“He’s got a Master’s appointment,” said Selena. “I thought he said this morning that it was something to do with that case you’ve got against each other about the washing-line. But as you’re still here, I assume—”
“Strewth,” said Cantrip, leaping from his chair. “The blighter, he might have reminded me.” By the time the door of the Corkscrew swung to behind him, he was no more than a blur of black and white on the other side of High Holborn, moving fast towards the Law Courts.
“Do please go on, Professor Tamar,” said Marylou. “I think it’s simply fascinating.” She is a delightful girl.
“Once I realized that the razor-cut must have been a fake, my mind turned immediately to the idea of an impersonation. At some stage later in the day, Ned was to impersonate someone who had sustained such an injury, or such a person was to impersonate him. But later in the day Ned had been a corpse. I was drawn irresistibly to the conclusion that the corpse was, as it were, an involuntary impostor. It was clear, Marylou, from your own account of the discovery of the crime, that Kenneth had not allowed anyone who knew Ned to look closely at the body. But he must have known, of course, that there would be a medical examination and that even such a trifling wound would probably be noticed. If none of those who had last seen Ned remembered him having suffered anything of the kind, it was possible that the police might begin to entertain some doubt, however small, about the identity of the corpse.”
“That’s really brilliant,” said Marylou again.
“I should, as I say, have seen it all much earlier, without knowing the medical evidence. That, of course, was conclusive. Julia is admittedly unobservant—”
“It’s not exactly,” said Selena, “that she’s unobservant. It’s just that she doesn’t always notice what’s happening.”
“I think,” said Marylou, “that it’s because Julia is a very intelligent woman and has her mind on other things.”
“Quite so,” I said. “Well, I allow that Julia, with her mind on higher things, might not have noticed on waking that her room was littered with corpses. But if she had retired to bed with a young man at about half past two and he had been dead by three, I cannot think that the events occurring in the meantime would have roused her to such immoderate enthusiasm as was displayed in her last letter from Venice.”
“And when,” asked Selena, “did you decide that the corpse was Richard Tiverton?”
“There, I confess, my reasoning was more speculative. But there seemed no reason to go to such lengths simply to fake Ned’s death. Almost certainly, the purpose of the crime must have been to enable Ned to take over the identity of someone else — the identity of the corpse. And what kind of identity was it likely to be? Well, a man, certainly, probably English, and about the same age as Ned. But the main thing was that the alternative identity must be more attractive than his own — one naturally thought of money. We were looking, therefore, for a young man of substantial fortune, almost certainly in Venice for the first time. There may, I concede, be several people answering that description; but we already knew of one and it seemed worth pursuing. It was all quite speculative, however, until we established the connection between Kenneth and Richard Tiverton. Then I was sure.”
“Well,” said Selena, finishing her glass, “I suppose you had some evidence for your theory, Hilary. I can’t say I’d have cared to go into Court on it. I really must go now. I’ve promised Henry that my Opinion on the Settled Land Act will be ready by four o’clock.”
After exchanging with Marylou expressions of pleasure in having met and hopes of meeting again, she left us.
“Professor Tamar,” said Marylou, “I’d be really honoured, if you don’t think it’s impertinent, if you’d permit me to buy another bottle of wine.” When an invitation is couched in such terms, one can hardly refuse. I allowed her to order another bottle.
“There is just one point,” she said, rather timidly, as we settled to drinking it in the short time available under English licensing laws. “I mean, I liked going back to Venice on my own and it was a very valid and wonderful experience for me. But wasn’t there anyone nearer who could have recognized Ned?”
“Graziella,” I replied, “was on holiday — I didn’t know how difficult it might be to find her. Nor did I know which members of the staff of the Cytherea had seen enough of Ned to identify him with confidence — time was short and we could not afford mistakes.”
“Yes,” she said, “I understand that. But Julia was staying just across the Lagoon and surely—?”
“My dear Marylou, I hope you will not feel that I have spared Julia’s feelings at the expense of yours. But Julia, in her own way, had been quite fond of Ned. And if she had identified him, she would no doubt have Felt responsible for the consequent events. It would, I think, have distressed her considerably — Julia, as you will have gathered, is a sentimental woman.”
