Pausing, Leigh surveyed the scene. The coconutty fragrance of gorse filled Alec's nostrils. Attuned now to the hush, his ears picked up the constant hum of bees among the heather blossoms.
It was almost possible to envy Sid.
Leigh broke the peace. “No smoke. He may not beâ” He stopped as several short, sharp sounds rang out: hammer on nail, at a guess. “No, he's here all right.”
“We don't want to alarm him. You go ahead. He knows you.”
The constable trudged ahead. “Sid!” he called. “Hulloa there!”
The beachcomber appeared, hammer in hand, from a lean-to shed to one side of his cabin. Alec had no time to take in his appearance before, with a wordless cry, he bolted.
Leigh was already in motion when Alec shouted, “Go after him! I'll look around.” If the girl was there, they didn't want her taking to her heels too.
Disappearing around the cabin, Sid had a twenty-yard lead over Leigh. By the time Alec reached the far corner, the fugitive was nearing the top of the crag.
Police boots were no match for bare feet that clung to the rock like a monkey's. Leigh slithered down the short distance he had managed to climb and made for the steep, scrubby slope to one side. As he scrabbled upward, Sid appeared momentarily in silhouette against the sky, then vanished over the top.
A thud within the cabin made Alec whirl.
He found himself facing a small, glassless window. Above it hung a piece of heavy tarpaulin, hooked up out of the way with a bent wire, a sort of outside curtain or shutter against foul weather. A small part of Alec's mind admired its ingenuity, while the rest concentrated on peering through the narrow opening.
No one was visible, but his field of view was limited. Straining ears heard no movement inside.
Leigh was making a fair racket as he toiled up the slope. Small stones rattled down behind him and he swore as a clump of grass came loose in his hand. Under cover of the noise, Alec slipped
around the hut, noting how chinks in the wood and stone walls were stopped up with tarred slivers of cork. Sid Coleman might be dumb but he was no idiot.
Alec came back to the west side, facing down the valley, without seeing a soul. The door stood open. He stepped into the doorway and stopped, scanning the room.
A sleek grey and black-striped cat was lapping water from a tin bowl on the floor. It gave him a supercilious look, leapt up with a thud onto a battered old door which served as a table, and thence sprang to a shelf where an ancient knit garment made a comfortable bed. Obviously regarding Alec as unimportant, it started to wash with an air of deliberately ignoring him.
The cat was the only occupant. Alec searched the room, a matter of a few minutes, without finding any trace of the presence of a female. The bed was heaped heather spread with sailcloth and a holey blanket. The sole chair had been rush-bottomed once; its deficiencies were compensated for by the lid of a cask and a cushion so salt-stained and faded that its original colour was unguessable. A sea-chest with a broken lock held tattered oddments of clothing and another blanket. All were as clean as soapless washing in the stream could make them.
The Panama hat Belinda had given Sid hung from a nail, several feathers stuck in its pink and purple band. Alec was sorry his daughter had befriended the beachcomber. He was used to the awkwardness of Daisy taking one or more suspects under her wing, but how was he to explain to Bel if he had to arrest her protégé?
Because why should Sid run for it if he was simply an innocent witness?
“B
osh!” said Daisy. “Of course he ran away! He's absolutely terrified of the police, ever since Constable Puckle locked him up for the night. If you'd gone alone, without the bobby in uniform, he wouldn't have taken to his heels.”
To put it mildly, Alec had not been pleased to find Daisy waiting for him in the parish hall when he returned from his fruitless errand to Sid's shack. But he had let her listen while he told Inspector Mallow and Sergeant Horrocks that the beachcomber, having fled, was to be considered a suspect.
Now exasperated, dark brows lowering, he ran his fingers through his crisp, dark hair, leaving it unruffled. “Why the dickens didn't you tell me before, Daisy? It's entirely on account of your telling us he's Olive Coleman's uncle that we went up there in the first place. Why didn't Puckle say something?”
“He may not realize how much he frightened him. Mr. Baskin was talking to him at his cabin and he managed to convey that he no longer comes down to Westcombe as he used to, because he's afraid of being locked up. He does come as far as our beach, though.”
“You've seen him? When?”
“Yesterday. He gave the girls necklaces of shells and feathersâI suppose they haven't shown you as you're out all the time. I was going
to ask him if he'd seen Olive, but then Peter Anstruther came down to the beach to fetch my deck-chair. Sid took one look at him and scuttled off as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. Anstruther said he'd never been afraid of him before, but he was wearing his naval cap, and I'm sure that's what scared him. I don't suppose he can distinguish between uniforms.”
“Possibly not,” Alec admitted grudgingly. “I'll have a word with Anstruther.”
