Death and the Maiden

call to the editor of the Vanguard, whom she knew. The Vanguard was the paper (this she had learned from Miss Carmody) which had published the ‘naiad’ letter that had sent Mr Tidson down to Winchester.

‘Who handles the newspaper correspondence?’ she enquired. ‘I want to know all about a letter sent to you a few days ago about a naiad in the River Itchen near St Cross, Winchester.’

‘You do? Then you shall,’ said the Vanguard. ‘A naiad, eh? Girls will bathe anywhere nowadays. There’s no glamour left for us boys. Hang on. I’ll put through young Hyland.’

Young Hyland in due course came through, and Mrs Bradley held with him a brief but valuable conversation whose real importance did not emerge until later. The letter about the naiad had been signed by a certain John Brown who had given an address in the Great West Road, it appeared. The address was forthcoming and Mrs Bradley noted it down, and handed it over to Laura.

‘Strange. More than strange,’ said Mrs Bradley, putting down the receiver. Laura, who was seated at the table, deep in the statistics and the cult of the banana, asked why. Mrs Bradley cackled, but did not answer. ‘As to the Great West Road, there are several miles of it,’ she said, ‘between Chiswick and Hounslow, aren’t there? – so perhaps we had better tackle it in the morning. Would you care to come for the drive?’

‘You bet,’ said Laura. ‘Anything rather than work!’ The drive was not a long one. Once past Hammersmith and through Chiswick, the car gathered itself together and was very soon speeding down the Great West Road, past factories and various side-turnings, until it had crossed the canal. Beyond this, George drove slowly, in search of the flats.

These, not at all to Mrs Bradley’s surprise, did not produce the writer of the letter, nor had anyone of the name of John Brown ever lived there, so far as was known by the porter. One of the tenants, however, a lady, had not yet moved in.

‘Now, what?’ asked Laura, returning from making these enquiries. But Mrs Bradley seemed strangely satisfied, and nodded like a mandarin as she listened to Laura’s recital.

‘Why should the writer have decided to remain anonymous?’ she enquired, as they drove soberly back to Kensington.

‘I can’t imagine,’ answered Laura, ‘except that there ain’t goin’ to be no water-nymph. But that was a foregone conclusion.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bradley absently. ‘But I wish I were certain about that. I wonder who the missing tenant is, and whether she sent the letter? Anyhow, child, I am very glad that you’re going to Liverpool on Saturday.’

‘I’d far rather come and chase naiads in Winchester with you.’

‘I daresay you would, and perhaps you shall do that, too.’

‘When are you going back to Winchester?’

‘I’m not sure, child. Probably some time next week. It depends upon the news you get in Liverpool. Mr Tidson is certainly sane, and that is what Miss Carmody wanted to know. My mission to Winchester is concluded. It is only curiosity – probably idle – that takes me back there at all.’

‘In other words, you’ve smelt a second rat,’ said Laura.

At this point the telephone rang. The message was from the Vanguard, which had a correspondent, it stated, in Santa Cruz de Tenerife. According to this correspondent there had been no gossip about the Tidsons, so far as he could find out, except on the score of Crete’s beauty and Mr Tidson’s extravagance on her behalf. He had heard of no debts, however. Trade had dropped during the war, and it was known that the Tidsons wanted to get back to England. Mrs Bradley wondered whether to cancel Laura’s trip to Liverpool. There seemed little more to find out. However, on the evening following the visit to the flats in the Great West Road, Laura came in with the evening paper. She looked solemn.

‘What has happened, child?’ Mrs Bradley enquired. ‘You’ve been reading the paper? What is in it?’

‘The water-nymph has sprung into fame,’ said Laura. ‘Or sprung a leak. Which you like. Look, here it is. What do you make of her now? Is this what you were expecting?’

The paragraph was a short one, less than a quarter column. A boy of twelve had been found drowned in a little stream near Paneworth Level. This was a broad stretch of water-meadow to the north of the city and on its eastern boundary. The reference to the naiad came at the end of the paragraph.

