‘Says she got a taxi after an early breakfast in Holdy Bay on Monday morning and was back at the caravan before the two girls arrived a bit later.’
‘So where had the two women students been?’
‘Well, it was they who were responsible for our deciding to play hooky for the weekend. They had struck work and, like true daughters of Eve, had tempted us to do likewise. Fiona’s home is only about thirty miles from the castle, and Priscilla has friends who live on a farm between Holdy Bay and Fiona’s home, so, as they have the use of Tom’s car, Fiona dropped Priscilla off at the farm, went on home and picked up Priscilla again first thing on Monday morning. It appears they and Dr Lochlure were accustomed to wait in the caravan after breakfast for Mrs Saltergate to come and dig them out for the start of the day’s work. On Monday it wasn’t she who came; it was the police. Then, I suppose, it all happened at once – police towing their caravan away and ordering them to take Tom’s car to the car park and then the general round-up at the Barbican, where they were given the news. Of course Tom and I didn’t show up until nearly teatime because, while all this was going on, we were here with you.’
‘That appears to account for everybody except for Mr and Mrs Saltergate,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘They were staying at the Horse and Cart, the other hotel in the village. The first they knew was when they got a phone message from Tynant to tell them that Veryan had had a fatal accident and to ask them to come round to the Barbican instead of going to the castle.’
‘What did the police think of what various people told them? Were they satisfied with it?’ asked Laura.
‘We don’t know. Of course, at first nobody let on that there had been a disagreement between Veryan and Saltergate. It wasn’t all that serious, anyway, I’m sure. A compromise would have been reached if Veryan had lived. Until the little skirmish about the trench, the two sides had always got on perfectly well together and were sharing Tom and me and the two navvies in the most amicable fashion – at least, I thought so. Anyway, the police got to know about the quarrel, but we don’t know who blew the gaff.’
‘Probably nobody did, in that sense,’ said Laura. ‘The police are pretty good at deducing that sort of thing.’
‘Whatever people want to think, I don’t believe Veryan’s death was an accident,’ said Tom.
‘Oh? Why?’ asked Laura.
‘Too many alibis floating around.’
‘Your own being one of them, of course.’
‘Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately, no. You can only swear that we were with you from about ten on Monday morning until after lunch, and that’s no help at all,’ said Bonamy.
‘I bet the coroner brings in death by misadventure,’ Tom went on. ‘Is that quite the same as “accidental death”?’
‘Whether it’s the same or not, it makes no difference from a practical point of view,’ said Bonamy. ‘Either verdict takes the police out of the picture, but I agree with you. I’m sure the police are not satisfied and I’m sure they have something specific to go on in their not being satisfied.’
‘Suspicious of all those alibis,’ said Tom, ‘and I don’t blame them.’
‘Granted, but I think they’ve got hold of something else. Wish I knew what it was.’
‘Tell me all that you can about your weekend,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘You think you have no alibi, but one never knows.’
‘As we indicated, we’re not at all sure we want to produce an alibi when all the others are so sketchy.’
‘Are they, indeed? Perhaps we will examine them in detail later. What about your own adventures?’
‘We didn’t have any. We left the castle as soon as the Friday morning work was finished, had a snack and a beer at our usual pub at Stint Magna and then went wherever the car took us. We collected up bread and cake and cheese and beer, so that, if we couldn’t find anywhere to have an evening blow-out, we wouldn’t go hungry or thirsty and at about six in the evening we began looking about for somewhere to pitch the tent. As we were by the sea, we decided to sleep on the sands. There are worse beds’than a soft, dry sand-dune.’
‘Go on,’ said Laura sceptically. ‘Such as what?’
‘Sometimes Tom had the wheel and sometimes I did,’ said Bonamy, ignoring the question and also avoiding his godmother’s suddenly enlightened eye. ‘We did not go far on the Friday afternoon – about eighty or ninety miles. On Saturday we stopped in the afternoon to watch a village cricket match—’
‘ “Caught at point by a man in braces”,’ murmured Laura.
‘— and then we drove on to the moors, but up there it was so windy that we didn’t attempt to put up the tent. The heather was quite dry and beautifully springy, so we tried that in turns while the other one had the back seat of the car. But, of course, those are not the nights that matter. It was on the Sunday night that Veryan either fell or was pushed, and that’s the night we slept in your paddock with never a soul to know we were there.’
‘You ought to have come up to the house and let us give you some supper,’ said Laura. ‘Then we could have given you a cast-iron alibi.’
‘It was too late to disturb you. We didn’t get here until after eleven. Your Dobermanns would have torn us to bits if we’d come up to the house at that time of night.’
‘They wouldn’t tear anybody to bits. They would be very menacing and kick up the devil of a shindy, but they wouldn’t savage anybody who was not threatening Dame B. or myself.’
‘Well,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘you certainly have not furnished yourselves with an alibi, and your simple, unembroidered story rings so false that it must be conceded that you could have pushed Professor Veryan off the tower, driven here during the night and appeared daisy-fresh at my front door on Monday morning. Let us abandon this sad scenario and concentrate on those alibis which
‘I suppose the two girls’ statements will hold water,’ said Laura.
‘Yes,’ said Bonamy. ‘Fiona’s parents will vouch for her, I suppose, and Priscilla’s friends ditto.’
‘What of Mr Tynant and Dr Lochlure?’ asked Dame Beatrice. ‘Are their alibis equally sound?’
