‘Most of what?’

  ‘The rents for the extra car and the bungalows and, of course, the payments to da Cunha, Doctor Liz and Arcati. They were only promised their money, you know. I don’t think she had actually paid them anything.’

  ‘I see. Well, all that, interesting though it may be, is no business of mine. You are aware, I suppose, that you are under suspicion of having caused your wife’s death?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that is part of police routine, I believe. They always suspect the husband or wife of a murdered person. But, if it is a permissible question, Dame Beatrice, what is your own interest in all this?’

  ‘A personal and private one. In a word, you are not the only suspect. Every member of the expedition is involved and that includes my god-daughter, Eiladh Gavin. The police are cognisant of the fact that I am making some enquiries and I must warn you that it is understood that I keep them abreast of my findings if I do find out anything.’

  ‘In that case, anything I tell you cannot be told you in confidence, but I can account fully for all my own actions and I assure you there is nothing discreditable about them.’

  ‘Except that you connived at the robbing of your home. Let us begin at the beginning. How did Father Melrose become a member of the party?’

  ‘Dee must have wanted him to join us. That is all I can say.’

  ‘Did she— was she aware that he would appear, as though by accident, at the Croftons’ Hallowe’en party?’

  ‘I don’t know, but hindsight suggests that it was planned. There is no doubt in my mind that, although Dee may have planned the robbery, Melrose organised it and his gang carried it out.’

  ‘I see. So what about his appearance at the Hallowe’en party?’

  ‘You do labour your point, don’t you?’ said Dum good-humouredly. ‘Yes, well, I think the idea was that Dee should appear to make his acquaintance accidentally and that he was to tell a ghost-story in the hope that others would follow this lead. Therefore Dee’s plan must have been to take herself, me and the others, particularly Eiladh (whom she knew to be of above average intelligence) away from the sphere of operations, so the ghost-hunt was to take place while the house was being stripped of its treasures. I think it was Melrose who put all the burglar alarms out of operation and took (with Dee’s full knowledge and connivance) copies of the keys to the house.’

  ‘That all seems very clear, but is it true?’

  ‘Dee would be quite clever about it all, you know. She even started the ball rolling at the Croftons’ by pretending to be alarmed by a branch which was tapping against the window. I know I was surprised at the time that she should be so childish. It was completely out of character.’

  ‘Eiladh mentioned that incident in one of her letters. It seemed to her to be out of character, too, so perhaps your wife was not so very clever after all. It certainly was not clever of her to go alone that night to Burgh Castle, where she met her death, was it?’

  ‘I warned her, Dame Beatrice. I reminded her of what had happened to me when I went alone to that fearsome place.’

  ‘Ah, yes. For what reason, do you think, were you attacked when you went there?’

  ‘Well, I don’t put it down to the spirit-world. My attackers were human.’

  ‘Did they speak to you?’

  ‘Not until later, but I know who they were.’

  ‘Really? That is most interesting, but why have you kept this knowledge of their identity to yourself?’

  ‘Because I can’t prove anything. I was simply leapt upon from behind by two people and thrust and bundled over the wall. Then, as though in all innocence, my assailants came galloping up to render first aid. It must have been Carpenter and one of the girls, you know.’

  ‘But, assuming your story to be true, why should Tom Carpenter and either his sister or Eiladh (you say your assailants numbered two) attack you at all? I find that difficult to credit.’

  ‘I suppose they mistook me for the ghost.’

  ‘But, as soon as they found they could lay hands on you, they must have realised they were wrong. Why should they have thrust you over the wall?’

  ‘Youthful high spirits, I suppose, or perhaps chagrin at finding I wasn’t the ghost. They’ll deny it, of course, if you ask them (as I suppose you will), but those are the facts of the matter.’

  ‘Then who attacked your wife, and with a result far more serious than anything which happened to you?’

  ‘I don’t know, but nobody liked poor Dee and, for that particular night, nobody has a foolproof alibi.’

  ‘Including yourself.’

  ‘Including myself, yes.’