“Darling, isn't it marvellous? Inspector Mallow says Mr. Anstruther is in the clear. A boy recognized his bike in Malborough and he knows the time because the church clock struck three shortly after he saw it.”
“That's right, sir,” Mallow admitted even more grudgingly. “I don't see how it can be got round. He couldn't've done it.”
“Nor could Sid,” Daisy insisted. “He's constitutionally incapable of violence.”
“Ah,” said Mallow, “but you never know what the peacefullest chap'll do if he's threatened.”
“I know just what he does. I told you, Alec. He turns his back and bends down and looks backwards through his legs.”
“That certainly doesn't sound very aggressive.”
“On the contrary. But it's very disconcerting.”
“That's as may be,” said Alec. “We'll still have to find him. There was no sign that the girl had been at his cabin, but he might have seen something on Sunday. We've put a watch on the cabin.”
“He'll just run again if he sees a uniform.”
“The man's been told to keep out of sight. He's probably asleep in the heather! Did you drop in just to see what's going on, Daisy, or have you found out something new?”
“Not exactly found out. Well, sort of.”
“Great Scott, Daisy!”
“I mean,” she said hastily, “something someone said made me think of something.”
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Donald Baskin had taken Daisy and the girls to see a ruined castle. Very little of it remained, mostly grassy mounds with a few fragments of walls still standing. But Baskin kept Bel and Deva amused with tales of mediæval chivalry, the sun shone and the wind blew, and it was altogether a pleasant outing.
However, they returned to Westcombe with Daisy none the wiser as to the reasons for his interest in Enderby.
As they walked through the town, Daisy was waylaid by Mrs. Hammett. She waved to the others to go on, which they did, hastily and without demur.
“Does your husband know you've been out walking wi' that young man?” Mrs. Hammett demanded.
“It's useless to try to hide anything from Alec,” Daisy said mournfully. “He's a detective, remember.”
“Young Olive don't seem to have much trouble hiding from him! I've just been to the parish hall to ask did they find her yet, and they ha'n't seen nor hide nor hair.”
“Were you able to help them with the names of any friends she might have gone to?”
“Nay, Olive didn't have no time for friends. Even when she was still at school, she had her chores to do at home after. There's allus something to be done on a farm, as none should know better than I, that was bred on a farm, and not ashamed of it.”
“No, why should you be?”
“There's them as is jealous because I've raised myself,” Mrs. Hammett said darkly. “But I don't pay 'em no heed. And they needn't think the wife of a man in a good way o' business don't have enough to do to keep her busy, neither. But it's not like on a farm, where you don't get a minute to sit down from dawn to dusk.”
“So after she left school, Olive pretty much only saw people on her father's farm?” Daisy wasn't surprised Olive had gone astray, if she was never allowed to have fun with other young people. “I wonder how she met George Enderby.”
“I reckon it must ha' bin one time when Edna sent her to me on an
errand. Mr. Hammett's very good about sending my relations a present o' fresh fish now and then, being in the fish wholesaling business. And they'll do likewise, wi' a leg o' lamb or a piece o' pork when they slaughter, or the like. Even Edna, though she dasn't let Alfred know. 'Twere just a few weeks past Olive brought me a nice cheese.”
“I don't suppose she hurried home afterwards. I expect you're right, that must be when she met him.”
“Aye. And after that, she wouldn't find it too hard to slip away for an hour now and then, Edna thinking her one place and Alfred another. Sly, that's the word wi' no bark on it. It's to be hoped she ha'n't got herself into more trouble than she can be got out of.”
“I hope not.” Feeling she was not learning anything of use, Daisy politely extricated herself and went after Baskin and the girls.
The trouble Mrs. Hammett referred to must be the possibility that Olive was pregnant, Daisy assumed. Suppose she was, she would have demanded Enderby's assistance. A thoroughly selfish man, he would probably have refused, perhaps laughed at her or just up and walked away from her. What more likely than that she should lose her temper, run after him, and hit out at him with whatever came to hand? She might not even have meant to knock him over the cliff and kill him.
Daisy wondered whether Alec was considering Olive as a suspect or only as a witness.
At this point in her musing, she found that her feet had carried her to the parish hall, so she went in. Inspector Mallow gave her a suave welcome, but she could see that her arrival annoyed him.
“No doubt you have something to report, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Not exactly.” She wasn't about to discuss Olive's possible pregnancy with Mallow. “But I think I'll wait and have a word with Alec, if you're expecting him reasonably soon?”
“The chief inspector didn't know just how long he'd be.”
Daisy glanced at her wrist-watch. She had half an hour to spare before lunch. “Right-oh, I'll wait for a bit.”
“As you wish, madam. I'll ask you to sit over here, if you don't mind, out of the way of my men as they report in.”
