Death of a Burrowing Mole

from the very outset when they found that the other lot had been given permission to work on the site. They pretended to accept each other graciously at first, but that’s all over now. You ought to come back with us this afternoon and look at the work we’ve been doing,’ said Bonamy.

‘Well,’ said Laura, looking hopefully at Dame Beatrice, ‘there’s the Seagull hotel at Holdy Bay. No doubt they could have us a bit later on. Perhaps the dispute about the trench will be resolved by then. I’d love to see what the castle looks like now.’

The subject was dropped. Lunch passed pleasantly and early in the afternoon the young men took their leave and drove back to the castle. There was a policeman at the gatehouse and another was on duty on top of the hill. The caravan and Tom’s car had disappeared and there was nobody on the site, although that in itself was not strange. It was the presence of the police which was disconcerting.

‘Something wrong, sergeant?’ asked Bonamy.

‘Who are you, sir?’

‘My name is Monkswood. My friend and I have been away for the weekend since Friday afternoon. Up to that time we’ve been helping out here at the castle. What’s been happening? Why are you here?’

‘You will find the Superintendent at the Barbican hotel in the village, sir.’ He took out a notebook, added, ‘He will be glad to see you two gentlemen,’ and then inscribed Bonamy’s name after he had asked for the initials. He then asked for Tom’s full name, wrote that down, too, and asked where they had come from.

‘Not your home address, but where you were last night, sir?’

‘We camped near the Stone House, Wandles Parva, in Hampshire, the home of my godmother, Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley.’

‘The Superintendent will certainly wish to see you, sir. You had best go along at once. He will have interviewed the rest of your party by now.’

‘What has happened to the caravan and the car which were parked here?’ asked Tom.

‘They have been removed to the village car park, sir. You will have no difficulty in locating them.’

‘Can’t you tell us anything about what has been going on?’

‘No, sir, I have no instructions to that effect.’

‘Can we go up to the keep? We’ve left some gear there,’ said Bonamy.

‘Nobody is allowed beyond this point, sir. Your property will be quite safe.’

‘Come on, Bonamy,’ said Tom. They got into Bonamy’s car and drove to the Barbican. Bonamy went up to the reception counter.

‘Mr Monkswood and Mr Hassocks,’ he said. ‘You know us, I think. We have had meals here with Mr Tynant and Professor Veryan.’

‘Which is a gentleman you won’t ever sit down at table with again,’ said the receptionist.

‘What!’

‘Found dead first thing this morning up at the castle. Mr Tynant and the police are through here.’ She folded back the flap of the counter, led them through a room at the back of her office and tapped on a further door. ‘Mr Monkswood and Mr Hassocks are here,’ she said.

The room to which they had been admitted was small and overcrowded. All the castle party were there, with the obvious exception of Veryan. At a table sat two men in plain clothes. One of them looked round and then indicated two vacant chairs.

‘So now we have a full house,’ he said, in a tone of satisfaction. ‘All I am doing at present, gentlemen, is checking where everybody has been during the weekend. There has been a serious accident resulting in the death of Professor Veryan. He appears to have been alone on the tower of the castle and to have fallen. In all cases of this sort we have to conduct an official enquiry before the coroner takes over, so, if I could just have an account of how you two gentlemen spent your weekend, that will round out my little dossier and we can all go off and have our tea. Now, Mr Monkswood.’ The other plain-clothes policeman opened the door and the rest of the party filed out.

‘When did he – when did the accident happen?’ asked Tom.

‘The medical evidence will come out at the inquest, sir. When did you leave the castle ruins?’

‘On Friday at about midday,’ said Bonamy. ‘Professor Veryan was quite all right then. He walked with us to our car and then he and Mr Tynant went off to have their lunch and Hassocks and I drove to the pub in the village of Stint Magna, where we usually get our snacks at lunchtime, and then we toured and messed about and camped out until today, when we called on my godmother, Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, had lunch with her at her home, the Stone House, and came back here.’

‘Where were you last night, sir?’

‘Last night? We slept in our tent on the edge of the New Forest. It’s a bit of rough land belonging to my godmother and adjoining her grounds, so we knew it was all right to be there.’

‘Were there other campers with you?’

‘No, of course not. It’s private land belonging to Dame Beatrice, a sort of paddock, in fact.’

‘This was last night. What about the night before?’

‘We slept in the car. We were up on Campdown and tried pitching the tent, but it was too windy.’

‘Thank you, Mr Monkswood. I’d just like a word with Mr Hassocks, and then I’m through for the time being. Now, Mr Hassocks, what made you two gentlemen come to the hotel at this time of day? I was told that you were not due here until just on time for your evening dinner and never came here earlier then seven o’clock.’

‘We drove back to the castle to unload our sleeping-bags and take them up to the keep, but the police sergeant at the gatehouse said you were at the hotel and wanted to see us. Look here, it’s been a bit of a shock, you know.