I took Bingley into my office, told Elsa to see that we were not disturbed and waited for Bingley’s opening gambit. It was what I had expected.
‘You had a serious disagreement with the deceased while you were on your Scottish tour, Mr Melrose.’
‘Disagreement, yes. Serious, no.’
‘It concerned your fiancee, Miss Camden.’
‘May I point out that you are behind the times, Detective Chief Inspector? Not my fiancee any longer, and not Miss Camden. Try Mrs Todd.’
‘Are you serious, sir?’
‘Oh, yes. The walking tour was an experiment before Mrs Todd applied for a divorce so that she could marry me. The result has told us both where we stand — apart.’
‘What you tell me lends a different aspect to the matters arising. The reports I have received may have been somewhat exaggerated, sir.’
‘A bit of luck for me, if you think so.’
‘Yes, you may say that, sir. I shall need to check this new piece of information before taking further steps. Mrs
‘Alas, yes. Love’s young dream is over, so far as I am concerned.’
He looked at me and at the flower in my buttonhole. It was a pink rosebud given me by Polly because, she said, it looked festive and so did I. Bingley must have agreed with her, for he said that I appeared to be taking my bereavement extremely well. He left soon after he had said that, and I had the impression that he was a baffled man. I wondered whether he had come to the office with a warrant for my arrest. Of one thing I was certain. If he had received an exaggerated account of the punch-up, it would have come from one of three people. It could have been from Hera herself, from Todd (with whom I had exchanged words, although not blows) or Perth. There was a possible fourth, namely James Minch, always ready with a rush of words to the mouth. Neither he nor Perth would have intended any harm, but they might have done my cause a great deal of mischief, all the same.
Whichever one of them it was, there could be no doubt that I had given Bingley something to think about and, as any respite is to be preferred to sudden death, I was grateful for it. I expected Bingley to return later in the day, but he did not do so and the next step in the solution to his problem came in the form of a telephone call to me from Dame Beatrice. She had been called upon officially in her capacity as psychiatric adviser to the Home Office, she said, and at Bingley’s request.
‘I have to question certain members of the Scottish expedition,’ she said. ‘I shall take Laura with me to record the interviews, but I need your support in reassuring my suspects.’
‘Perth would be far more useful.’
‘Laura said that you would jib.’
‘No, no, I’m not jibbing. Of course I’ll do anything you say.’
‘The police,’ said Dame Beatrice in a reminiscent tone, ‘are seldom wrong when they have very definite suspicions that they know the identity of a criminal, but sometimes there are factors which they do not take into account.’
‘You mean Bingley thinks he knows who murdered Carbridge?’
‘Yes, and I can follow his reasoning, although I do not think he is right.’
‘But you have to find proof?’ I said.
She cackled. ‘Yes, indeed. I have to find proof, and when I find it he may be somewhat surprised.’
‘So you think he has set his sights on the wrong person?’
‘There are factors he has not taken into account.’
‘For instance?’ I looked for enlightenment, but it did not come. All that she added was: ‘Cast your mind back to the one evening you and Miss Camden spent at Fort William. Can you remember whether the home addresses of the various parties were exchanged? I know that Mr Trickett had a list, or he could not have sent out the invitations, but I think there must have been others.’
‘Oh, yes, there was a good deal of writing down and promising to keep in touch and all that kind of thing, but, anyway, I suppose people could have found out during the tour where other people lived if they were interested enough. Trickett, as you say, must have had a complete list. I believe he was the only person who asked for Hera’s address and mine. We were rather the odd men out because we had been with the rest of them so little.’
‘Then I think a telephone call to Mr Trickett will be sufficient for my purpose. Perhaps you would be good enough to make it for me. Ask whether Miss Coral Platt or Mr Freddie Brown is a home student. They were the two in charge of the catering at the students’ party, I am told.’
‘Ah!’ I said. ‘The kitchen knife that was found in the body and which was not the knife the pathologist thinks was the murder weapon.’
So, my having ascertained from Trickett that Coral was a home student but that Freddie was a boarder at the hall of residence during term-time, Dame Beatrice herself did the telephoning and fixed up an appointment with Coral for the following evening. Coral’s father insisted on being present at the interview and to this Dame Beatrice made no objection. She came straight to the point.
‘Where did you get the vegetable knife?’ she asked.
Coral looked distressed. I think she might have refused to answer the question, but her father said, ‘Speak up. Let’s have done with all this moping and worry. Your mother and I knew something was wrong. We thought you were pining over a love affair, but it sounds more serious than that. I’m sure Dame Beatrice knows you had nothing to do with that shocking affair.’ He put his hand over the girl’s and she turned her palm and clasped his fingers. Then she spoke out resolutely.
‘I borrowed the vegetable knife from our kitchen,’ she said. ‘I knew we were going to have hamburgers at the party, so I thought it would come in useful for chopping up the onions. I like a knife I’m used to and I didn’t know
