Late, Late in the Evening

At this point, of course, the thing would have been to get rid of the costumes, settle for supper and a bit of relaxation and then go on with the dancing. Well, Maisy, this is where I blame myself. I wanted a special memento of my birthday, so I'd arranged for a professional photographer (at my grandmother's expense, I'm afraid) to come at about eleven and photograph the lot of us in our fancy dress and then, later on, with us in our party frocks. He was also to take family groups, groups of friends, me with my presents, and so on. That's why I put the dancing first. I couldn't have the photographer come earlier because he had an engagement to take photographs at a banquet in the town.

So at the end of the charades people were still hanging about in those wretched costumes waiting for the photographer and going out on to the terrace to cool off and that's when Merle did her disappearing act. She announced that she was going to stroll a little way down the drive. I said, 'Not at this time of night?' She said, 'Why not? I shan't meet anybody, and if I did I should only scare them into a decline, dressed like this. You're a nuisance to make us keep the things on.'

She was always a bit of an ass, as you know from our schooldays, and I believe she half-hoped she would meet somebody, but whether by accident (which was what she indicated) or by design (which is what I suspect) I suppose we shall never know unless something comes out at the inquest. Anyway, she was in a peculiar mood all along and never turned up for the photographs at all, but, actually, neither did the photographer!

Well, I don't want to run her down, but, in spite of what the papers will say, she was a bitch and a schemer, as well as being an ass. Still, absit invidia and all that.

You know what I'm trying to tell you, don't you, Maisy? She did meet someone and whoever it was must have given her a fearful bashing. When daddy and Nigel and my angel doctor-boy went out to look for her, she was dead. The iguanadon head she'd been wearing was no thicker on top than a cotton skull-cap and the police think she was bashed on the head first and then the costume was dragged off her, because they found it ripped to bits and scattered around the body.

Lionel's Letter

These hols, have been pretty dim up to now, Monkey, but they have taken a turn for the better and that's why I'm writting except to say arent you glad we are haveing Mr Peters next term instead of old Scruffy although Mr Peters keeps a slipper hooked on to a nail at the side of the blackbord by the duster Tim Banks calls it Mr Peters secret weppon but I don't think Peters is vishous do you and coaches Rugger jolly well I hope I get into the third XV bet I do so nerts to Goldberg who fancys himself at scrum half because he is Cohens cozzen and the Jews always stick together wish my family did grandma is beastly strict although really quite all right but my parents are mostly abroad and I don't see all that much of them although regular pocket-money which is the main thing I serpose.

New para as old Scruffy would say what a mean old ass still never mind him I must tell you about our murder they think I don't know but you can get to know everything if you sneek along to the kitchen door and lissen to the cook and the others in there.

New para well, my cocky sister had a party on her birthday with some jolly good costumes she wangled her friend he's a doctor and not bad has played for the Babas though only once he got her the costumes and I collared one it was an iguanadon I know how you spell it because it is labled.

New para well there was this party and this girl was the other iguanadon only Dr Tassel what a name I bet they ragged him at school calls it something else which I cant spell but it's still an iguanadon like an eider or a widgen or a mallard is still a duck if you see what I mean anyway this girl went out late at night to get cooled off I bet they had all been drinking a lot of shampane and sherry and stuff like that and she got murdered they will not let me go to the inquest so I have disided to become a detective and help the police find the murderer I bet they can do with some help don't you wish you were here there are two village kids I play with one is a girl but quite sensible so I may let them come in on the murder they very desently let me come in on their secret cottage its filthy but very interesting so I may let them be my asisternts in the murder as three would be better than one if the murderer turns nasty and they can both box.

New para Ive got to give back the costume but I don't care much because it would be too awkward to pack to take home and Amabel says it makes her feel sick to think its the same as the girl had on when she was murdered they won't let me see the body its in the mortchery which I think is like an ice-box to keep bodys fresh till the coroner has seen them I wouldnt mind being a coroner and seeing all the bodys but I'd rather be a detective because thats where the action is and you look for cloos and measure footprints and pick up cigarette ends not to smoke but to notiss the brand and deduce things like whether a man is left-handed or limps and all that see you on the 23rd bring another of those jam sponges I think I can sneek too tins of sardeens Tim Banks can come in with us if he brings anything desent baked beans would do but a tin of cooked ham would be better.

P.S. They have just told me we're all going home the police have got our address so will let us go how rotten I would much rather stay here.

* * *

A Godfather's Letter

I would be shocked and horrified by the flippant tone of your recent communication, my dear boy, if I did not realise that you have been through a trying and a traumatic experience which must have left you disturbed and perhaps conscience-stricken over the death of that poor young girl whom (let us not mince matters) you jilted.

However, some parts of your letter appear to require an answer, so I will state at once that I have no intention of intruding on Mrs Kempson. There is nothing I can do to help her through this very difficult and harassing time. Neither shall I attend the inquest on poor little Merle Patterson to hear you give your contribution to the evidence.

As for Amabel Kempson-Conyers, I regard her as a spoilt brat and I doubt very much whether you have the strength of character to cope with her. I send you my regards, although I doubt whether you deserve them. Come and see me at Christmas, as usual.

CHAPTER TEN

THE HERMIT'S COTTAGE

Kenneth and I decided, I remember, that our real adventures began when Aunt Kirstie told us that we need not go to the village school on Monday, as it was uncertain how long our mother would remain in hospital and so we might be sent for at any moment to return home. We endorsed this point of view.

'There wouldn't be much sense in our signing on just for a week, perhaps,' said Kenneth. 'Only muck up the teacher's register.'

'What happens if the attendance officer comes round?' I remember asking. In our London school the attendance officer was a familiar figure, a short, thick-set, po-faced young man in a blue serge suit and a burberry