“Yes, that sounds all right. … And, if you come to think of it, how could he be such a fool as to drop those films out of his pocket? He must have valued them a good deal. Looks much more as if he’d planted them out in that hedge on purpose.”
“Yes, I thought of that too,” said Bredon. “And so nicely packed away in a watertight cover. You mean, I suppose, he wanted some stranger to find those films by accident, and hand them over to the police, so that the police should have evidence of the death?”
“That would have to be it. Though, mind you, it’s pretty poor evidence of the death. And quite unnecessary evidence, if only the body had been found. Did Nigel Burtell not expect the body to be found? Did he spirit it away somewhere? And if so, why on earth should he?”
“Yes, but we’re going ahead too fast. We’re speculating about Nigel’s motives when, as far as we can see, it can’t have been Nigel.”
“What about his alibi at the other end? He arrived here at eleven, or thereabouts; why shouldn’t he have gone up river, brought off the murder, come back again, and sat down on this very lawn with his watch in his hand, wondering when dear Derek was going to turn up?”
“I know, I know. But it would be pretty risky. Anybody might have come out on to the lawn, and noticed his absence. There were some men camping on the opposite bank, who might see him going away and remember seeing it. If he went along the towpath, he had to pass a whole encampment of boy scouts. Finally, I may remark that he hadn’t paid for his ginger-beer. I got that fact out of the barmaid. And somehow, if you order your drinks and don’t pay for them, all inns have a curious way of noticing it when you leave the premises.”
“Still, it’s worth looking into. Even if Nigel Burtell had no motive, who else could it be? Who else was there about, to come under suspicion?”
“There were lots of other people about. The folk at Spinnaker Farm, for example, and the lock-keeper, Mr. Burgess, though he is not one of your strong, silent men. He is a man of words rather than action.”
“Yes, but what conceivable reason could casual strangers like that have had for murdering one of the Burtells?”
“If you knew Nigel Burtell better, you’d know that any stranger might easily be impelled to kill him at sight. Still, the other one need not have been so revolting. I admit the difficulty. But, you know, it seems to me there is evidence that a third party somehow comes into the case.”
“What evidence?”
“Why, the old lady at Spinnaker Farm was positive that she’d seen somebody hurrying through that morning to catch the train. Now, that somebody wasn’t Derek Burtell.”
“Why shouldn’t it have been Derek Burtell, disappearing?”
“Because he hadn’t time to get there. He hadn’t had time to paddle a mile downstream; and I don’t believe in his coming across country, because his heart was so rotten he wouldn’t have dared to swim the weir stream.”
“He might have crossed at the weir bridge.”
“Exactly, but then, being in a hurry, he would have taken the direct path to the station, the same path Nigel took. There would be no earthly object in wandering round by way of Spinnaker Farm. And there’s the same difficulty in supposing that it was Nigel Burtell who passed through Spinnaker Farm. He had just time to do it, but what motive had he? It was bang out of his way.”
“Couldn’t he have gone out of his way deliberately, so as to plant out those films on a spot where he was supposed not to have been?”
“Yes, but why just there? Why go the whole way round, at the risk of missing his train, when he could have cut through the hedge at any point, and finished up via Spinnaker Farm, dropping the films just outside it, and so making sure that they would be found first thing? It doesn’t really work, you know, as a motive. But look here, you’d better try Spinnaker Farm; I couldn’t question the old lady, you see, because I’d no locus standi.”
“I’m going to try Spinnaker Farm, and a whole lot of other places besides. No, thanks, I mustn’t stop to dine. I’m making my headquarters at Oxford, because I want to be able to dash away in any direction at short notice. But I’ll look in tomorrow some time. By Gad, Bredon, I wish I could always pick your brains like this.”
X
Discordant Notes
The Burtell sensation was still making good copy in the newspapers. It was part of Leyland’s technique, perhaps a fault in it, that he never put a suspected man on his guard; consequently, although the police and the harbour authorities were warned of Nigel’s disappearance, nothing revealed the fact in print. On the other hand, descriptions of Derek were widely circulated, and it was understood to be the “official theory” that the unfortunate young gentleman, who was known to be in weak nervous health, must in all probability be wandering about somewhere, suffering from a loss of memory. Nothing stimulates the public imagination so powerfully as the existence of an official theory; its merits and demerits were hotly debated in clubs and railway-carriages; bets were freely exchanged, hairdressers became intolerable on the subject, and even dentists would gag you and then let you have the benefit of their opinions on it. The forebodings Bredon had expressed were amply justified. To the intense irritation of the local fishermen, the banks of the river were lined all Saturday afternoon by amateur detectives who had bicycled over to try their hand at the game; the
