Deadheads

public.'

The Grandison Hotel and the Old Brew House Restaurant were two of the most expensive establishments in the area.

'He stayed at the Grandison? And ate at the Old Brew House? and he was poisoned at one of them?'

'Probably not. But qui s'excuse, s'accuse, as they say,' said Masson gleefully. 'Poor Mr Neville ate something with parathion on it. It's used as an insecticide, highly toxic they tell me. Probably helped himself to some recently treated fruit as he was tramping round the countryside. But there was fruit in his room at the Grandison and he dipped generously into the fruit bowl at the end of his meal at the Brew House. There were rumours of crate-loads of peaches and grapes being dumped before the public health people got round there. Knocked their trade back a bit, I tell you.'

Masson spoke with the satisfaction one overcharging profession must feel when another gets its come- uppance, thought Pascoe.

He said, 'Why was this chap tramping around the countryside anyway?'

‘Inspecting his acres, I should think,' said Masson. 'He was just back from Rhodesia as it still was. His family were staying in London while he looked around up here. He was from these parts originally and fancied ending his days doing a bit of farming up here. End his days he certainly did, poor chap. There was a nice parcel of land he fancied, but the farmhouse wasn't up to much. Then the agent drew his attention to Rosemont which abutted on the farm land in question. He fell in love. Fancied a bit of squiring, I suspect. And all those gardens gave him oodles of space to put up stock buildings, with electricity and water close at hand. He'd already settled to buy the land when he died, but contracts hadn't been exchanged on the house. The family wanted neither, but they were stuck with the land. Sold it back to the previous owner at a loss! There's no one sharper than a Yorkshire farmer.'

'And this is where he'd been tramping that day?'

'I expect so. Called in at Rosemont to discuss some points with Mrs Highsmith, but he seemed well enough there and only took a cup of tea. Terrible business all round. A great disappointment for Mrs Highsmith, of course.'

Pascoe said, 'Didn't Rosemont attract any other buyers?'

'No, I mean, there was no chance. Mrs Highsmith seemed quite knocked back by the experience. She took the house off the market. Of course, it wasn't the money she wanted, though the upkeep must have been considerable. Her inheritance had been substantial and Mrs Aldermann's investments, or rather her husband's investments, had been wise and showed a steady appreciation. It was London she missed. She began virtually to live there when her son started his accountancy course and not long after he reached his majority, she contacted me about making the new arrangements.'

'Which were?'

'Simply, a transfer of assets. A common enough transaction to avoid or at least minimize the punitive taxes which accompany straightforward inheritance.'

There was a tap at the door which opened without a pause for an invitation. A man in his early thirties came in, nodded pleasantly at Pascoe, and said to Masson, 'Sorry to interrupt, Edgar, but I wanted a word with you before I went off to court. There are a couple of points you might be able to help me with. Will you be long? I must be off in twenty minutes.'

'No, no,' said Masson enthusiastically. 'I'll be with you instantly. The Inspector and I are just about finished, I think.'

‘Inspector?' said the newcomer.

'Yes. Inspector Pascoe, this is Ian Coatbridge, our junior partner.'

'How do you do?' said Coatbridge. 'Anything I can do to help.'

Pascoe grinned amiably at him. He suspected that Coatbridge had just learned from the Irish girl that old Masson was entertaining the fuzz and had come rushing up post-haste to stem the flow of confidential information he suspected the old man was pouring out.

'I don't think so,' he said. 'I think we've just about finished. Mr Masson has been most helpful.'

The other man's surface of friendly interest shimmered into pained exasperation for a moment. Pascoe smiled and stirred the waters a little more.

'And Patrick got the house as a result of this transfer of assets?' he said to Masson.

'That's it. That was the only odd thing. She split the inheritance straight down the middle, you know, which meant he got the house and a bit of cash. What would a young fellow want with a rattling great place like that? I wondered. I thought he'd sell, but he didn't. No, the following week he was back here, enquiring about changing his name to Aldermann and of course he's lived in the damn place ever since. Odd, that. What do you think, Ian?'

Coatbridge gave a wan smile and said, 'Our clients must be permitted their little quirks, Edgar.'

He was clearly acutely embarrassed, but as Pascoe took his leave, he doubted whether the junior partner had as much cause for concern as he imagined. There was little doubt in his own mind that Masson's rambling reminiscences had concealed as much as they had revealed.

5

 

ICEBERG

(Floribunda.Very vigorous, upright and shapely, graceful poise, well-formed, pure white blooms, useful for large beds, excellent hedger.)

Ellie Pascoe was not in the best of tempers when the phone rang.

The previous evening she had been unpleasantly reminded that she was now theoretically back in full-time academic employment by the arrival on her doorstep of a cardboard box chock-full of examination scripts.

The middle-aged colleague who delivered them had wanted to do nothing but talk at great circular length about his future in the new institution that was being created. His name was Rothmann and he was a self-banished Johannesburg Jew of unimpeachable liberal credentials who embarrassed Ellie sorely by constantly cracking jokes whose racist content from another source would have made her scream with rage.