Spotted Hemlock

‘I know, but we must give him time to get over my visit, and the police another chance to get to work on him first.’

‘Does he gain anything by her death?’

‘He says he knows of no will. I put the question to him point-blank. I cannot tell whether he is lying. I am inclined to think, however, that he’s telling the truth. If there is no will, I take it that he will inherit the money. That is, if the dead girl is indeed Mrs Coles. But if the dead girl is not Mrs Coles, I think we need to find Mrs Coles.’

‘Mrs Coles the murderess?’

‘Most probably not, but she might be able to tell us who the dead woman is and, if she could, that in itself might lead to a solution of our problem. It might, on the other hand, lead us into deeper problems.’

‘If we can find her—Mrs Coles, I mean.’

Yes. It may be quite difficult to do so.’

‘How do we set about it? Are the police in on this?’

‘The police believe that the dead woman is verily and indeed the missing student.’

‘In spite of the report about her age?’

‘In spite of everything, dear child. One can hardly blame them. The body has been identified by Mrs Coles’ mother. No one is going to question her evidence. Technically, the girl has always lived at home. Nobody is going to challenge her mother under such circumstances.’

‘Except us. Well, supposing that we are right, I still don’t see where we go from here. How soon can I put on the mask of Fleet Street and go to interview the husband?’

‘The inquest is to be resumed in three weeks’ time, if the police are ready by then. I think you might go to see him a fortnight from now. Unless something turns up to change my line of thought, your task will be to extort from him where he went for his summer holiday, and with whom.’

‘Sounds to me more like a B.B.C. job. Can’t I stop him with my roving microphone?’

‘Tackle it in any way you choose. I have little faith in your discretion but much in your imagination.’

‘Fair enough. Meanwhile?’

‘Meanwhile we go to Calladale and interview a Miss Good.’

‘The one who saw the white horseman?’

‘Precisely.’

‘But what can she tell us? From what you say, I gather she was gibbering with fright.’

‘A more tranquil state of mind will have intervened. Subconsciously she may have noticed something that will prove of value.’

‘Such as?’

‘Whether the horseman was tall, short, thin or stout.’

‘Good heavens! You mean it might have been Mrs Coles, and not a man at all!’

‘I mean it may have been Mrs Coles and a man.’

‘Talk about my imagination! But, if it was Mrs Coles and a man, why the elaborate get-up? Why the whiteness? Why go out of the way to make yourselves conspicuous on a dark night? And, another thing, it would prove it couldn’t have been an abduction.’

‘Nobody has mentioned such a word, child, and my own opinion is, and always has been, that the girl went willingly; but, even if that were not so, the lack of a struggle would not necessarily mean that the abducted party was a willing participator in the affair. “I was stiff with terror… I could not utter a word to save my life… I thought I might fall off if I struggled… I was so taken by surprise that I didn’t know what was happening”… all psychologists and all police courts have heard such remarks, and, the point is, in many cases they are true, so far as the plaintiff knows.’

‘Oh, yes; the old bromide about the subconscious mind. Her conscious mind may have been horrified, but her mad, bad, cave-woman subconscious was really making whoopee all the time. You’ll never get me to believe it, you know.’

‘The Scots are an inhibited race.’

‘And a jolly good thing, too! At least we’re respectable, hard-working, thrifty, courageous, patriotic, reliable, canny, proud, dour, invincible, kind-hearted, poetic, strong-minded, tough, well-educated, religious, zealous, generous—I could go on for hours. Anyway, nobody can call the kilt an inhibited garment. You forget the kilt. And what about the bagpipes?’

‘The kilt, or philabeg, came into being because the Scots would not trouble to learn to sew. The bagpipes came to Scotland from Ireland, as did poetry, whisky and religion.’

‘You can’t prove a word you say!’

Dame Beatrice cackled.

‘Touchee,’ she said pacifically. ‘Please ring up Miss McKay and find out when it will be convenient for us to talk to Miss Good.’

Miss McKay would have liked to name the Thursday free afternoon as the most appropriate time for the visit, but she was a just and fair-minded woman, and she knew how resentful Miss Good would be if her weekly date with the lecture-cutting Mr Cleeve were cancelled. She suggested the following Tuesday morning, and invited Dame Beatrice and Laura to lunch.