Chapter 18
I
Craddock was escorted by the boys through the back door into the house. This was, it seemed, their common mode of entrance. The kitchen was bright and cheerful. Lucy, in a large white apron, was rolling out pastry. Leaning against the dresser, watching her with a kind of dog-like attention, was Bryan Eastley. With one hand he tugged at his large fair moustache.
'Hallo, Dad,' said Alexander kindly. 'You out here again?'
'I like it out here,' said Bryan , and added: 'Miss Eyelesbarrow doesn't mind.'
'Oh, I don't mind,' said Lucy. 'Good evening, Inspector Craddock.'
'Coming to detect in the kitchen?' asked Bryan with interest.
'Not exactly. Mr. Cedric Crackenthorpe is still here, isn't he?'
'Oh, yes, Cedric's here. Do you want him?'
'I'd like a word with him – yes, please.'
'I'll go and see if he's in,' said Bryan .
'He may have gone round to the local.' He unpropped himself from the dresser.
'Thank you so much,' said Lucy to him. 'My hands are all over flour or I'd go.'
'What are you making?' asked Stoddart-West anxiously.
'Peach flan.'
'Good-oh,' said Stoddart-West.
'Is it nearly supper-time?' asked Alexander.
'No.'
'Gosh! I'm terribly hungry.'
'There's the end of the ginger cake in the larder.'
The boys made a concerted rush and collided in the door.
'They're just like locusts,' said Lucy.
'My congratulations to you,' said Craddock.
'What on – exactly?'
'Your ingenuity – over this!'
'Over what?'
Craddock indicated the folder containing the letter.
'Very nicely done,' he said.
'What are you talking about?'
'This, my dear girl – this.' He half drew it out.
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
Craddock felt suddenly dizzy.
'Didn't you fake this clue – and put it in the boiler room for the boys to find? Quick – tell me.'
'I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about,' said Lucy. 'Do you mean that –?'
Craddock slipped the folder quickly back in his pocket as Bryan returned.
'Cedric's in the library,' he said. 'Go on in.'
He resumed his place on the dresser.
Inspector Craddock went to the library.
II
Cedric Crackenthorpe seemed delighted to see the inspector.
'Doing a spot more sleuthing down here?' he asked. 'Got any further?'
'I think I can say we are a little further on, Mr. Crackenthorpe.'
'Found out who the corpse was?'
'We've not got a definite identification, but we have a fairly shrewd idea.'
'Good for you.'
'Arising out of our latest information, we want to get a few statements. I'm starting with you, Mr. Crackenthorpe, as you're on the spot.'
'I shan't be much longer. I'm going back to Ibiza in a day or two.'
'Then I seem to be just in time.'
'Go ahead.'
'I should like a detailed account, please, of exactly where you were and what you were doing on Friday, 20th December.'
Cedric shot a quick glance at him. Then he leaned back, yawned, assumed an air of great nonchalance, and appeared to be lost in the effort of remembrance.
'Well, as I've already told you, I was in Ibiza . Trouble is, one day there is so like another. Painting in the morning, siesta from three p.m. to five. Perhaps a spot of sketching if the light's suitable. Then an aperitif, sometimes with the Mayor, sometimes with the doctor, at the cafe in the Piazza. After that some kind of a scratch meal. Most of the evening in Scotty's Bar with some of my lower-class friends. Will that do you?'
'I'd rather have the truth, Mr. Crackenthorpe.'
Cedric sat up.
'That's a most offensive remark, Inspector.'
'Do you think so? You told me, Mr. Crackenthorpe, that you left Ibiza on 21st December and arrived in England that same day?'
'So I did. Em! Hi, Em?'
Emma Crackenthorpe came through the adjoining door from the small morningroom. She looked inquiringly from Cedric to the inspector.
'Look here, Em. I arrived here for Christmas on the Saturday before, didn't I? Came straight from the airport?'
'Yes,' said Emma wonderingly. 'You got here about lunch time.'
'There you are,' said Cedric to the inspector.
'You must think us very foolish, Mr, Crackenthorpe,' said Craddock pleasantly. 'We can check on these things, you know. I think, if you'll show me your passport –'
He paused expectantly.
'Can't find the damned thing,' said Cedric. 'Was looking for it this morning. Wanted to send it to Cook's.'
'I think you could find it, Mr. Crackenthorpe. But it's not really necessary. The records show that you actually entered this country on the evening of 19th December. Perhaps you will now account to me for your movements between that time until lunch-time on 21st December when you arrived here.'
Cedric looked very cross indeed.
'That's the hell of life nowadays,' he said angrily. 'All this red tape and form-filling. That's what comes of a bureaucratic state. Can't go where you like and do as you please any more! Somebody's always asking questions. What's all this fuss about the 20th, anyway? What's special about the 20th?'
'It happens to be the day we believe the murder was committed. You can refuse to answer, of course, but –'
'Who says I refuse to answer? Give a chap time. And you were vague enough about the date of the murder at the inquest. What's turned up new since then?'