  ‘What did you make of the Ranworth incident?’

  ‘The—?’

  ‘Eiladh mentioned in one of her letters to me that the party—or some members of it—saw a monk and a dog in a boat on Ranworth Broad.’

  ‘Oh, that! I’m afraid, Dame Beatrice, I don’t believe in ghosts, particularly after Melrose was able to explain the origin of the ghostly music we heard from across the water at Salhouse.’

  ‘Oh? How did he explain that?’ asked Dame Beatrice, although she knew the answer to her question. She knew that Dum had already told her one lie and she wondered whether she was to hear any more.

  ‘He went out very early in the morning and discovered the gramophone which had been used,’ said Dum.

  ‘That was clever of him.’

  ‘Yes. It upset Dee very much to think that somebody was playing tricks. She suspected David, of course.’

  ‘Oh? Why was that?’

  ‘It was the sort of stupid joke he would think funny.’

  ‘But you did not think it was Mr da Cunha who pushed you over the wall at Burgh Castle. Was not that an even more senseless trick than the gramophone joke?’

  ‘I was not hurt. I bear no malice, and it was not David.’

  ‘Even so, I think you are quite wrong in supposing that my god-daughter’s party assaulted you.’

  ‘But they were the only people there. It must have been them.’

  ‘Ah, well, there is no point in my arguing the matter with you. One thing I can agree about. Whatever other practical jokes they may have played, Mr da Cunha’s party spent that entire evening with a neighbour from the next-door bungalow. It was on the Wednesday, I believe, that you went alone to Burgh Castle.’

  ‘That’s right. Monday we went down to Wroxham after dining in Norwich, Tuesday was music night at Salhouse, Wednesday—yes, Wednesday I went, at my wife’s instigation, to Burgh Castle to prove whether the young people turned up. Oh, that might furnish another explanation of their attack on me. They may have resented being spied on. All the same, I don’t accuse them of attempting to harm me.’

  ‘When did you alter your opinion that you were set upon by poachers or other local men?’

  ‘That was never my opinion. There couldn’t be poachers in a place like that. What would there be to poach?’

  ‘I have no idea. What about the rest of the party?’

  ‘My wife and the Bylands were snugged down in our bungalow with the radio on. Father Melrose was in the annexe. At least, I suppose he was. I remember noticing that the light was on in the annexe when Carpenter took me back. I must admit that the young people showed remorse for what their horseplay had done to me. They even called round on the following morning to ask after my injuries.’

  ‘A little while ago I asked you what you thought about the Ranworth monk and dog, but after you had said that you did not believe in ghosts, I am afraid I sidetracked the conversation and did not allow you to complete your answer. Did you actually see the monk and the dog?’

  The monk, yes, but I’m sure it was Melrose in the soutane he affects (when he is not in holiday attire) and he had a cowl over his head.’

  ‘And the dog? Was it a black one?’

  ‘Dog? There was no dog, simply the monk and the boat. Of course one could not swear that the monk was Melrose. The boat was not very near the shore. That was one of my reasons for believing that our party was being spoofed. If the monk and the boat were ghosts, the boat would have been moored at the shore of the Broad or else the monk would have been rowing. I think he did row himself ashore later on, when we had gone. Melrose was not expected back at our bungalow that night, so the opportunity for imposture was there.’

  ‘And you saw no dog?’

  ‘What is all this about a dog?’

  ‘Oh, the monk is said to have had one in the boat with him.’

  ‘Melrose would not have provided himself with a dog. Suppose it had barked? Even my wife would not have believed— Oh, well, why do you harp on the dog?’

  ‘Some saw it, some did not. Eiladh and your wife saw it. Interesting, don’t you think? Tell me about the Belaugh ghost.’

  ‘Ah, now, that was the most extraordinary thing! It really was quite uncanny and there seems to be no explanation of it. One minute we were there in the dark churchyard with my wife full of hope that the Lady Alys would come out of her tomb in the church and walk towards the river, and the next minute what should appear but a shining apparition standing upright in a boat and holding out its arms. The weird scene lasted only a few seconds, but we all saw the figure and can swear to it.’

