‘No, he didn’t, but, as I told you, relations between them had become more and more strained as time went on. Jeremy was annoyed that his father even wanted to go with him to the airport to see him off, but he needed the car to get himself and his belongings to the airport, and that meant that his father had to go with him to bring back the car. That is how it came about that Bathy saw him off. He would not have expected to hear from him, although I know he went to some trouble to find out whether the plane had landed safely. After that, the next I knew was that, in answer to my letter, Jeremy came home but was, unfortunately, too late for the funeral.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘In London, I believe. He left here some days ago and I have no address. But what makes you think he may not have gone to India after all?’
‘He seems to have received notification of your husband’s death before Sir Bathy actually died.’
‘From the murderer? That seems incredible. Besides, it does not prove that Jeremy was not in India at the time. And who told you that Jeremy had received this extraordinary notification? It could not have been Jeremy himself.’
‘Why do you say that? No doubt, whatever their relationship was, and however much it had deteriorated, Sir Jeremy must have taken some interest in his father’s death, particularly as it was a violent one.’
‘Oh, perhaps. I mean, I suppose so.’
‘Why does Sir Jeremy climb trees?’
‘Climb trees?’
‘And drop out of them on the wrong side of the wall, thus alarming young women who may be taking a quiet stroll up the hill?’
‘As though I would have any idea! I believe his mother was considered eccentric, if that is anything to go by.’
‘Sir Jeremy appears to have behaved very strangely, it seems to me. He goes to India and is there when his father is murdered; he learns of his father’s death before it actually takes place; he then finds out that the body was discovered in the grounds here, but that the knife with which he was stabbed is missing. I wonder how he knew the knife was missing, and why he thought it important that it should be found. By the way, did Sir Jeremy often visit his uncle here?’
‘As a boy I believe he came here to school and boarded with his uncle and joined his father for the holidays,’ said Lady Bitton-Bittadon, looking relieved by the change of subject.
‘And his uncle was interested, I believe, in the local folklore.’
‘I don’t know to what extent, but I believe he founded a kind of secret society in the village. Bathy was invited to join it when we came to live here.’ There was no doubt now that for Lady Bitton-Bittadon the tension was eased.
‘Indeed? I believe I heard something of the kind. That would be the zodiac people, no doubt.’
‘I suppose so, if that is what they call themselves.’
‘And did Sir Bathy join them?’
‘I have no idea. He spent a good deal of his time at the More to Come, which I believe was a kind of headquarters, but I think he went there only to drink in a convivial, neighbourly sort of way with the villagers. He was a very gregarious man, but had little use for the sort of people one might have expected him to like. I believe he dropped out of things when his first wife died. I could hardly ever persuade him to meet people of our own standing.’
‘I see. Do you know whether Sir Jeremy was ever invited to join the zodiac society?’
‘I really have no idea. He would have been too young, I think, when he used to live here with his uncle, and I’m afraid I know nothing of his interests nowadays.’
‘All the same, I expect the society does accept young men.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It would seem reasonable that they should, if only because a tradition, if it is to be carried on, depends upon the training of the young in order that they may grow up to take the places of the old, otherwise the tradition would die out.’
‘If this zodiac society, as you call it, is supposed to be secret, how do you come to know anything about it?’
‘Perhaps you can guess the answer to that question.’
‘No, I cannot, I’m afraid, unless one of the members has taken you into his confidence.’
‘And you think that would be unlikely?’
‘Well, you are a stranger in the place, are you not? And the village does not much care for strangers, especially strangers who work with the police. I believe there has been some talk about your activities already. I hope you have not set the villagers against you. You know what these rural communities can be like.’
‘Perhaps the one in which I live is different from this one.’
‘In what way?’
‘More agreeable and less prejudiced, let us say.’
‘You are fortunate. And now, Dame Beatrice, let us put our cards on the table. All these questions about Jeremy and his going to India are leading up to something. What is it?’
‘I was wondering whether you thought he might have killed his father,’ said Dame Beatrice, with the devastating frankness which sometimes conceals a lie, as, in this case, it did.
‘Jeremy? Good heavens! You can’t be serious!’
‘Well, somebody murdered Sir Bathy, and it is common knowledge, based on statistics, that the likeliest suspects are the members of the murdered person’s own family.’
‘But the motive! What possible motive could Jeremy have had? I grant you that he is anathema to me, but – a murderer? The idea is ludicrous! What could he possibly have to gain? The title, such as it is, means nothing to him, or the estate either. He is rolling in money and although, since our marriage, he did not get on with his father, their relationship had certainly not soured to the extent
