The Mudflats of the Dead

‘Oh, whether she was accustomed to bathe alone.’

‘Was my name mentioned?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do they know we bathed together the night before I went to Stack Ferry?’

‘We told them that, because you had told Adrian you did, but that you had gone to Stack Ferry and could know nothing about her death. The fact that she came back here and packed her suitcase and took it away proves that she could not have been drowned that night.’

‘Has the suitcase been found? The report in the newspaper – the local paper – said nothing about it. Have the police traced it, I wonder?’

‘We know nothing about the suitcase. She must have found other lodgings and the suitcase will turn up there. But there is nowhere in the village where she could stay.’

‘She must have been shacking up with some man, don’t you think? One of the summer visitors who had rented a cottage?’

‘That is what we wondered, too. You know what she was like.’

‘Somebody she met that day she took my car, perhaps, or the chap I saw her with once. If that is so, ten to one the chap won’t be too anxious to come forward.’

‘Why not? The death was an accident.’

‘What else did the police want to know?’

‘Only whether she was happy or had anything on her mind. Well, of course, if she had anything on her mind, it was men, but we did not tell them that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, but, Colin, the poor child is dead! We couldn’t put her in a bad light now!’

‘Are the police likely to come here again?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Adrian, speaking for the first time during the interview. ‘I suppose it depends on what comes out at the inquest. I just simply hope nothing does.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Nothing will ever convince me that Camilla swam when the tide was going out. Even by night she’d have known what it was doing, which way it was running. She knew all about the dangers of this part of the coast and, besides, she had a manual of tide-tables.’

‘I suppose—’ began Miranda.

‘Yes?’

‘Well, you know how fond she was of you, Colin.’

‘Fond of me, my foot! I was just another man to be pursued, that’s all. If you’re suggesting that she came after me to Stack Ferry and oiled herself in at The Stadholder, well, simply, she didn’t. She didn’t even know where I was staying, did she?’

‘She could have asked around until she found you,’ said Adrian.

‘She never came anywhere near me at Stack Ferry. What if she had done? She wasn’t drowned there. The tide sets the wrong way for that. She would have been carried – oh, no, perhaps she wouldn’t though. Anyway, whether she came to Stack Ferry or not, I certainly saw nothing of her there.’ He realised, too late, that he was on the defensive and that Adrian knew it.

‘Not to worry, Colin,’ he said kindly. ‘The police seem satisfied that she bathed alone on an outgoing tide and at night. That will be the end of the matter. I’m glad she had no parents. I hate breaking bad news.’

The inquest was soon over. Adrian went through the formality of identifying the body and the medical evidence of death by drowning was clear. There was only one unsatisfactory detail, but on this neither the police surgeon nor the pathologist was prepared to be dogmatic. Neither would commit himself as to the exact time of death to within a period of forty-eight hours. The body had been some time in the water, so the usual rate of decomposition had been retarded. There was more explanation given, but perhaps the most important feature, so far as the police and the public were concerned, was that there were no marks of violence on the body and no evidence that the deceased had been other than a completely healthy and carefree young woman who, although she was not a virgin, was not pregnant.

The verdict (to quote the local paper) was a foregone conclusion. The deceased had come by her death accidentally through drowning on an outgoing tide. The coroner pontificated upon this for the benefit of other holidaymakers and the incident appeared to be closed. Palgrave attended the inquest but not the funeral. He returned to Stack Ferry and suddenly found the opening sentences for his book.

He was not quite so lucky in dismissing Camilla from his mind as he had hoped to be. Apparently Adrian and Miranda were not the only people who were puzzled by the disappearance of Camilla’s suitcase. He had been back to The Stadholder for a couple of days when there came a tap at his bedroom door.

‘Telephone, Mr. Palgrave.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ It must be from the Kirbys, he supposed. He wondered what Adrian or Miranda had to tell him. He assumed that they had returned to London as soon as the funeral was over. However, it was neither of them on the line.

‘Mr Palgrave?’

‘Speaking.’

‘County Police here, sir. We’d like a word with you.’

‘I’m not in trouble about my car, I hope?’

‘Nothing like that, sir. We think you may be able to give us a little help over another matter. Would you prefer us to come to you, or would you rather come to the station?’

‘What’s it all about?’

‘I would rather not talk over the telephone, sir.’

‘Oh, in that case, you had better come here, then. When can I expect you?’

‘Would noon tomorrow suit you, sir?’

‘Oh, yes, I suppose so, but I wish I knew what it was all about.’

‘Until tomorrow then, sir, at noon. I shall be in plain clothes, of course.’

Like most law-abiding people, Palgrave was happy enough to know that a police force, however greatly undermanned it might be, did at least exist, but, again like the majority of citizens, he was much less happy when a member of it looked him up personally and began asking questions.

‘You will have heard about the drowning fatality, sir? We believe you were intimate with the dead girl. I refer to your relationship with the late Miss Hoveton St John.’

‘I don’t care for your use of the word “intimate”, Inspector. It conveys an entirely false representation of my relationship with Miss Hoveton St John.’

‘So there was a relationship, sir?’

‘She was a holiday acquaintance, that’s all.’

‘But you stayed at the same cottage as she did, I believe. Wasn’t that so?’

‘I was there for a few days before I moved to this hotel, yes.’

‘Why did you move on, sir?’

‘The cottage became overcrowded. Two more people turned up, so I opted out.’

‘You did not move because the young lady had become an embarrassment to you?’

‘Good heavens, no! It was just to make room for the newcomers.’

‘Had they the prior claim, then?’

‘Well, actually, I suppose not. It was a case of an overbooking.’

‘Then what made you decide to leave? I am told that arrangements had been made to accommodate you.’

‘Look, Inspector, what is all this, for goodness’ sake? The “arrangements” you mention were most unsatisfactory. Why shouldn’t I have moved on?’

‘I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind, sir. Why did you leave Saltacres so precipitately?’

‘I’ve told you. There’s nothing else I can say.’

‘Would you mind if I had a look round your bedroom, sir?’ (They were in a corner of the bar.)

‘Good Lord! Why? I’m not a dope smuggler, neither have I half a dozen illegal immigrants hidden under the