Ampersand Papers (13 page)

‘It is a reasonable view.’ Appleby was conscious that he ought to find all this candour distressing. At the same time he felt a certain respect for Lady Ampersand. Even for her intelligence, in a limited sense. It might almost be said that she knew what she was about. ‘Are you saying,’ he asked gravely, ‘and are you judging it necessary to say, that your son might involve himself in acts of petty dishonesty but would be unlikely to be implicated in major crime?’

‘That is how my daughter Grace would put it. But then she has always been a plain-spoken girl. A little toad.’

‘Your daughter?’

‘And, I think, the tail of the second toad. They must all be two by two, of course. Otherwise it would be cheating.’

‘Certainly it would.’ Appleby felt he had made an unfortunate error. ‘But cheating seems to be what we are talking about, Lady Ampersand.’

‘So it is. And pilfering. We started from that.’

‘Quite so. Would you be inclined to describe it as a kind of hereditary thing among the Digitts? Mr Charles Digitt, for instance. Would he have the same unfortunate instinct to put his hand on things as you say Lord Skillet has?’

‘Archie and his cousin Charles don’t seem to me to be at all like each other, Sir John. Except that they talk in the same clever way, and often won’t stop making fun of people.’ Lady Ampersand picked up another fragment of her puzzle, and studied it for an unusual length of time. ‘Charles,’ she said, as if she had worked something out in her head, ‘would always have larger ideas than Archie.’

‘A broader point of view, you mean?’

‘No, not exactly that.’ Lady Ampersand’s features now indicated perplexity. She was in deep waters, and knew it. ‘Bolder designs,’ she said suddenly. ‘That’s it! How Charles differs from Archie, I mean. And there’s something attractive in it, it must be said.’

‘A good jigsaw puzzle, for instance, always reveals a bold design?’

‘How very true!’ Lady Ampersand accorded Appleby a frankly admiring glance. ‘And do you know what I think?’

‘No, I don’t. But I’d like to, very much.’

‘I think that in this one there will be some tiny creature so well in the foreground that it will take up quite a lot of space.’

‘I haven’t the least doubt you are right. The same effects, as a matter of fact, sometimes occur in detective investigation.’

‘Is that so?’ Lady Ampersand, although still perplexed, was interested. ‘But I have always preferred jigsaws to detective stories. They are more restful, don’t you think? And they don’t often cheat.’

‘Certainly not if they come from Harrods. May I ask you one further question?’

‘Please do, Sir John. I am enjoying our little talk very much. It gives me quite a new notion of the police.’

‘Ah, yes – the police! Let us consider what we ought to tell my colleagues who are still active in that profession. We are to make it clear to them, are we not, that it would be psychologically quite inept to regard Lord Skillet as one likely to look on the larger, the darker face of crime? Very good. But now, what about your nephew, Charles Digitt? Would you be surprised, for instance, to hear that he had murdered someone? Poor Dr Sutch, say.’

‘Oh, very surprised, indeed.’ And Lady Ampersand really looked surprised. ‘Please tell your subordinates to ignore such an idea entirely. It is out of the question. My daughter Grace says so. And perhaps you should consult my sister Agatha. She would say precisely the same thing.’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Lady Ampersand.’ Appleby got to his feet. ‘And I am most grateful to you. We are undoubtedly gaining ground.’

‘So we are – for here is the rest of the lion.’ It was evident that Lady Ampersand’s attention had again wandered a little. ‘And I do hope you will call again, Sir John. Perhaps you could dine with us one evening quite soon. My husband would be delighted.’

‘Thank you very much. It is possible, however, that we shall meet again before that.’ And Appleby glanced at the table. ‘The bits and pieces begin to arrange themselves,’ he said. ‘It’s a satisfactory moment when that happens, is it not?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Lady Ampersand said.

Judith Appleby, contacted on the telephone, was unperturbed by her husband’s having to confess to a trick of the old rage. She was used to it. And the Birch-Blackies, it appeared, had mumps in the house and were obliged to scratch their dinner engagement.

‘But we have the Ouseleys on Thursday,’ Judith said. ‘So I hope it will be one of your twenty-four-hour things.’

‘What do you mean – my twenty-four-hour things?’

‘When you blunder in on some hideous crime early one morning, and sort it all out over the breakfast-table next day.’

‘Well, no. It won’t be like that. Or not quite like that. For instance, I shall have to pay a call at Budleigh Salterton.’

‘At
where
?’

‘Budleigh Salterton. And probably bearing a brace of pheasants.’

‘Don’t be silly. It would be a shocking solecism, and you’d probably be run in as a poacher. Wrong time of year.’

‘So it is. A couple of hares, then. With their noses in those little paper bags.’

