economic issues. At the end of it the Vice-Quaestor looked more despondent than ever.
“I am sorry, Signor Shepherd,” said Graziella, “you have not come here to talk about the difficulties of our poor country — you were saying?”
“I was saying,” I said, “that if these girls were deeply absorbed in a work of political philosophy—”
But it was no use. Interested as they were in their reading, they might not have noticed anyone who simply came on to the bridge and returned to the terrace; but they were physically so disposed about the entrance-way to the annexe that no one could have entered it without disturbing them.
“Of course,” I said, “we have been considering only the orthodox means of access. It would have been possible, I suppose, for someone travelling by boat along the canal to climb up to one of the balconies and to leave by the same route? The bedrooms of such a hotel as the Cytherea must present an attractive target for robbery.”
Physically, the Vice-Quaestor agreed, it was a possibility: but only, of course, under cover of darkness — and the murder had been discovered a mere five minutes or so after night had fallen. There were thieves in Venice, he did not deny it, as in other great cities. But they would not be so foolish as to break in when darkness had only just fallen and people were still in their rooms changing for dinner: they would wait until the early hours of the morning, when everyone was asleep and the English and Americans had left their windows open.
“So you see, Signor Shepherd, the only persons who had any opportunity to commit the crime, apart from your friend the Signorina Larwood, are the Signora Frostfield and Major Linnaker. They are both persons of the highest respectability. Moreover, they were only slightly acquainted with the murdered man and had no reason to wish him harm.” The Vice-Quaestor’s increasing confidence in his command of English seemed ominous. I decided I had better begin looking pleased and grateful.
“Yes, I see,” I said. “Thank you, that’s most helpful. The preliminary enquiries made in London on Miss Larwood’s behalf do, as it happens, suggest that Major Linnaker may be rather less respectable than he seems and that Mrs. Frostfield’s connection with the murdered man may be less slight than she would like you to suppose.” I eased my conscience by remembering that business with the holdall at Heathrow and the conversation which Julia overheard between Eleanor and Kenneth. “But such enquiries do, of course, involve a certain amount of time and expense. If there had been a large number of other potential suspects, I should have felt hesitant about allowing them to continue. But I now feel justified, in the light of what you have told me, in authorizing them to proceed.”
You will gather, from the absurdity of these remarks, how entirely I was at a loss. Still, the Vice-Quaestor did seem a little impressed by the notion of enquiries being made in London on Julia’s behalf: at any rate, he has asked me to pass on to him any information which they may elicit.
He has also agreed to take no action so far as Julia is concerned until the forensic report is available — he is expecting this to reach him some time on Thursday morning. He is hoping, evidently, that it will shed some light on the precise nature of the weapon used: no weapon has been found — he believes that it is at the bottom of the canal and it would be useless to search for it. Still, this is, I think, one point which troubles him about his case against Julia: even he does not imagine that she would keep a stiletto in her underwear.
That, I think, is all there is to tell you about the interview. Afterwards I offered Graziella lunch — it seemed the least I could do. She declined, however, being pressed for time: she is leaving Venice this evening to spend a week in Rome. She had been wondering, it seems, if she should defer her holiday, in case Julia required her assistance; but she expresses herself satisfied, now I am here, that the matter is in safe hands — I wish I felt equally confident.
And so, after telephoning you from the Consulate and giving Signor Vespari a brief account of my interview with the Vice-Quaestor, I came, as I told you, to have lunch at the Cytherea, hoping, I suppose, for some sudden inspiration. I have had an excellent lunch, but no inspiration.
I am finishing this on the terrace, in the same corner, I think, where Julia used to write to you. The four chambermaids are still sitting in the entrance-way to the annexe. I suppose they are the same ones whose evidence is so troublesome, though today they are not reading anything, but conducting a flirtation with one of the waiters. At least, that is what it looks like — I suppose, for all I know, that it may be a seminar on political economy. I have been wondering whether it is possible that they are not telling the truth: if there were only one or two of them, it would be feasible — but four?
As a lunch-time customer, I could think of no excuse for going into the annexe; but I went and stood for a while on the bridge, from which, I am told by the waiter, one can see Byron’s house. I stood looking at the view down the canal, still vaguely hoping for inspiration; but none came.
It is possible, I suppose, that someone was already in the annexe when the chambermaids took up their position and afterwards escaped by way of the canal. But if there were such a person his purpose cannot have been murder — no one could have known that Ned would go back to his room. And if his object was merely theft, why commit murder? He could have slipped out easily enough while Ned and Julia were sleeping.
So it really does look as if it must be Eleanor or the Major. If you can find out anything to their discredit, it will be, I need hardly say, most helpful in my dealings with the Vice-Quaestor. As I said on the telephone, I would prefer any messages to go to the Consulate — I shall be calling in there every morning and Signor Vespari will make sure that any news is passed on to me.
I am sorry not to write more optimistically.
Yours affectionately, Timothy.
CHAPTER 13
“Properly regarded,” said Selena, having replaced the telephone receiver, “it’s most encouraging to find that it must be either Eleanor or the Major. We shall pursue our enquiries with every confidence that we are not chasing red herrings.” She resumed her place in the secondhand armchair.
“My dear Selena,” said Ragwort, “you speak airily of pursuing our enquiries. What, precisely, do you propose that we should do?”
“Easy,” said Cantrip. “We’ll go and question them — we’ve got their addresses.”
However things may be done in Cambridge, in the metropolis it is unfortunately not possible for one private citizen to arrive unannounced on the doorstep of another and to submit that other to a rigorous interrogation, using, if necessary, rack and thumbscrew. I asked if any of them might know anyone sufficiently acquainted with either suspect to enable us to make a more sophisticated approach.
“I suppose,” said Selena, “that we must know someone.”
“Certainly you must,” I said. “The whole object of an Oxford education is to ensure that when you want to know someone you know someone who knows them.”
“I expect,” said Ragwort, “that Benjamin Dobble would know something about them.”
Both Selena and myself are acquainted with Benjamin Dobble; but neither of us sufficiently well to be able at sudden notice to summon him to our assistance.
“I suppose if I asked him,” said Ragwort, with an expression of rather complacent self-sacrifice, “he’d probably agree to have dinner with us. At Oxford, he used to think. .” Ragwort did not specify what opinion Benjamin had held of him at Oxford; but a brief consultation of the looking-glass over the mantelpiece seemed to reassure him that it was likely to be still entertained.
Benjamin joined us in the Corkscrew promptly at six o’clock. He is a large young man, whose smooth brown hair appears to be cut by the pudding-basin method: this combines with a certain roundness of feature to give the impression of a farm hand of the less intellectual type. It may, indeed, be not altogether misleading: I have heard it said that he had to work quite hard for his First in Economics — well, that may be mere malice; but there is no doubt that in the year he obtained his Fellowship of the College of All Souls the competition was unusually weak. Still, whatever reservations one may have about his intellectual capacity, if one wants to know anything about the world of art and objects, Benjamin is the man to ask. He combines the duties of his Fellowship with the post of Saleroom Correspondent to an investment periodical: there is little he does not know of such matters.
“My dear Benjamin,” said Ragwort, “how charming of you to join us.”
“My dear Desmond,” said Benjamin, “how sweet of you to invite me.”
