boggy and so much intersected by ditches, channels and little creeks and inlets as to be impassable except to wild- fowlers in punts. Palgrave walked a couple of miles back along the road towards Saltacres and then took a path which led seawards, but at the end of a mile or so the path petered out and he found his way blocked by a creek which meandered through the marshes and was too wide to jump across.
At half past eleven he presented himself at the inn and was told that he could settle in and that his room would be ready for him after lunch. He spent the day quietly, thinking about his book, and on the following morning he was in the bar finishing his first pint when Adrian walked in. Palgrave had told him where he would be staying and had been expecting that he and Miranda would at least telephone him before they returned to London, but he had not thought to see either of them because they had no transport. Adrian, however, had not come merely to see him, but to make a pertinent enquiry.
‘I’m not really worried,’ he said, ‘but it seems an extraordinary thing for even Camilla to do, don’t you think?’
‘What does?’
‘To sling her hook without a word to Miranda or me. She hasn’t by any chance thrown in her lot with you, I suppose? I’ve walked all the way over to ask you. Is she here?’
‘Good gracious, no! I should soon give her the bird if she showed any signs of trying to team up. Surely you know that! What, exactly, has happened?’
‘That’s what we don’t know. We heard her go out the night before last and assumed she’d gone for a swim. She was a great one for moonlight bathing.’
‘I know. As a matter of fact, I went bathing with her the night I left Saltacres. Oh, not by arrangement. I was intending to spend the night in my car, but I was cramped and cold, so I got out to stretch my legs and do a few exercises to warm myself up a bit, when along comes the wretched girl and suggests this moonlight swim.’
‘You went down to the sands with her?’
‘I did, and into the water. I didn’t stay in long and I left her there. That is the last I’ve seen of her.’
‘Did she mention anything about her plans? It’s quite a long walk to the sea across the marshes. You must have talked as you walked from your car to the beach.’
‘I suppose we chatted, but I can’t remember what we talked about. Certainly no mention was made of any plans. I didn’t even tell her mine.’
‘All Miranda and I could think was that Camilla felt Cupar and his wife had turned you out, and that she was resentful about it. But you say she has made no attempt to join you here. We thought at first that she had slipped out early yesterday morning, but we’ve seen nothing of her at all.’
‘The last I saw of her, I tell you, was in the water. I soon had enough of moonlight bathing, so I left her to it, and that’s all I know. I shouldn’t worry about her, if I were you. I expect you’re right and she’s taken a scunner at the other two. I’ll tell you, Adrian, why I oiled out. It’s because I was once engaged to Morag and that made too much of an awkwardness if we were under the same roof, particularly as it was I who broke the engagement.’
‘If I may ask, why did you? She seems a charming woman, very pretty, too.’
‘Yes. I was a fool. I knew I’d been a fool when I met her again the other day. I thought marriage would interfere with my writing and that I’d be tied to schoolmastering all my life just to support a wife and family. That’s why I turned her down. I bitterly regret it now.’
‘Oh, but I quite understand. One’s work must come first. But, Colin, what are we to do about that girl?’
‘Are you sure that Camilla really has left the cottage? She isn’t just out on the spree again?’
‘We don’t think so. She’s taken her suitcase and all her clothes have gone.’
‘Yes, that does look a bit final. Now, let me buy you a drink, and then I’ll give you a lift back to the cottage. Not to worry about her. She knows how to look after herself,’ said Palgrave.
That afternoon he sat on the bed in his little room, writing pad on knee, and made more notes for the book which at last showed signs of life. The notes were copious and his pose uncomfortable, but something was definitely taking shape and by tea-time, when he went in search of a cafe (The Stadholder did not serve teas) he was well content with the progress he had made and decided to let the yeast work for the next couple of days before he began the actual writing of the book.
During the next two days he explored the countryside by car and tried to put Morag out of his mind. He found the magnificent ruins of William d’Albini’s massive Norman keep, and, later, the beautiful, impressive remains of a Cluniac priory. These things would go into the book, he decided.
On the Friday, with no very definite plans for the day, he breakfasted later than usual and then strolled out to buy a newspaper. There was an item of news in it which affected him so deeply that he read it three times before he could believe that it was there.
He put the paper down and stared at the wall without being conscious of seeing it. What he saw was a wild- haired girl in a sweater which looked much too roomy and long for her, washed-out blue jeans which came halfway down her sun-browned calves, her bright, eager young face, vivacious but not really pretty, her muddy shoes, and then he heard a clear voice which had come to him on an off-shore breeze and which had cheerfully called out, ‘Hi!’
The newspaper report was short, but it was at the bottom of the front page, otherwise (for he was not a man to read a paper assiduously) he might have missed it. It stated that a body washed up on the shore near the village of Saltacres had been identified as that of Miss Camilla Hoveton St John, a summer visitor from London. Foul play was not suspected.
When he had assimilated this laconic information, Palgrave went out to get a copy of the local paper. This had a longer and more detailed account. Camilla, it stated, was thought to have bathed on an outgoing tide and drowned in a vain effort to reach the shore. Bathing along that part of the coast was safe enough when the tide was right and Miss St John was said to have been a capable swimmer, but she liked to bathe at night and must have mistaken the state of the tide or trusted too much in her own strength and skill. Fatalities had occurred before in that neighbourhood, but visitors were usually warned by local boatmen, or other residents, of the dangers of a powerful undertow, and there was evidence that this had been done in the present case. By day a swimmer in difficulties might be able to attract attention from a passing yacht or somebody on shore, but at night this was unlikely, nor would the hoisting of a danger cone or other warning device have been effective under the circumstances. Few people bathed alone on that part of the coast, even by daylight. To bathe alone at night was asking for trouble. Moreover, there was more than a mile to walk from the village to the sea. However, Miss St John was accustomed to bathe alone, but, most unfortunately, had done so once too often.
Palgrave got out his car and drove eastwards to Saltacres and the holiday cottage. Miranda, her plump, usually happy face clouded with shock and grief, and Adrian, haggard and with his cheeks fallen in, were alone. If he could be glad of anything at such a time, Palgrave was glad of this.
‘The inquest is to be on Monday, at Stack Ferry,’ said Miranda. ‘We were to have gone home, but of course we must stay up for it. Will you be there, Colin?’
‘Yes, of course. Will you tell me all that has happened?’
‘But we know nothing of what has happened, except that poor little Camilla is dead. We can’t believe it
‘But she bathed in the daytime, too. I’ve been in with her once or twice, and so has at least one other chap. I’ve seen them together.’
‘I suppose there was nothing much else for her to do here but bathe and wander about. We brought her because we thought she might like to paint scenery that was new to her, but she has done very little work down here.’
‘By the way, what has happened to the Lowsons?’
‘Cupar and Morag? Oh, they hired a boat and a boatman and have gone sailing. They are kind people and thought we would prefer to be by ourselves for a bit. Not much fun for them, anyway, with us so concerned and sad, and visits from the police and all that,’ said Miranda.
‘Oh, the police have been here, have they?’
‘But of course. They asked all sorts of questions. It could be a case of suicide, you see.’
‘But nothing worse?’
‘Oh, Colin, of course not!’
‘What questions did they ask?’
