt, either, neither have I quarrelled with the deceased at any time or suffered any insults from him addressed either to my sister or myself.’ (I was not too sure about this.)
‘You don’t speak with a Scottish accent, I notice.’
‘It’s been said, you know, that Scotsmen speak better English than the English.’ (He himself spoke up-market Cockney.) ‘In any case, I had the misfortune to be brought up in England and was educated at an English public school.’
‘I think that is all I need trouble you with at present, then, though we may need to ask you some more questions about your knife at a later date, sir.’
‘Why don’t you ask Todd whether he’s got a bomb tucked into the waistband of those elegant flannels? He’s Bolshie-trained, you know — or is it IRA?’
‘There is no need to be offensive, sir, either to me or Mr Todd.’
‘But how to be offensive is the only thing I learned at my public school, Inspector. It
is
Inspector, isn’t it?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Bingley, CID, to be exact, Mr Minch. You wear the kilt, but is Minch a Scottish name?’
‘Probably of Norse origin, don’t you think? North Minch, Little Minch — no, I couldn’t say, but they’re on the map. Our mother’s name used to be Menzies, but nobody pronounces it correctly down here and we don’t care for the Southern Cross rendering of it.’
‘So your name is
really
Minch, but you are entitled to the tartan.’
‘How horribly suspicious you make it sound! I almost wish our ancestors had not chosen it. Now that I come to consider the name closely, there is something pinchbeck about it. Oh, and my first name isn’t James. It’s Jamie. Just a fond father’s foolishness, but one has no control over one’s parents at the time of infant baptism. My sister’s name is not Jane, but Jeanie, but she got tired of hearing my father singing “I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair” — her own hair, as you may have noticed, being a rather resolute shade of red.’
‘May I ask what your profession is, sir?’
‘I collate, co-ordinate and, generally speaking, grapple with the organising of the collection of household waste in my borough, but I am hoping to stand for Parliament.’
Minch’s eloquence and his ability to waste the inspector’s time appeared not to have soured the man. Probably Minch had invented his share of the interview. Anyway, by the time he had finished with Trickett at the police station, the inspector was calm enough when it was my turn. However, urbane though he was with me, when at last my interview came, I did not like the experience one little bit. I had made up my mind not to tell him any more than he could gain by my answers to his questions and I hoped that neither Trickett nor Hera had told him anything about my discovery in the moorland ruins. It was soon apparent that, so far, they had not done so, but already I was regretting that I had babbled to Trickett. The fewer people who knew that, apparently, I was in the habit of discovering murdered corpses, the better it would be for me, I thought. All the same, the detective’s first questions concerned the Scottish walk, although not, thank goodness, the row I had with Carbridge at Crianlarich.
‘I understand that you met the rest of the party at the Glasgow youth hostel. Do you confirm that?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Did you know any of the others beforehand?’
‘My fiancée, Miss Camden, of course, and we had run into Todd at the airport hotel, but we didn’t know him apart from that.’
‘You and Miss Camden picked up the others again at Rowardennan, I understand.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Why did you not travel more of the way with them?’
‘An engaged couple need a bit of privacy. We had never had any intention of joining a party. The only reason we were ever with the rest of them was because we all used the same youth hostels, having no option.’
‘Otherwise you and Miss Camden stayed in hotels.’
‘And at Balmaha in separate cottages.’
‘How did you get on with Mr Carbridge?’
‘I didn’t see enough of him to get on or not get on with him. I wrote him off as a rather irritating ass and a bit of a megalomaniac, that’s all.’
‘He seems to have had the reputation with his companions of being a good mixer.’
‘Very likely. I wouldn’t know.’
‘Having been told on your invitation card or letter that this was to be a reunion party, were you surprised when Mr Carbridge did not turn up?’
‘But he did turn up. He must have done, or I wouldn’t have found him dead in that passage, would I?’
‘Please confine yourself to answering my questions. What were you doing in that passage?’
‘Falling over dead bodies, I suppose.’ As soon as I had said it, I realised in what very bad taste it was. ‘Sorry,’ I said quickly. ‘Actually, I had sneaked out to have a smoke.’
‘A number of people seem to have been smoking in the dance-room, sir. Couldn’t you have had your cigarette in there?’
‘Yes, but it was noisy and overcrowded. I wanted some fresh air.’
‘The passage you chose does not lead out to the fresh air.’
‘The porter chap, Bull, thought I wanted the cloakroom.’
‘Why should he have thought that, if you did not ask for it?’
‘Because he’s an officious idiot, I suppose.’
That, with my previous unfortunate remark, did it. I felt I had queered my pitch with the detective-inspector. However, we pressed on, or, rather, retraced our steps, since most of it was a repetition of what had gone before. I believe this is typical police procedure. They keep taking you over your story in the hope that you will change it in some way and give them a chance to pounce.
