Murder in the Queen's Armes

'Wait a minute, Inspector. Nate sounds irritated most of the time. You're not implying that he killed Randy to keep him from telling me something, are you?'

'Implying?” Bagshawe pointed incredulously to himself with the stem of his pipe. “Me? No, no, just collecting data. Implications come later. As in anthropology, no doubt.” He smiled. “By the way, you wouldn't happen to remember if Professor Marcus is left-handed, I suppose?'

Was he? Were any of them? Gideon couldn't remember.

'No matter,” Bagshawe said kindly. “I'll just have to look into it myself.'

'Look, Inspector Bagshawe, I'm not trying to protect Nate. I don't think for a minute he did it, but whoever did, I'm as interested in seeing him caught as you are. I guess I feel, well...'

Responsible was what he felt, like it or not. And guilty. He had self-righteously put Randy off with conditions that were no more than ploys to keep himself out of the Stonebarrow mess, and now Randy was dead, killed that very day, it appeared.

'Well, personally involved,” he concluded weakly. “But are you saying that Nate is a serious suspect?'

Bagshawe stopped in the process of relighting his pipe. He took it from his mouth, tipped his big head, and grinned, showing square, complacent teeth. “Now what sort of copper would I be if I answered that?'

THE resolutely amicable Andy Hinshore served Julie and Gideon a plentiful late lunch of roast chicken and fried potatoes while Gideon gave Julie a nongraphic summary of his morning's experiences at the mortuary, having decided that Bagshawe's proscription did not apply in her case.

He was just concluding when the telephone in the reception hall rang. After a few seconds they heard Hinshore shouting into it. “I'm sorry, I didn't understand you.... Could you speak a little slower? Sir...?'

The conversation continued in this vein, and then, as Gideon was pouring more tea from the pot on the table, Hinshore's voice caught his attention more sharply.

'Skeleton detective, did you say? Did you say skeleton detective? Sir, this is a hotel....'

'Oh-oh,” Gideon said, the pot poised above Julie's cup, “maybe we should make a break for it before Andy figures out who that's for.'

Julie smiled wryly at him, a what-have-I-gotten-myself-into grin. “Gideon, dear, is this the way it's always going to be? Are you really in this much demand? When do you find time to teach?'

'Honestly, I only work on a few cases a year. I don't usually get calls every day.'

'Except in Charmouth, England, incognito.'

'A puzzlement.” He went ahead and poured the tea just as Hinshore came in, frowning.

'Professor, I've got a bloke on the telephone; some kind of foreigner. Seems to want to speak with you. If you want me to—'

'No, Andy, I'll take it, thanks. Did he say who he is?'

Hinshore spread his hands. “I think he said his name's Ebb.'

Ebb. No one he knew. “I promise,” he said to Julie, “no new cases.” He tossed back a quick gulp of tea and went to the telephone. As he picked it up, he heard Hinshore's awed whisper to Julie: “They call him the skeleton detective?'

'Hello,” Gideon said into the receiver. “This is Gideon Oliver.'

'Hello, Gideon! This is Ebb!” The voice was elderly, excited, happy.

'Ebb?'

'Ebb, Ebb. How many Ebb's do you know?'

'Abe!' Gideon shouted. “Abe Goldstein!'

'Finally, the dawn breaks. That's not what I said? Abe?'

'Abe...where are you calling from?'

'London. I just got here. I'm coming right away to Charmouth.” The old man's thin voice was so recognizable, so full of its familiar, creaky zip and sparkle, that Gideon couldn't understand how he'd been even momentarily confused.

'I'll come and get you. I can be there in a few hours.'

'Come and get me? What am I, breakable? I can't take a train? I love a train ride.'

'Okay, let me check on the schedules, find out which station you leave from. Give me your number and I'll call you right back.'

There was a cheerfully exasperated sigh over the telephone. “Listen to him. I can't find this out myself? I leave from Waterloo, but, for your information, there's no train station in Charmouth. The nearest one is Axminster, a few miles away, you know where? I'll be on the...” Gideon heard paper rattle. “The train that gets in at five-fifty- eight.'

'Fine, I'll book you a room here and I'll meet you at the station.'

'That I'll accept with pleasure.'

'Abe, is everything all right? This is kind of a surprise, isn't it?'

'With me, all right? Of course, why shouldn't it be all right? No, I'm coming because of this thing with Nathan. You know I'm on the Horizon board of directors? So I'm coming, but unofficially, just to talk a little with him. Maybe I can help him see straight. The man knows how to run a dig, believe me, but he doesn't know when to stop talking. Still, it's ridiculous what's happening. Who wants an inquiry? Listen, have you been up there yet, to