“On the police charge-sheet, you mean?” Sir Clinton asked.
Billingford grinned openly.
“Never saw the inside of a gaol in my life,” he boasted. “Nor did Staveley either, that I know about.”
“I’ve no doubt my colleagues did their best,” Sir Clinton said amiably.
The inspector came back to his earlier question.
“Is that all you can tell us about him?”
“Who? Staveley? Well, sometimes we worked together. But it’s not likely I’d tell you much about that, is it?”
“What was he doing down here?”
“Staying with me for a day or two. I was getting a bit jaded with rush-work in the City, so I came down here for a rest. And Staveley, he said he’d join me and we’d work out a new scheme for benefiting some members of the public.”
The inspector nodded.
“Some easy-money business, I suppose. Now come to last night, and be careful what you say. Tell me exactly what you can remember. Begin about dinnertime.”
Billingford reflected for a moment or two before answering.
“After dinner, things were a bit dull, so the three of us started to play poker to pass the time.”
“Three of you?” Armadale interrupted. “Who was the third man?”
“Oh, he’s an Australian by the twang. Derek Fordingbridge, he calls himself. Staveley brought him down. There was something about his having an estate round about here, and wanting to take a look at it.”
“You hadn’t met him before?”
“Me? Oh, only once or twice. I thought he was just another labourer in the vineyard, if you take me.”
“A competitor of yours in the commission agent business? What was he doing in that line if he had an estate?”
“Search me!” Billingford answered guardedly. “I’m not one for asking too many questions about people’s affairs. ‘Do unto others as you’d be done by’ is my motto.”
Armadale evidently realised that he would get nothing by persisting on this line.
“You played poker, then. Anything further happen?”
Billingford seemed to be considering carefully before he ventured further. At last he made up his mind.
“About half-past nine, I think, someone came to the door. Staveley got up and went to see who it was. I heard him say: ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ or words to that effect—as if he’d been taken by surprise. Then I heard a woman’s voice say something. I didn’t catch the words. And when Staveley replied, he dropped his voice. They talked for a bit, and then he shut the door.”
“And after that? Did you find out who the woman was?”
“Not I. Some local piece, I expect. Staveley was always a good hand at getting hold of them. He’d a sort of way with him, and could get round them in no time. Made kind of hobby of it. Overdid it, to my mind.”
“What happened after that?”
“Nothing much that I remember. We played some more poker, and then Staveley began grousing about the stuffiness of the place. Mostly his own fault, too. Those cigars of his were pretty heavy. So he went out for some fresh air.”
“When was that?”
“Ten o’clock. I told you before. Perhaps 10:15. I can’t be sure to a minute.”
“And then?”
“I felt a bit wakeful. I lose a lot of sleep some nights. So I thought I’d go for a turn along the shore and see if that would cure it.”
“When did you leave the house?”
“A little before eleven, I think. I didn’t notice. It was after Fordingbridge had gone to bed, anyhow.”
The inspector absentmindedly tapped his notebook with his pencil for a moment or two. Then he glanced at Sir Clinton.
“That’s all I want to ask you just now,” he said. “You’ll be needed at the inquest, of course. I suppose you’re staying on for a while at Lynden Sands?”
“Oh, yes,” Billingford replied carelessly. “If you want me at any time, I’ll be handy. Always pleased to play ‘Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral?’ with you any time you like, inspector.”
“I daresay you’ve had plenty of practice,” Armadale growled. “Well, you can go now. Hold on, though! You can show us the way up to Flatt’s cottage. I’ll need to see this friend of yours, Fordingbridge.”
“Meaning to check up my story?” Billingford suggested, unabashed. “I’ve met this sort of sceptical spirit before. Somehow it always seems to develop in people who’ve worn a constable’s helmet in their youth. Compression of the credulity lobe of the brain, or something like that, perhaps.”
Armadale made no reply, but led the way out of the house. Before they had gone more than a few yards, a police-sergeant came forward and accosted the inspector. After a few words, Armadale turned to Sir Clinton.
“Now we’ve got the constables, sir, I think we’d better get the body ashore and notify Dr. Rafford that we’ll need a P.M. done. If you don’t mind going round by the beach, I can put the sergeant here in charge; and then we can go on to Flatt’s.”
The chief constable made no objection; and the inspector paid no attention to Billingford’s humorous protest against a further waste of his time. The whole party made their way down to the shore, where they found most of the idlers of the village assembled, awaiting the putting in of the boat.
Armadale signalled to the two fishermen; and very soon they rowed their craft to the little pier. The police kept the crowd back while the body was being landed. Then the inspector gave the sergeant some instructions; and under the guidance of Sapcote the squad set off into the village with the body.
Suddenly Billingford seemed to recognise the rowing-boat.
“Snaffled my boat, have you, inspector? Well, I like the nerve of that! If I’d borrowed your handkerchief without asking you, there’d have been a bit of a stir in official circles. But when you take and steal my boat, everybody seems to think it’s just the sort of thing you would do. Well, brother, we’ll say no more about it. I never care to rub things in. Live and let live’s my motto.”
Armadale refused
