The Mudflats of the Dead

what my mind is like — it is apt to fill in gaps. Is the book, as a book, worth reading?’

‘There, again, I can hardly tell. It is the book of an inexperienced author, but the story might interest some people and it is well, if somewhat elaborately, written.’

‘But you wouldn’t put it on your library list?’

‘As a contribution to my study of morbid psychology, perhaps I would.’

Laura took a couple of evenings to read the script. When she returned it. she said,

‘Could be hot stuff if you equated yourself with one or two of the characters, I suppose. That’s if you could get yourself disentangled from the various ladies involved. Naturally I’ve tried to sort out Camilla St John from Miranda Kirby from Morag Lowson from any of Camilla’s girlfriends, but it can’t be done, and the same goes for Palgrave himself, Adrian Kirby, Lowson, and the various medicos who, I suppose, are composite portraits of the schoolmasters Palgrave knew. Quite the nastiest bit of work seems to be Palgrave himself, as the book is written in the first person. In any case, the plot is wildly improbable.’

‘It can’t be, you know,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘if somebody thought it so probable that he or she went to the length of poisoning the author. I think I will show the book to Ferdinand.’

‘A man – the only one – who really terrifies me. If ever I am had up for serious crime, I pray I don’t come up against him.’

‘Oh, he is usually defending. He says it is far more fun than prosecuting and a great deal more difficult, too, because the prisoner usually has done it and to convince a jury that he has not, is a task of some magnitude.’

Sir Ferdinand read the book and asked what he was supposed to do about it.

‘Could it lead to the murder of the author?’ his mother enquired.

‘Only by the critics. Is this the arsenic victim?’

‘Yes, indeed. It is all mixed up with that other case in which I was involved, the death by drowning at Saltacres.’

‘As I see it, the main theme of the story is blackmail. The death of the girl seems to have been incidental to the main plot.’

‘Yes, but, by inference, the hero drowned her.’

‘On the assumption that, as has been so glibly and yet somewhat truly said, each man kills the thing he loves. How much, and to what an unfathomable extent, writers are the products of the age into which they are born! Kipling would have been twice as good had he lived at the present day; Shakespeare less than a quarter as great, had he come on earth a century or so later than he did.’ He cocked an eye at Laura, but she refused to be drawn into contention.

‘So you see no reason why Palgrave should have been murdered?’ said Dame Beatrice.

‘Oh, yes, I do. Somebody saw something in the story which threatened him.’

‘Him?’

‘Or her, but as the book is written in the first person by a man and, very obviously, from a man’s point of view, I am inclined to think that “him” is the operative word. The book, in fact, may well be Palgrave’s confession, and his death, in spite of what the police think, may have been an expiatory suicide.’

‘I might agree, if he had not also been responsible for trying to get the book suppressed. That seems to me extraordinary in the face of his letter to me.’

‘Somebody who, like you, has read the script, may be his murderer, then.’

‘And that would include me, as I first saw the book before Palgrave died. He wanted me to give it my blessing, as I think I told you. But I am still at a loss. His letter which accompanied the script hardly seems to me to contain a request that an author who wanted to suppress his book would make.’

‘I wonder what his first book was like,’ said Laura. ‘Any use to get hold of a copy and compare them? Means the public library, I expect. It will be out of print by now, no doubt, and we don’t even know who his publishers were, do we?’

‘Mr Pinfold will know,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘He will have taken possession of all Palgrave’s papers. It may be helpful to read his first book, although very few first novels do anything except give some clue to the author’s opinion of himself, for most must, of necessity, be autobiographical.’

‘Palgrave’s second book is that, too, in a manner of speaking, as I think we are agreed,’ said Ferdinand. ‘I wonder whether a talk with his publishers would be helpful?’

The publishers were cautious, though courteous when she visited them, and did not attempt to offer any help in suggesting a reason for Palgrave’s death.

‘Naturally, the murder of one of our authors is not the kind of publicity we look for,’ said the senior partner. ‘All the same, we are somewhat disappointed that Colin saw fit to withdraw his second book. We should have been interested to see it. When he had ironed out some rather regrettable mannerisms and pruned an extensive and dictionary-conscious vocabulary, he might have shown considerable promise. We were quite prepared to take a chance on his second book unless it was very bad indeed.’

‘I thought, when I read his two books, that he had talent,’ said Dame Beatrice.

‘Oh, you’ve seen the second one, then?’

‘He sent me a copy in the hope that I would write a preface, I think. Do you know why Mr Palgrave decided to withdraw the book from publication? It seems a mystery to me.’

‘We have no idea. His agents sent us a copy of his letter, but it is very short and offers no explanation of his action.’

‘Did you know him well?’

‘He came here several times. He was a very eager and enthusiastic author, of course, and expected rather more from his first book than was justified by the standard of his work, and by the fact that it was his initial attempt and by no means in the best-seller class, but his attitude was no phenomenon in our experience.’

‘Were you surprised when you knew that he did not wish to publish his second book?’

‘We were more than surprised. He had been in correspondence with us about the book, giving us a synopsis first of all, and in later letters giving us more details of the plot and a great deal of unnecessary information as to the book’s progress in its later stages. He seemed altogether delighted with the work. The very last thing we expected was a complete volte-face. We are at a loss to understand it.’

‘I suppose – I advance the theory with all diffidence – I suppose the letter to his agents postponing, or, as I understand it, forbidding publication, did come from Mr Palgrave himself, and not from some outside source?’

‘Such an idea has never occurred to us, nor, I am sure, to Peterheads. Who would take such a liberty?’

‘Either a practical joker or somebody who had an interest in suppressing the book.’

‘You say you have read the book, Dame Beatrice. Could there be such an interest?’

‘I hardly know. Blackmail is one of the themes explored in the story, and from previous knowledge which I assimilated from his acquaintances, I know that Mr Palgrave was not averse to including real incidents and real personalities in his narrative. I should be interested to see your copy of the letter which was sent to his agents.’

‘I begin to see that there are possibilities we had not considered, but if the law of libel had been infringed, surely it would have paid the objector better, had we published the book, to take us to court rather than to prevent publication altogether?’ He smiled benevolently. ‘Not that we should have published, of course, if we had had any doubts.’

Less inhibited, less dignified and perhaps less cautious than the senior partner of Kent and Weald, young Mr Peterhead put the cards on the table in no uncertain manner.

‘K and W,’ he said, ‘would have published the book. It’s not bad. Palgrave would have shown lots of promise once he could have forgotten that he was a schoolmaster. Apart from that, there would have been the posthumous fame of getting himself murdered. Very sorry about that, of course, but it would have helped sales no end. Still, it cuts both ways. Lost Parenthesis might have sold well on the strength of the author’s violent death, but, with no more books to come — well, t’other or which, I suppose, in the end. Not that I want to sound callous or materialistic, of course.’

‘Did you ever check to find out whether Mr Palgrave’s last letter was genuine?’

‘Genuine? How do you mean, Dame Beatrice? It had his signature on it all right.’

‘Did you not think it strange that he should wish to suppress his novel?’