‘Just so,’ agreed the superintendent. ‘Does Dame Beatrice propose to come along?’
‘There is no need for me to accompany you,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Two persons are sufficient for the task in hand. I have a fancy to inspect the local folk-museum, which, so far, I have not visited. By the way, Superintendent, I was very much interested in your reference to Sir Jeremy just now. Is he still on your list of suspects for the murder of his father?’
‘Well,’ replied the superintendent cautiously, ‘he is and he isn’t, as you might say, ma’am. We haven’t exactly crossed him off, and when you mentioned a tall man who seems to have taken the place of Pisces, who ought to be a woman, I must admit it put ideas into my head. All the same, if Sir Jeremy was in India, he couldn’t have been here that Saturday night murdering his father, could he?’
‘Not if he was in India,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘How would it be if I made enquiry about those messages at the post-office while you are paying your visit to the mausoleum? I can put off my inspection of the museum until this afternoon. I also want another word with Lady Bitton-Bittadon. It has occurred to me that there is a question I ought to ask her.’
‘Yes,’ said Callon, who appeared to read her mind, ‘all things considered, I think there is a question which might well be asked her at this juncture.’
‘Ah,’ said Dame Beatrice; ‘so the superintendent’s leap in the dark has given you, as well as myself, something to think about. We have never established beyond doubt that Sir Jeremy ever went to India, have we? It seems unreasonable to question it, but, now that we appear to have done so, it will be as well to leave no stone unturned, no avenue unexplored, as my secretary would say.’
‘We did check that he was on the plane he said he came home by, ma’am, but it’s only fair to the gentleman to place him in the clear,’ said the superintendent stolidly.
The police officers parted from her. Her first move, as soon as they had gone, was to make certain that the coast was clear and then to traverse the long corridor and descend the spiral staircase to the crypt. After her last night’s adventure she was not at all surprised when, by the light of her torch, she saw that the five skeletons had been replaced and were neatly and decently laid out on the stamped-earth floor again. The police moves had evidently been known, and it had been assumed that they would not be repeated.
She tried the big door which led out to the street, for the bolts were not shot home, and found that it opened easily. The skeletons, therefore, it seemed fairly certain, had been carried in by that way. The bearers had not risked bringing them through the house itself. Either they dared not – and, if this had been so, it eliminated the landlord from complicity – or they realised that nobody from the village except themselves would think of climbing down into the crypt, even if curiosity caused somebody to open the street door into what were the remains of the early church.
She returned to her room, having made certain that the coast was clear, put on her outdoor clothes and made her way to the post-office. Here she purchased stamps from one of the sisters and notepaper and envelopes from the other. She was apparently about to pay for her purchases when a thought appeared to strike her.
‘Oh, dear!’ she said. ‘How stupid of me! I ought to have bought airmail paper and envelopes. I wonder whether you would be good enough to allow me to make the exchange?’
‘Why, of course. I haven’t rung up yet,’ said the shopkeeper sister. Dame Beatrice made the exchange from the rack of assorted stationery and then said,
‘I expect I’ve purchased the wrong stamps, too. Can I use these for a letter to India? Such a long way off, isn’t it? But I suppose, in these days, now that the world has become so small because of air travel, people often send letters by airmail to relatives abroad.’
‘Not in this village,’ said the post-office sister.
‘Really? How unusual. Most of the people I know seem to have at least one relative in Africa or the Middle East or India, or even in Europe, where I believe it is cheaper to live because of taxation.’
‘England should be good enough for English people,’ said the shopkeeper sister. ‘I consider it very unpatriotic to live abroad just to save a little money.’
‘I am sure you are right. Besides, I do not see how they can save very much if food, as we are told, and even clothing, is so much dearer abroad than it is here. I suppose, when you spoke of the village, you were not including Lady Bitton-Bittadon? I paid her a short visit a few days ago and met her son, who had come back from India. He had been climbing mountains out there – the Himalayas, I suppose. Yes, I will take these rather patriotic envelopes and this writing tablet of very thin paper, and perhaps you will tell me about the stamps when I have written my letters and have come back to post them.’
She turned as though to leave the shop, but before she reached the door the shopkeeper sister asked,
‘Did you really stay with Lady Bitton-Bittadon? We were invited to one of her garden parties last summer, but, of course, we did not go into the house. I suppose Sir Jeremy brought back some trophies with him