‘Then don’t do anything messy with them. Are you in your London suit?’

‘Of course I’m not in my London suit. I’m wandering the wilds of Lyonnesse, aren’t I? Appropriately clad.’

‘And with magic in your eyes. Are you putting up with these lordlings at this Treskinnick place?’

‘No, I’m not. That might prove embarrassing, supposing their affairs to turn out on the murky side. Come to think of it, I wasn’t invited, either. I’m at the local pub. It’s called the Ampersand Arms.’

‘I expect they’ll give you a marvellous dinner,’ Judith said. ‘Or perhaps just what they call a cream tea.’ She rang off.

A second telephone call had ensured that Appleby would have somebody with whom to share whatever the inn thought to provide. Inspector Craig arrived before dinner, and while they waited for it they conversed in a corner of the bar.

‘Well, sir,’ Craig asked cheerfully, ‘what did you make of that crowd?’

‘That they’re
not
a crowd, to start with. We have to deal with a comparatively small
dramatis
personae
.’

‘Perfectly true – but I suppose a few more characters may yet turn up. And there are some quite choice specimens already. It’s hard to believe in Lord Ampersand, for instance.’

‘Not as being anything much other than he seems to be, I’d say. And – do you know, Craig? – I’m less hooked on the cast than on the
mise en scène
.’

‘Ah, the tower.’

‘Just that. By the way, I hear you borrowed a helicopter.’

‘Straight away. It simply landed on the roof a chap who then fixed up a rope and pulley affair. I was winched up myself in no time, and I can’t say I liked it one little bit. But tomorrow morning we’re to have fellows run up a light scaffolding carrying a zigzag of ladders on the inner face of the tower. Not such a job as you’d imagine, it seems. You must honour us, Sir John, by being the first man to make the ascent.’ Craig paused to permit himself laughter at this innocent joke. ‘Which means I needn’t waste your time by describing the muniment room to you now. Nothing all that odd about it – except anyone siting it in such a place. That seems clean barmy to me.’

‘Particularly with the staircase as it plainly was. Your helicopter, incidentally, has been putting ideas in Lord Ampersand’s head. He thinks that a helicopter came huffing and puffing about the place and blew the blessed staircase down.’

‘Well, why not? A helicopter can shatter windows fifty yards away. It could easily…’

‘You know perfectly well there was no helicopter, Craig.’

‘Yes, sir – and perhaps there was no criminal either. Doesn’t your mind return to that from time to time? Mine does.’

‘Well, yes. But for one simple circumstance, I might settle for that view. A half-rotten structure gives way under a heavy man. Nothing could be more plausible.’

‘As, perhaps, it was meant to be.’

‘Quite so. But by the one simple circumstance, Inspector, I mean, of course, that rope and cord. There it was, a thoroughly unaccountable thing, and bang on the site of the supposed accident. But as soon as one begins to think in terms of a crime, those unaccountable objects take on an obvious function. Isn’t that so?’

‘Yes, Sir John. Somebody lies in wait for Sutch at the top of the tower, tips him off the platform, and shins down the rope as it hangs as a loop from the top of the staircase. But the structure doesn’t stand up to such treatment, and down it comes too, almost in the instant that the murderer has safely touched ground and bolted.’ Craig paused, and shook his head. ‘It’s the alibi theory we were talking about, more or less. Only it couldn’t have happened that way – not
just
that way – for a very sufficient reason that we know. You happened to be on the spot, Sir John, and you just can’t – can you? – square such a sequence of events with your own observations. Not to speak of the rope being left neatly coiled like it was. So none of it makes sense.’

‘No more it does – I agree. So try something else, Craig. Why should anybody want to murder this man Sutch, anyway?’

‘Sutch had found – up there in that crazy place – a large collection of very valuable papers. He had divulged the fact to somebody with no legal title to their ownership, but who nevertheless proposed to be the sole beneficiary. So he killed Sutch and nobbled the stuff.’

‘Nobbled it? Just how?’

‘It had already been removed to some hiding-place he’d been told about. He only had to bide his time, and collect.’

‘Yes. That
does
make sense, I agree. Or it makes a limited sort of sense in one area of the puzzle. Perhaps we can work outwards from it to a rational view of the whole thing. But there’s – well, a piece missing.’

‘Or several pieces, sir.’ Craig finished his gin-and-french like a man in deepening gloom. ‘Do you think,’ he asked suddenly, ‘that one of them might be that fellow Cave in the cave?’

‘Indeed I do. I even believe that Mr Cave may now be hard to lay our hands on. But let’s go in to dinner.’

