Bonner-Hill was done to death by some homicidal ruffians who didn’t like the look of his face. Now I’m sure that there was planning in this. Last Tuesday night a tramp by the name of Walters was taken on the river at Hurley and murdered in just the same way as Bonner-Hill. We think the murderers-there were three of them-were trying out the method. It’s a clever way to kill a man. Simple, but the cleverest ways usually are. You take him aboard a boat and render him insensible-with alcohol in the case of the tramp-and then you roll him over the side and hold his head and shoulders under till his lungs fill with water. Looks like drowning, of course. I think they might have used chloroform on Bonner-Hill. The post-mortem tomorrow may tell us. Could be traces in the lungs still. But you see my point, Mr. Fernandez. The thing was planned. The killers knew where to find their victim. Bonner-Hill was murdered because he went to the backwater leading to North Hinksey on the day and at the time the murderers expected a man to be there.”
Fernandez folded his arms in a way that proclaimed how unimpressed he was. “Pure chance. It must have been. But for my laryngitis we should both have been there. They could hardly have murdered two of us.”
“I don’t suggest it, sir. They didn’t plan for two. They expected one, and one came.”
Fernandez frowned. “I trust you are not suggesting that I conspired with these desperados to cause Bonner-Hill’s death.”
“Not at all, sir,” answered Cribb. “If you want it straight, I think they might have planned to murder you.”
“Me?” Fernandez tossed back his head and laughed. “Murder me? Why should anybody want to murder me?”
Cribb had turned to face the quadrangle. “I don’t know, sir. I thought you might have some ideas about that.”
Fernandez crossed the room and caught him by the shoulder. “Turn and look me in the face, Sergeant. You must have meant what you just said in jest. This is too ridiculous for words.”
Solemnly, Cribb said, “I meant it, Mr. Fernandez. I’m not one for jokes. I don’t know why they should want to kill you, but I believe they tried. They expected to find you there yesterday morning. You’ve been going out on Saturdays looking for that pike for two years, you said. It’s common knowledge-must be, by now. They devised a means of killing a man from a boat and making it look like a drowning. They came to Oxford expecting to meet you in the backwater, but they met Bonner-Hill instead. Superficially Bonner-Hill bore some resemblance to you. He was about the same age, his height was similar and he had a moustache like yours. They’re all the rage, I know. Point is, that on a misty morning in September, the mistake was not impossible, particularly when he was dressed from head to foot in waterproofs. Did they belong to you, by any chance?”
“Certainly not. Bonner-Hill wasn’t the sort to borrow other people’s clothes. He wouldn’t be seen-”
“Dead in them, sir? Of course, he was careful about his clothes. I should have remembered.”
“But really, the notion that he was somehow mistaken for me is pure speculation.”
“Perhaps you’ll hear me out, sir,” Cribb quietly said. “I believe the murderers didn’t know that Bonner-Hill had taken to fishing with you. This only started in the last six weeks, you said. Until you told me otherwise, I thought they must have known exactly where you planned to do your fishing yesterday. That’s the part that baffles me. You stand by what you said, do you, sir-that the plan to go there was yours alone?”
Fernandez made a sound of impatience. “For Heaven’s sake! If you think an experienced angler would go to anybody else for advice on where to pitch his line, you betray a lamentable ignorance of the sport.”
“I’ll admit to that, sir. What troubles me, you see, is that there are no end of backwaters around Oxford. The Thames alone-”
“The Isis,” said Fernandez in a pained voice. “In Oxford, the river is known as the Isis.”
“Call it what you like, sir. It’s still got Potts Stream, Seacourt Stream and Hinksey Stream branching from it. That’s getting on for ten miles of backwaters, without adding the Cherwell. I cannot understand how the murderers knew where to find Bonner-Hill without prior knowledge. Unless, of course”-Cribb traced a finger thoughtfully round the line of his jaw-“unless they followed him from the boatyard. Where would he have hired the punt from?”
