The Murder of Busy Lizzie

there by the time they’ve put it on the table.’

‘I say, did you know,’ said one of the men who had been allotted to the Lovelaines’ table, ‘that there’s a nudist colony on the island? Somebody saw them last night.’

Sebastian, who had just taken his seat, looked coldly at the questioner and replied:

‘No doubt there are a number of other harmless, unnecessary objects on the island. If nudists excite you, you’re welcome to them.’

‘Thanks for nothing,’ said the ornithologist sourly, turning away from Sebastian in a pointed manner.

‘You needn’t go out of your way to crush the poor things. They’re harmless and unnecessary, too,’ protested Margaret, when the bird-watchers had finished their breakfasts and had left the table. ‘Do you know about the nudists, then?’

‘There aren’t any. Shut up until we’re out of this dining-room. Nudists, in one sense, come into my story, but I can’t tell you about it here.’

Meanwhile Marius, having telephoned his wife as soon as he reached the mainland, booked a room at an hotel and prepared himself for what he felt would be the ordeal of attending the inquest on his sister. Of Miss Crimp he had seen nothing once he had left the island. He imagined that she intended to cross by Dimbleton’s boat and that, as soon as the inquest was over, she would return immediately by the same means so as to be absent (from what he supposed she now regarded as her own hotel) for as short a period as possible. He himself, he had informed Clothilde on the telephone, would return home as soon as the inquest was over, unless there seemed to be any reason for going back to Great Skua and his children.

Fortunately for those who had to come over from the island to attend it, the inquest was held in the port to which the island steamer put in. When the proceedings opened, Marius found himself seated next to Miss Crimp, who had travelled by the means he had envisaged and who had Dimbleton on the other side of her, for the boatman himself had been called to attend the inquest in his capacity as one of the retrievers of the corpse.

The proceedings opened formally and Miss Crimp gave evidence of the identity of the body. She was followed by Marius, who, as next of kin to the deceased (nobody had mentioned Ransome), confirmed what Miss Crimp had declared.

‘Were two witnesses necessary?’ asked the coroner, looking at the inspector of police who was in court. The inspector replied that, as the next of kin had been out of touch with the deceased for twenty years, it had been thought better to have his evidence of identification substantiated by a witness who had been closely associated with the deceased for the past two years.

‘But she didn’t confirm him; he corroborated her,’ said the coroner testily. ‘Oh, well, no matter, no matter. We may need to question both witnesses further, a little later on.’ He called for the medical evidence. This was supplied by the police surgeon. The deceased had met her death as the result of having received a fatal blow on the head. He went into details. There were also a number of contusions on the body and some broken ribs, the witness stated, but these had been sustained after death. It was the head-wound which had done, all the damage.

‘But I thought the body was found in the sea,’ objected the coroner, who had been given this fact before the inquest opened. The police surgeon replied that all the circumstances of death had been fully investigated at the autopsy and that he was able to state with certainty that, although the body had been found in the sea, death was not due to drowning. The coroner, apparently feeling that the jury had had enough of clinical detail, said, ‘Very well, very well. We had better hear from those who found the body.’

Dimbleton took his place in the witness box and, in answer to a question when he had taken the oath, stated that he had not been alone in the rescue boat, but had been told by the police that, as the owner of the craft which had brought the body ashore, he was competent to speak for himself and the rest of the crew.

‘So what do you think happened?’ asked the coroner, dropping his former testy manner and speaking as man to man.

‘My thought, sir, is as the poor lady must have been blowed off the cliff-top,’ said Dimbleton stolidly.

‘Blown off the cliff-top? Incredible!’

‘Oh, no, sir, not if you know the force of the wind on Great Skua. It’s no uncommon matter for cows to be blowed off into the sea, and a cow would weigh a lot heavier than the poor lady, I wouldn’t doubt.’

The police surgeon was recalled.

‘Could the fatal injury you have described have been caused by an accidental fall from the cliffs?’

‘Well, yes, it could have been. On the other hand—’

‘You say it could have been. Is there any evidence to show that it wasn’t?’

‘No,’ replied the witness unwillingly, ‘but I am more inclined to think that it was the result of a blow on the head and that this was delivered and was received before the body entered the water.’

‘Yes, the court accepts your evidence that death was not due to drowning, but, judging by the way you have framed your answer, are we to understand that you refer to a deliberate attack?’

‘Oh, no, you must not infer that. There is nothing in my findings to support such a theory,’ said the police surgeon hastily.

‘Still, the jury will wish to have the matter investigated,’ said the coroner coldly.

He investigated it by recalling in turn Miss Crimp, Marius and the boatman. Summed up, their evidence amounted to (Miss Crimp), a vehement assertion that poor Eliza had no enemies and many, many friends; that (Marius) so far as he knew, his sister was not the kind of person to have given offence to anybody (he did not mention his wife); and that (Dimbleton) Mrs Chayleigh was a nice, goodhearted lady who was at odds with nobody and who was generous with hand-outs at Christmas.

‘Granted,’ said the coroner to Dimbleton, ‘that the deceased was blown off the cliffs, can you suggest whereabouts on the island this tragic accident could have taken place?’

‘Almost anywhere, sir, in a strong enough wind, but being as she was found caught up in the rocks we calls the Fiddlers, I should reckon she went in near enough by the old quarries and got caught in the current—a regular race, that is, sir—as we calls Dead Man’s Day.’

The jury retired and, strongly advised by the coroner, brought in an open verdict. The inspector met the doctor later and remarked that the coroner was an old ass who had rushed the case through because he was going yachting and wanted to catch the tide, but that he (the inspector) did not intend to let the case drop.

‘Glad to hear it,’ said the police surgeon. ‘If the thing ever gets as far as the magistrates, I’ll get a chance, perhaps, to air the opinion which I wasn’t allowed to voice—namely, that it is a great deal more likely that somebody knocked her on the head and threw the body into the sea, than that the wind blew her over the cliff. That’s a tale I really cannot swallow, especially considering the nature of the head-wound. Besides, she’d never have risked being blown off a cliff. She’d lived on the island for years, and she was a middle-aged woman and cautious, I imagine.’

‘I wonder whether anybody stood to gain anything by her death? That’s the first thing which needs looking into,’ said the inspector to the local superintendent when they, in their turn, were discussing the inquest. ‘You know, sir, I wouldn’t trust that partner of hers, that Crimp woman, further than I could see her. She’s a creep.’

‘Then there’s the brother. Hasn’t seen his sister for twenty years, yet suddenly goes to stay at her hotel and, next thing you know, she’s found dead under what could certainly look like suspicious circumstances,’ said the superintendent. ‘What about getting the plain-clothes blokes to look at it? A few discreet enquiries is all it wants.’

‘The doctor doesn’t like that knock on the head, sir, in spite of the fact that he wouldn’t state it was caused deliberately. I reckon he thought there had been foul play, all the same.’

‘Think he’s got anything to go on?’

‘Nothing that looks like evidence, but he’s seen a lot of knocks and bruises in his time and I’d trust his instinct, sir. He doesn’t accept that yarn about her being blown off the cliff any more than I do.’

There was another person, apart from the police and the doctor, who was not satisfied with the verdict. Marius, back at his hotel, telephoned his wife that, after all, he thought he would return to the island, send the children home and take up his residence at the hotel again for a time.

‘I do not know what more I can find out,’ he said, concluding the conversation, ‘but I am not willing to allow matters to remain as they are.’ He rang off, oblivious of a cry from Clothilde of ‘Oh, but, Marius—’ for he knew that his wife would argue against his proposed course of action and turn the telephone call into an expensive battle of