So Sir John Appleby and Inspector Craig went in to dinner. It was to find that another guest had established himself at table before them. And that this guest was the missing Mr Cave.

If Sir John Appleby was startled at having a prediction suddenly negatived, Mr Cave – that devoted speleologist – appeared to be startled too. For a moment, indeed, he looked at the new arrivals with eyes wide open in alarm. Then, rather oddly, he could be observed to take the deep breath of a man from whom some doubt or indecision has been removed. At the same time, he was sufficiently confused to half-rise from his chair and at once sit down again.

‘Oh, good evening!’ he said. ‘Sir John Appleby, of course.’

‘Good evening. I am delighted to meet you again so soon. Let me introduce Inspector Craig, of the County Constabulary. The Inspector may be said to be tidying up that unfortunate affair at the castle. Inspector, this is Mr Cave.’

‘How do you do, sir?’ If Craig was astonished, he didn’t show it. ‘Sir John and I were recently having a word about you, as a matter of fact. We’re not without the thought that you may be of help to us. Assist the police in their inquiries, as the newspapers say.’

‘Oh, yes – yes, of course.’ Mr Cave spoke jerkily. ‘Shall we – well, dine together? This table is laid that way.’

Before this proposition Inspector Craig discernibly hesitated, as if feeling some impropriety in thus breaking bread with one on whom he might presently be clapping a pair of handcuffs. Appleby, however, made no bones about it, and set the example of sitting down at once.

‘Capital!’ he said. ‘We can share a bottle of wine – supposing the place runs to anything tolerable in that way. As you and Dr Sutch perhaps did, Mr Cave, when you had that interesting chat with him not very long ago.’

‘Yes, indeed, yes. It has been extremely sad. And worrying.’

‘Ah, worrying. Perhaps it has been worrying that has brought you back here? It has been our impression, you know, that you were glad to make your escape from the district.’

‘My escape, Sir John? I hardly…’

‘To place yourself at some remove, shall we say, from so distressing an episode. I see that this rather grubby bill of fare speaks of fillet steak. Shall we risk it? We could hedge the bet a little by asking them to make it the basis of a mixed grill.’ Appleby picked up another card. ‘I’d be more inclined to have the so-called
Bordeaux rouge
rather than venture among chateaux with wholly mysterious names.’

‘Yes, I agree – I quite agree.’ Cave was clearly grateful for this breathing-space. ‘I have came back to Treskinnick,’ he went on abruptly, ‘with some thought of contacting the police. Yes, that has been it. So this has really been a fortunate meeting. It enables me, so to speak, to take the bull by the horns. But it may be that a glass of wine…’

The wine was fetched. The mixed grill was quite briskly put in hand, as certain smells and sizzlings through a hatch in the wall testified. Mr Cave nervously crumbled a roll of some antiquity on his plate. He took a gulp of wine.

‘I want to confess,’ he said abruptly.

Inspector Craig, distinctly alarmed, fumbled indecisively for a notebook. He was having a vision, no doubt, of counsel for the defence making devastating play with the irregularity of the occasion. But Appleby, although looking grave, again didn’t stand upon the forms.

‘That you have so far,’ he asked, ‘not been quite so communicative as you might have been on circumstances known to you which could have some bearing on the manner of Dr Sutch’s death?’

‘Just that. If I may say so, Sir John, you phrase it very well. Dr Sutch and I were – well, meditating what might be called a partnership.’

‘Does that mean, Mr Cave’ – it was Craig who came in grimly with this – ‘that you and Dr Sutch were fabricating some sort of plot together?’

‘Well, yes. I suppose it might be expressed that way. But it came to nothing, you see. It came to nothing at all.’

‘May we pause,’ Appleby asked, ‘at this point? And may I say a word, Mr Cave, about the law of conspiracy? It is complex and tricky – and, in fact, worries jurists a good deal. Suppose you sit down alone in a room, and draw up on paper a detailed plan for committing some atrocious crime. And suppose that paper to fall into the hands of Inspector Craig. He cannot, on the mere strength of it, charge you with any indictable offence. You might think you were in a position analogous to that of a man found loitering with intent to commit a felony. But – if I understand the matter aright – it just doesn’t work that way. You have merely been amusing yourself, it can be held, by concocting a piece of crime-fiction such as may be bought at any bookstall. But suppose you had a companion in that room, and that you went at your concoction together. The circumstances might, of course, be such that there was nothing in question except a harmless literary collaboration. Nevertheless the shadow of conspiracy – a very tricky thing, as I say – might be hanging over you. And if you are found to have conspired to commit a crime you won’t be much assisted by the fact that you never got round to it. It is an area of the law surrounded, I admit, by every sort of dubiety. But, roughly speaking, that’s it.’