Death and the Maiden

her table and give her opinion of a crossword puzzle which Mrs Bradley had almost completed.

Alice moved over, and Mrs Bradley showed her the newspaper. They discussed the crossword until Alice’s tea arrived. The sun-lounge emptied. The waiter disappeared.

‘Tell me,’ said Mrs Bradley. Alice gave a brief, accurate and lucid account of the afternoon she had spent in pursuit of Mr Tidson.

‘He came back at four,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I saw him come in.’

‘But that means he left his fishing rod at St Cross and came back here by road!’

‘It seems so.’

‘Ah, then he couldn’t have had anything to do with the affair at the weir,’ said Alice, with great relief.

‘Why should he have had anything to do with it? You have not been told how long the body had been there, and the death, in any case, was most probably the result of an accident. You don’t even know yet who the boy was. How old a boy, should you say?’

‘I don’t know. Sixteen, or perhaps even younger. I think, really, not more than fifteen. And his leg was broken.’

‘How was he dressed?’

‘Oh, he had on flannel trousers and a shirt and a tweed jacket. No shoes. He couldn’t have been there for more than a matter of minutes. Somebody would have seen him long before the signalman spotted him. The man said he slithered down the bank, but I don’t see how he could have done. He hadn’t – he hadn’t just died. He’d been hit on the head. That’s certain.’

‘But why should the signalman invent the story of the corpse sliding down the bank? I must take a look at the place. Don’t you think what he said must have been the truth?’

‘I don’t see how a corpse could suddenly slide down the bank. Well, not at that spot. If you saw it you’d know what I mean.’

‘I do know what you mean,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘But I believe the signalman, too. If it didn’t slide down it was pushed down, and that might bring Mr Tidson into the picture, don’t you think? He’d have had time to give it a push before coming on here.’

‘I don’t know what to think. Please, where is Kitty?’

‘I don’t know. She’s out.’

‘I thought she was guarding Mrs Tidson?’

‘Yes, but Miss Carmody altered those plans by inviting Kitty to accompany her to Andover on the bus.’

‘Andover? Why Andover?’

‘Miss Carmody pointed out that there was charming scenery along the bus route, which happens to be true, and that Andover is a typical Hampshire country town and well worth visiting,’ said Mrs Bradley, with no expression in her tone.

‘I see,’ said Alice, registering the idea that Mrs Bradley believed Miss Carmody to be not less villainous than the Tidsons.

‘Do you?’ Mrs Bradley looked interested and felt slightly amused, for Alice’s mental processes were artless.

‘I mean,’ said Alice, with her usual gravity, ‘that I see – at least, I think I see – why Kitty had to go with her. One thing, she couldn’t have had anything to do with it, either – Miss Carmody, I mean. You know – the body at the weir.’

‘But why should she have had anything to do with it? I repeat that we do not know who the boy was, or how he met his death. He may have stumbled on the brickwork you have described, and fallen on to his head, and his companions may have hidden the body, afraid of being blamed for the death. Such cases, although uncommon, have been known. But do boys of that age usually fall on their heads from a height of six feet, you will ask – and I don’t know the answer. Even if he were pushed—’

‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘It’s difficult. His leg was broken, you know, as I said before.’

‘So you did. Ah, well, no doubt the inquest will tell us more about it, and perhaps whether the signalman was the first person to see the body. Was Mr Tidson wearing a hat?’

‘No, he wasn’t. Does he usually wear a hat, then?’

‘Well, he used to, and thereby, we think, may hang a tale. If you see him in a hat you might let me know. Our next task, as I see it, is to find out where he went and what he did. His behaviour may or may not have been suspicious. We cannot tell in the present state of our knowledge.’

‘No,’ said Alice, who felt (although incorrectly) that she was being blamed. ‘I’m awfully sorry I lost track, but I did lose all trace of him so completely that I think he must have known he was being followed, and I think he dodged me deliberately, which doesn’t really look too good.’

‘The majority of people resent being followed, child, and most of them are nervous about it, I believe. I’ll tell you what. You and I must take an early morning walk, and see whether we can find out where he went. Would you care to come with me? – If so, when?’

‘First thing to-morrow, I should think,’ said Alice, gaining heart again in the undertaking.

‘To-morrow? Right. I wonder when Laura will get back, and with what tidings?’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Something very strange must have happened for Connie to have run off like that. I think I can guess what it was, but time will show. And now this boy . . . I wonder how long he has been dead?’

Chapter Eleven

‘On my word, Master, this is a gallant Trout, what shall we do with him?’

SIR IZAAK WALTON (The Compleat Angler)

LAURA returned at six next day with a very unwilling Connie. They had read in the early editions of the evening paper of the discovery of the body at the weir. Mrs Bradley had been on the telephone to Scotland Yard, the Tidsons were in their room, and the only person to see the two girls arrive was Thomas, who met them in the vestibule.

‘Where’s everybody, Thomas?’ enquired Laura.

Thomas gave her a brief theory of his own:

‘I’ll be thinking they are all getting through the time, Miss Menzies; just getting through the time, as ye might say.’

‘That’s his delicate way of saying they’re all in a queue for the bathrooms, I suppose,’ said Laura. ‘Come on. We’d better follow suit. There isn’t too much time if you’re going to unpack as well.’

‘I’m not going to unpack. I’m not going to stay,’ said Connie. ‘I can’t spend another night here. It isn’t safe. I keep telling you. Why won’t you believe me?’

‘Bless you, duck, I believe every syllable you utter. But you don’t avoid peril by running away and being followed. Face it, and have it out, that’s my idea. Besides, Mrs Croc. will want to talk to you.’

‘Who?’

‘Mrs Bradley. So come on up, and I’ll find out whether she can see us.’ She collared the reluctant Connie and bundled her up the stairs.

Mrs Bradley invited them in. She was combing her hair, and saw them first in the mirror.

‘Ah,’ she said, turning round. ‘Chiswick?’

‘Not quite. That Brown address on the Great West Road,’ said Laura. ‘She says – here, you go on,’ she added, turning to Connie. Connie gave way before two pairs of anxious eyes.

‘We let it,’ said Connie. ‘The flat, I mean. My aunt does. The name of the tenant is Brown, but he’s in Manchester part of the time. He’s in Manchester now, and I knew I could hide in the flat until he came back. That’s why I went. I knew he wouldn’t mind, and when he comes back—’

‘Nonsense!’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Don’t tell me lies. There is no tenant named Brown. Whose