‘Not consciously, perhaps, superintendent, but that is the farthest I feel able to go. There is a strangely unsatisfactory relationship between her and Sir Jeremy, and I feel that both are hiding something. Whether it is something connected with the murder, however, I have not yet discovered. I am inclined to think that in Sir Jeremy’s case it is more of a purely personal matter than anything directly connected with his father’s death. About the actual murder, the deed itself I mean, I doubt whether he has any hidden knowledge which would help us. Needless to say, both wife and son appear to have given all the co-operation they can, but with no result so far, and for the time being I am persuaded that your own researches at the More to Come and in the village are likely to be far more profitable than my own efforts at the manor house. It is the motive behind the murder which we still need to establish, and I no longer believe it concerns the zodiac people. I think I must consult Mr Pardieu, the schoolmaster, before I decide what to do next.’
‘You think he might know something he hasn’t told you?’ asked Callon. ‘But what could he know about Sir Bathy’s death? You don’t suspect him, do you?’
‘He knows a great many things about which, so far, I have made no enquiry, Detective-Inspector. I refer to his wide knowledge of folk-lore.’
‘Oh, the Mayering,’ said the superintendent. ‘Yes, that might be an angle, I suppose. You’re again of the opinion that the murder was done to get the grave opened, are you?’
‘Well, it had that effect,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘and five skeletons have been removed from the ancestral tomb and are now, so far as we know, in the cellar at the More to Come.’
‘So far as we know? But we do know, ma’am, unless your great-niece is under an hallucination.’
‘I think that is most unlikely. I rather wish you had seen them for yourself, but I have no doubt at all about their being there.’
‘Oh, well, that’s all right, then, ma’am.’
‘It has not been established that they are the skeletons which were removed from the grave, though, superintendent, as I think we are all agreed.’
‘So you’re going to leave me to the tender mercies of those policemen,’ said Lady Bitton-Bittadon. ‘I’m very sorry to hear it. I suppose there is no further news?’ She spoke perfunctorily and her expression of regret did not ring true.
‘I am afraid not. I wonder whether you would find it too tedious if I were to ask you to give me your account all over again?’ said Dame Beatrice smoothly.
‘If you think it will help.’
‘I may interrupt you from time to time with questions?’
‘Well, you always have, up to now,’ said the tall, voluptuous woman, with a slight smile.
‘You know,’ went on Dame Beatrice, ‘I have been surprised that never once have you asked me what caused the police to think that I ought to come here and interest myself in your affairs. You have offered me hospitality, borne with my curiosity and my questions, allowed me to talk to your servants without either yourself or your step-son being present….’
‘Oh, I thought you knew I’d had a letter from the Assistant Commissioner. And then, of course, you are one of us, and that makes such a difference when it’s official business, especially of this most unpleasant kind. Again, of course, I consulted my lawyers when I received the official letter and they vouched for you, so I was delighted to invite you here and obtain what I hoped would be your support.’
‘I see. What is holding up the police enquiry is that, so far, we have been unable to establish where your husband went, and what he did, on the night of his death. The most searching enquiries in the village – and I assure you that the police have investigated the matter with their usual thoroughness – have failed to establish any connection with, for example, the More to Come. There is general agreement that he was, if not a frequent, at least a well-known visitor to the inn, but, so far, nobody can be found who is prepared to swear that he was there on the night of his death.’
‘We have discussed all this before. Are the police still thinking along the lines of a public house brawl? I assure you that my husband was the very last man to involve himself in anything so disgraceful. I have never known him the worse for drink. Indeed, that is an understatement. Except for the evidence of my own eyes at table, or the smell of spirits on his breath, I would never have known, during the whole of our married life, that he ever drank at all, and, drunk or sober, he was the last man in the world to pick a quarrel. Besides, owing to his station in life, none of the villagers, however inebriated they might be, would have dreamed of crossing or insulting him. He was genial to a fault, but there was always the invisible line between him and them.’
‘Yes,’ said Dame Beatrice, who believed only part of this statement. ‘I was not envisaging a brawl, but it would be most helpful if we could trace his movements that night.’
‘You mean, I know, that it might be of help to the police if they could establish exactly where he was killed.’
‘Well, a location might suggest a person, and a person might suggest a motive.’
‘I thought we had decided that the motive was to get the family vault opened so that tomb-robbers could obtain possession of skeletons for that macabre business of the burials on Pikeman’s Hill. That certainly remains my own opinion. Some very