  ‘Did the others believe it was a ghost?’

  ‘Well, one thing is certain and that is that no one in our party could have been playing the fool. We were all there together in the churchyard. Dee had made certain of that.’

  ‘It seems that she suspected trickery.’

  ‘I can’t think why. She certainly thought the monk we saw was a ghost. I wonder, now that— well, now that it’s happened, whether she was afraid of one of us, and that’s why she insisted on our staying together at Belaugh.’

  ‘I might accept your reasoning, Mr Crieff-Tweedle, if the two expeditions had been reversed, but the Belaugh manifestation took place the evening before you saw the monk in his boat, and I understand from Eiladh that no fewer than four people absented themselves from the Ranworth expedition, although, as a matter of fact—’

  ‘Did they? Oh, yes, so they did. David, Arcati and Pavy decided to spend Saturday evening in Norwich and Melrose had excused himself earlier in the day on a plea that he had to go to Cromer. I think my argument still holds good, though. As we were all there at Belaugh and all witnessed the phenomenon, I suppose any fears or suspicions of trickery Dee may have entertained were dissipated. She was, however, very angry with the truants from the Ranworth outing. She was even put out by Melrose’s defection.’

  ‘Was she really put out, or was she playing a part?’

  ‘I don’t follow you, Dame Beatrice.’

  ‘I will make myself clear. At the beginning of this conversation you stated that you thought the robbery which took place at your home while the party was in Norfolk was prearranged by your wife with the connivance and help of Melrose and his accomplices. If you are right, that means Mrs Crieff-Tweedle was perfectly well aware that Melrose was not a priest and that the story of his visit to Cromer to conduct a religious service was intended to deceive others, but not herself. In that case, her apparent mortification at his absenting himself from the Ranworth outing was a pose. Besides, if the monk in the boat was really Melrose playing a part, whom was it intended to deceive? Not your wife, obviously.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not up to all these mental gymnastics, Dame Beatrice. If you have any theories, it would be kind of you to state them. You leave me quite bemused.’

  ‘I hardly think I do. Either your wife knew all about Melrose, or she knew nothing about him. I have talked with Mr da Cunha and Madame Arcati—’

  ‘Who is a young scallywag who lives on cheating and lies and chisels stupid women out of their money. That boy is incapable of telling a true and straightforward story.’

  ‘So far as I was able to check his story it was almost true. He thinks, as you do, that Melrose was a member of a gang of thieves. Melrose may even have been the leader, leaving his men to carry out the actual burglary at your house while he kept the ghost-hunters in Norfolk. Now if your story that your wife connived at the burglary in order to claim the insurance money is true, Melrose was redundant and so were his schemes for raising ghosts.’

  ‘Dee thought—I suppose she thought— that, as Melrose had attended the Hallowe’en party, he ought to be taken to Norfolk with the others. Everybody else went.’

  Dame Beatrice wagged her head.

  ‘Laura was at the party, so were the Croftons,’ she said, ‘and so was Laura’s son.’

  ‘Well, I suppose they were invited, but declined the invitation.’

  ‘That would explain it, no doubt, but let us return to your story of your wife and the insurance company.’

  ‘There is nothing more I can tell you about that. I’ve given you the facts and I must decline to discuss them any further. You call it my story, but it was her story all along the line. I shall inform the insurance people of the facts and ask the police to do their best to trace the missing goods.’

  ‘There is no need to inform me of your plans in that direction. As I have already said, the robbery is none of my business unless it was the cause, whether direct or indirect, of your wife’s death.’

  ‘But that is exactly the case, Dame Beatrice. Poor Dee went into conspiracy with Melrose and they must have fallen out. Nobody knows where he went or what he did on the night my wife died. I am not even altogether convinced that she was murdered. I do think she and Melrose met at Burgh Castle. I do think they may have had an altercation. Dee seems to have quarrelled with everybody else that evening, so why not with him? He may have struck her and caused her to fall and hit her head on a piece of masonry; she herself may have taken a false step among the ruins and tumbled to her death. Why are we all so certain she was murdered? If young Pavy had not been found hanged, nobody need have thought of murder at all in connection with Dee’s death. Why should it not have been an accident?’