“Of course. By the way, have any of the suspects been cleared yet?”
That was when the inspector had told her about Peter Anstruther's bicycle, reluctantly but, she suspected, unwilling to risk offending his superior officer. Delighted, she nearly rushed off to congratulate Anstruther and Cecilia. She really wanted to speak to Alec, though, to find out if he'd considered the possibility that Olive might have killed Enderby.
Sitting near the door on the extremely uncomfortable folding chair typical of parish halls, Daisy had had plenty of time to think before Alec turned up. She decided Olive Coleman was unlikely to have deliberately murdered Enderby. To do so would be to abandon all hope of his helping her. It didn't sound as if she could expect much help or sympathy at home. No wonder the poor girl's head had been turned by George Enderby's charming manner. She led a miserable life, rarely seeing anyone other than the farm-hands.
Of course, Mrs. Hammett's cheese suggested a dairy on the farm, and where there was a dairy, milkmaids and dairy-maids were to be found. Olive herself was surely expected to work in the dairy, so she might have friends amongst the maids.
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“So you see, darling, it all depends on whether the dairy-maids live in or out. If they have homes to go to, Olive could have gone to one of them.”
Alec was frowning again, but thoughtfully, not irritably. “You have a point,” he admitted. “Though it's not quite that straightforward, alas. I met an elderly dairy-maid at Coleman's who said the girls don't stay down on the farm these days. They either marry or soon go off to look for jobs in town.”
“Then they're not necessarily local. They could be absolutely anywhere,” said Daisy, disappointed.
“Yes, but that doesn't mean she didn't make friends amongst them and keep in touch somehow with one or more, in which case she might have managed to make her way to one of them. It's a good idea,
love, and will have to be followed up. I can only hope Mrs. Coleman has the names of departed dairy-maids, if not their addresses.”
“Blast! It's going to take forever, isn't it? I was hoping you'd arrest Coleman quickly and manage a few days of holiday before we leave.”
“You shouldn't come up with good ideas, then,” he said with a grin. “I was going to send someone to the farm anyway, to try to find out whether any of the labourers was keen on Olive to the point of murdering her seducer. Horrocks and Tumbelow can go. A couple of hefty sergeants, one in uniform, one plainclothes, ought to be able to cope with the Colemans. In fact, I think I'll have them bring Coleman in for further questioning.” He started to get up, turning away from Daisy.
“Just one more thing, darling. Is Olive Coleman on your list?”
“Certainly. If she asked him for help in escaping her fatherâ”
“Or because she was pregnant.”
“I hadn't considered that. It's possible, of course. In either case, if he refused to help, she might have struck out at him. Until we find her and hear her story, there's nothing to be done about it. Right-oh, thanks for your help. You'd better go and join the girls for lunch. Tell Mrs. Anstruther I'll try to get back for dinner.”
“Right-oh. Bel's getting a bit fed up with never setting eyes on you.”
“She's used to being a policeman's daughter, but I admit it's a bit thick when we're supposed to be on holiday. Tell her I'm sorry. Oh, and tell Baskin I'd like to see him here this afternoon, will you? We've found out he's telling the truth about teaching at that school, and that he's not married, but the rest will take some digging. It's time he came clean about his interest in Enderby.”
“Darling, too utterly mortifying to be bearer of a message like that when we've just had such a nice walk together and he's so kind keeping the girls entertained. Don't you think you ought to send a policeman?”
“Can't spare a man at the moment. It's entirely your own fault for meddling.”
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Entering the Anstruthers' house, Daisy heard Cecily singing in the kitchen. She stopped to listen.
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors. We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas, Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England. From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.
Daisy stuck her head in. “I'm so very happy for you,” she said.
“You've heard?” Cecily turned a joyful face from the range. “It's all thanks to you and your husband! I know the local police would have arrested Peter at once.”
“If it had been left up to Detective Inspector Mallow,” Daisy agreed. “Where is he? I must congratulate him.”
Cecily laughed. “He's borrowed the bicycle again and ridden over to show his friend Mr. Pritchard his letter to the powers-that-be in Devonport. With any luck, he'll be sticking close to Scilly in future.”
“I hope so.”
“Lunch in five minutes, unless you need longer?”
“No, I'll be ready. I'm ravenous.”
Daisy saved Alec's summons for Baskin until after lunch. She passed it on over coffee, the girls having gone off to change their library books.
“Righty-oh. I'll go, but I haven't anything new to tell them. I wish they'd find someone who saw me.”
“I think they're concentrating on finding”âshe realized she wasn't sure whether Baskin knew about Olive Coleman, or even that Enderby had had a girl with him shortly before meeting his deathâ“on finding someone else,” she concluded.