‘There is a local rumour,’ said the paper, ‘of a water-nymph which brings ill-luck to anyone who sees her. It is not suggested, however, that any such fantastic interpretation can be placed upon the accident to Bobby Grier, who was said to have been warned by his parents to be careful.’

‘You don’t think the boy was chasing the water-nymph, do you?’ asked Laura, when Mrs Bradley had taken in the main statements made by the newspaper.

‘Time will disentangle what I think, child, but I am going back to Winchester for the inquest.’

‘And that’s your last word,’ said Laura, recognizing this to be the case and not in the least attempting to argue the point. ‘All right. I still wish I could come with you.’

‘You shall come to Winchester the moment it is possible,’ said Mrs Bradley, to comfort her. ‘But I do want to know a little more about the Tidsons and, of course, Miss Carmody and Connie. It is none of my business, in one sense, I suppose, but Miss Carmody did call me in, and she does seem to be victimized by that rather terrible little man and his cold and beautiful wife. And I’m worried about the girl. And now this incongruous reference to the naiad . . .’

‘I do hope I get back from Liverpool pretty soon,’ said Laura. ‘I think that end of the stick will be a wash-out.’ She paused, and then added, ‘Coldness and beauty ought not to go together, do you think?’

‘No, I don’t think they ought, child.’

‘They don’t, in Deb’s case,’ said Laura, referring to a very lovely girl who had married one of Mrs Bradley’s picturesque and fortunate nephews.

Mrs Bradley paused to consider Deborah, of whom she was fond and proud. Then Laura said:

‘Don’t mind biting my head off if I’m wildly beside the mark, but do you think this Mr Tidson had anything to do with the murder? Is that what this Miss Carmody expected when she lugged you into her affairs?’

‘The murder?’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Nobody mentioned murder! The newspaper certainly does not; and, so far as I can see, there is no reason in the world why Mr Tidson should have had anything to do with the boy’s death, if that’s what you mean, or that we should in any way suspect him, even if murder were proved.’

‘Ticked off soundly! Yet this Mr Tidson came into your mind as the deus ex machina, didn’t he?’ said Laura shrewdly. ‘Is that because the paper mentions the naiad? And why should they call it a local rumour? I thought that was just what it wasn’t!’

‘True, child, it was not a local rumour, and I see no reason why the naiad should have been mentioned, but I’m not going further than that until after the inquest, so please don’t leap to conclusions or put ideas into my head!’

‘Do you think,’ asked Laura, not at all abashed, ‘that Mr Tidson himself wrote that first letter to the Vanguard?’

‘It is strangely probable, child, although there is at least one other equal probability, especially as we are told that the tenant of the flat is a woman.’

‘Why should anyone write it, anyway?’

‘I have the glimmerings of a notion about that.’

‘You mean Mr Tidson wanted an excuse to go to Winchester?’

‘You are too intelligent, child,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘That is one theory, certainly.’

‘But why invent something as impossible as a water-nymph?’ argued Laura. ‘If I wanted to go to Winchester – or anywhere else, come to that! – I could invent a dozen better excuses! Let’s not talk rot about this!’ She eyed her employer with a good deal of solemn reproachfulness. ‘See here, we know perfectly well that water-nymphs are all moonshine, and can be dismissed as such, so why a water-nymph? Why not invent a monster trout? A monster trout in the Itchen would be sheer Isaak Walton, but a naiad—! This Mr Tidson must be bats, and you could write him off as such, I should have said. Of course, a murderer – that’s another matter.’

‘Well and bravely spoken,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘But Mr Tidson, if I have summed him up at all successfully, is perfectly capable not only of inventing but of producing a water-nymph, and of wishing her on to sceptics like yourself. So, if you do come to Winchester, don’t you press him too far, or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’

‘As though you haven’t foreseen the consequences, weighed them up, and decided how to deal with them!’