  ‘Because the medical evidence is that she was strangled, I suppose,’ said Dame Beatrice, leering at him. ‘What happened, by the way, to your white handkerchief when you fell over the wall at Burgh Castle?’

  ‘As though I have the least idea!’

  ‘And do you adhere to the opinion you expressed to me at the beginning of this conversation that Eiladh, Tom Carpenter and his sister were responsible for your accident?’

  ‘Oh, very well! Very well! I can think of no other explanation, that is all, but I’ll give you best over that.’

  ‘Thank you. By the way, the three young men did go to Ranworth. The only absentee in the end was Father Melrose!’

  ‘The monk in the boat. I knew it!’

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lies and Evasions

  ‘This time doth well dispense

  With lovers’ long discourse;

  Much speech hath some defence,

  Though beauty no remorse.’

  Anon. — ‘Now Winter Night’

  « ^ »

  ‘Dum thought that Tom and one of us set upon him at Burgh Castle?’ exclaimed Eiladh. ‘He must be mad! I suppose he doesn’t think we did the same to Dee and murdered her in the process?’

  ‘You gave me in one of your letters a very clear account of that evening. Can you add to it in any way? Here is the letter in question. Perhaps you will read it and then see whether there is anything more which I ought to know.’

  ‘We told the police all about it, of course, when they asked us. I also told them what I thought really happened when Dum fell over that wall.’

  ‘Am I to be favoured equally?’

  ‘Yes, darling, for what it’s worth. I think Dum did it himself. Fell over a broken part of the wall, I mean, and pretended he’d been pushed.’

  ‘Why should he pretend that?’

  ‘To impress Dee, of course. Apparently she had sent him out there to spy on us and make sure we turned up, so I suppose he thought a sensational report would please her.’

  ‘But he never pretended that the ghost had assaulted him, did he?’

  ‘No. I think he said poachers or an irate lover had tackled him, but now he sticks it on to us! He must be in a flap about something.’

  ‘From what you know of Mrs Crieff-Tweedle, would her husband’s story of an attack on him have encouraged her to visit Burgh Castle alone? It seems a strange thing for her to have done if she believed that her husband had been set upon there.’

  ‘That’s a question I can’t answer. I mean, in one sense, she wasn’t alone, even if she thought she was, because her murderer was there. I think she went there with him.’

  Eiladh was staying with her mother and Dame Beatrice at the latter’s Stone House, for her work of cataloguing the Crieff-Tweedle library had come to an abrupt end with the death of Dee and the consequent upheaval resulting from that and the burglary. Liz Carpenter was there, too. She had not yet gone into private practice and thought it better not to join her partners until the publicity engendered by the murders and the newspaper accounts of the ghost-hunt had died down after what she hoped would be no more than a nine-days’ wonder.

  David da Cunha had had no such inhibitions, but had published the photographs (far fewer than Dee would have desired) which he had taken of the various locations and (without their knowledge and consent) of the members of the Wroxham party. These last, incidentally, had interested the police very much, for, in spite of his clerical disguise, Scotland Yard had recognised the portraits of Father Melrose. A snap of him in the casual clothes which he had worn occasionally in Norfolk had confirmed some previous suspicions that here was a man with a criminal record.

  All the members of the expedition had been closely questioned, but the heaviest guns in police artillery had been reserved for him and, although he was not in custody, a close watch was being kept on all his movements and he was subjected to the sudden, unheralded descents upon his lodgings of Detective Chief Inspector Rees, who was in charge of both cases, for the police believed that the murders of Pavy and Mrs Crieff-Tweedle were connected with the robbery.

  ‘But if she went to Burgh Castle with her murderer,’ said Liz, referring to Eiladh’s last remark, ‘that narrows it down to two people.’

 

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