“The boathouse at Folly Bridge. But I hardly think your three assassins would risk being seen at Folly Bridge. The place is very well-frequented, even early on a Saturday morning.”
“Pity,” said Cribb. “It brings me back to my problem. Putting myself in the murderers’ place-and it sometimes helps to try, sir-if I wanted to make sure you took your boat to one particular backwater, I’d try to tempt you there, let you know that there was good fishing to be had in that locality.”
“I think you would do better to confine yourself to facts, not flights of your imagination,” Fernandez commented.
“I might send a message through a third party,” Cribb doggedly went on, “or a letter, anonymous of course. Might even offer to take you to the spot, or meet you there. A dedicated angler like yourself would find it difficult to resist an offer like that.”
Fernandez inhaled sharply and audibly, and said, “This is entirely hypothetical and I object to your implication that I am withholding information from you. If you have any other questions to address to me, my man, kindly state them now, in a decent, straightforward fashion, before I altogether lose my temper.”
Cribb looked contrite. “I’m sorry, sir. Went beyond myself.” In his experience it was almost a law of interrogation that a straight apology evinced a magnanimous response.
“I must admit I’m not quite myself either,” said Fernandez. “It’s a shock to be told that you were meant to be murdered, even if you don’t altogether believe it.”
“Nasty shock,” Cribb agreed. “You won’t feel very comfortable in your boat for a while after this. Be looking over your shoulder half the time. Mind, I don’t think Bonner-Hill was murdered in the punt. He was taken aboard another boat. Went freely, too, I think. There were no signs of a struggle on the punt. Makes me think of two possibilities-either he knew the murderers, or he was meeting them by arrangement.”
Fernandez brought his hands together with a muted clap. “If he knew them, they must have known him, and they couldn’t have mistaken him for me.”
“That’s why I favour the second possibility,” said Cribb. “The hired assassin baiting his hook, if I might borrow the expression, but catching Bonner-Hill instead of you. Can you think of anyone who bears a grudge against you? I think you might be in need of protection, you see. I can probably arrange for a constable to keep watch here, if you like.”
“In Merton? Good Heavens, Sergeant, this is in the realm of fantasy. No, I can’t think of anyone who would like to kill me, and no, I don’t want a policeman in the passage, thank you.”
Cribb rubbed the back of his neck. “This is very awkward, sir. You must forgive me if I press the question further. You haven’t any enemies, in Oxford, or anywhere else?”
“How does one know one’s enemies? I shall begin to think I have, if you persist.”
“You’re a single man, sir.” Cribb smiled. “A ladies’ man, they tell me, though.” He winked. “No jealous husbands lurking in the shadows, I would hope?”
“Certainly not,” said Fernandez, without smiling.
“It’s a conundrum, sir. It really is. I’m trying my best. What about your family? Are your parents alive?”
“Both dead. I have two brothers serving in the army and an uncle in London. If you’re as desperate as you appear to be to find a motive, you may wish to speculate on the fact that he is Deputy Governor of Coldbath Fields House of Correction.”
“The Steel, sir?” Cribb’s eyes lit up as if mention had been made of his school. “I know it well. My word, this is a small world! You’re right, though. It’s not impossible for someone to have seen a way of taking revenge on your uncle by attacking you. Old lags get a lot of time to work up hatred, and to scheme. I’ll think about that. His name is the same as yours, is it?”
“Matthew Fernandez. But I’ve no reason to believe-”
“Nor me, sir. I shan’t discount it, though. You’ve been extremely patient with me. I’m an irritating sort of cove.”
Fernandez fumbled for an appropriately civil response. “Not at all. Not irritating. Well, you must admit it sounds deucedly far-fetched to suggest that three men came all the way from London in a boat to do away with a harmless don in modern history.”
Cribb smiled. The smile remained on his face as he passed through the Fellows’ Quad to the Front Quad. It was still there when he started down Merton Street.
At no point in the interview had he suggested to Fernandez that the three men had started from