I realised that I had to be careful. I had to blot out from my mind the day we had lost our way in the mist. I summed him up as an experienced but not over-bright member of his profession. All the same, he was probably bright enough, owing to his experience, to know when a witness was holding out on him. I was made very much aware that this was the case when, having taken me through my story all over again, he said, ‘Are you sure you have left nothing out, sir? What about the time between when you left Inveroran and arrived at the Kingsbridge hotel? That part of your trip seems to have taken a good deal of time.’
‘For two reasons. First, we didn’t set out very early — we had walked a long way since we left Drymen and, although we took The Way in easy stages day by day, I knew that Miss Camden was getting pretty tired. Secondly, we ran into a thick mist and were obliged to stay in a shepherd’s hut until it cleared.’
‘A shepherd’s hut? You didn’t mention that before, and you did not mention the mist.’ As the hut was a complete fabrication, I knew I had to be extra careful at this point.
‘We also spent a longer time than usual over lunch, but I can’t see that any of this is important,’ I said. ‘The mist cleared and the rain came down, that’s all. As for the time we took, well, what with the delay and the distance between Inveroran and Kingshouse and the fact that we had covered well over forty miles in just a few days and Miss Camden was tired —’
I realised that I was talking too much, so I stopped and then I said that that was how it had been.
‘Just so,’ he said, making a disquieting entry on the notes which he had in front of him on the table. ‘Now, sir, holding the opinion of Mr Carbridge which you do —’
‘
Did
,’ I corrected him.
‘Quite so. Holding this opinion which, as you stated it, is that he was’ — he referred to his notes — “a rather irritating ass and a bit of a megalomaniac”, why did you attend the reunion party at which, presumably, you expected to meet him again?’
This was an easy one and I answered it self-confidently.
‘I wouldn’t have accepted if the invitation had come from
him
, but it didn’t. It came from the students and I would have hurt their feelings by refusing.’
‘But did you expect to find Mr Carbridge at the gathering?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, yes, but not by falling over his dead body!’
‘Now, now, Mr Melrose, there is no need to be alarmed.’
But I felt that there was every need for this. He had realised that my last outburst was the result of fear and I could tell that he intended to exploit it. He did not do so at once. To my surprise, he thanked me for my help and dismissed me, merely adding that, if anything occurred to me which I thought he ought to know, he was sure that I would impart it to him.
I did not feel much like contacting Hera. Her last remarks had been anything but sympathetic. I did not blame her. Everybody had had a severe shock and hers must have been worse than anybody’s except my own. I went straight back to my flat to brood over the situation and to wonder what other tricks Fate had tucked up its sleeve where I was concerned.
I had not been in for more than about half an hour before I had a caller. It was Trickett.
‘There’s going to be hell to pay over all this,’ he said, when I had asked him in. I shared his gloom. ‘How did you get on?’ he asked, when I had poured out the drinks. ‘What do you think that damn-fool policeman has done now? He’s only rounded up the chaps and girls who played the pop music for us! As though they could have done that to Carbridge! So far as I know, they hadn’t even met him.’
‘I suppose the police have to question everybody who was on the premises,’ I said. ‘Not to worry about the orchestra people. That detective may question them, but only as possible witnesses. The people he will put on the spot are the walking party and especially me. Look here, you won’t let on that I found that other body, will you?’
‘To be frank with you, Melrose, only if it comes to the crunch. I wish you hadn’t told me about that, but the fact remains that you
did
tell me, so if one of our lot — the poly gang, you know — looks like taking the rap, well, you see what I mean.’
‘Yes, I see what you mean and I can’t say I blame you.’ We both took a heartening gulp from our glasses. ‘The trouble is,’ I went on, ‘that it must be somebody who was at the party. Nobody else would have known that Carbridge was going to be there.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. Carbridge must have had other acquaintances, you know, apart from those of us who were on the walk. Suppose he mentioned the party and the date and so on — these things pop up in casual conversation — and somebody who had a grudge saw a good chance to pay off old scores without being suspected?’
‘How would the murderer have managed to get into your hall of residence?’
‘By bluffing it out with Bull that he had been invited to the party, of course. Bull wouldn’t have known any different. He knew me and Freddie and the two girls, Coral and Patsy, but nobody else except the members of the orchestra. They were all poly people, of course.’
‘Another point: if Bull let the murderer and Carbridge in, they must have turned up early and anyway Bull must have seen the murderer. The police will have shown Bull the body —’
‘They wouldn’t need to. He and I both saw it before they came, if you remember. You went with us along that passage when I put in the new electric bulb. Bull saw the body then.’
‘He didn’t say he recognised it.’
‘I bet he has said so by now.’
‘And, of course, it’s not very likely that Carbridge and his murderer turned up together. If you had planned to kill a chap, the last thing you would want would be to be seen in his company just before the deed was done.’
‘The time factor bothers me a bit. The police aren’t giving anything away, but it seemed likely that Carbridge was killed before the actual party got going. It looks as though he had an assignation with the murderer. I wish we knew how long he’d been dead when you fell over the body.’
‘Why the hell it should have to be me, I can’t think!’ I exclaimed bitterly. ‘I’d already fallen over one dead man. Why should it have to be two?’