The Cornish Coast Murder (British Library Crime Classics) (11 page)

“Say about one in seven.”

“And you think that a highly intelligent young man like Ronald would risk committing a crime with those odds against him? Surely not, Inspector? If he and Ruth were determined to get married at all costs why couldn't they adopt the obvious expedient of running away together? It's been done before, you know. My father did it. Tregarthan was not an insuperable obstacle in their way—merely a temporary irritant, shall we say. Don't you agree?”

“Well, there's something in that,” acknowledged the Inspector grudgingly. “On the other hand, there's this young fellow's headstrong nature to take into account. Shell-shocked in the war, wasn't he? Probably kept some of his service equipment. His revolver, say. In an unbalanced moment there was no reason why he shouldn't throw logic to the winds and revert to instinct. Like elopement—it's happened before, you know.” The Inspector's grey eyes twinkled. “You agree, sir?”

The Reverend Dodd sighed gustily and nodded.

“I suppose you've as much right to your theory as I have to mine. But I can't help feeling that you're groping up a blind alley in suspecting Ronald Hardy. There's probably a very simple explanation for his apparent disappearance.”

The Inspector drew out his note-book and thumbed back a few of the pages.

“You may wonder, sir, why I'm taking you into my confidence like this. I'll tell you. Two heads are better than one. You know these two young people better than I do. But I want you to take a look at that.”

And he leaned forward to hand the Vicar his note-book.

“Read it,” he added.

The Vicar slid his glasses a little down his nose, and holding the note-book some little distance away, did as the Inspector asked.

The first paragraph was headed “Ruth Tregarthan,” and below were appended the following points:

(1)
R.T. had quarrelled with the deceased about an hour before he was found shot. There were violent words. (Mrs. C.’s evidence.) “You've no right to interfere. I'm old enough to do as I please with my own life. It's a matter between him and me
.”

(2)
R.T. has no alibi to prove that she was not on the cliff-path at the time when it was estimated (Dr. Pendrill's report) that the deceased was shot
.

(3)
R.T.’s footprints were found on the cliff-path and she does not deny she was there
.

(4)
R.T. on her own evidence says she did not realise anything was amiss when she reached the bottom of the garden. Then why did she
run
into the house after stopping midway along the wall and facing toward the french windows?
(“Ah!” thought the Vicar, “so he's noticed that point, too, has he?”)

(5)
Three shots entered the room at widely scattered points. The garden is fifteen feet in length. This argues a poor shot. Probably a woman
.

(6)
Why did R.T. leave the house when she had been expressly ordered by Grouch not to do so? Surely it was to rid herself of incriminating evidence? Possibly the revolver
.

“Well,” asked the Inspector, seeing that the Vicar had read to the bottom of the page. “What have you to say to that, sir?”

The Vicar placed the open note-book with deliberate care on the arm of his chair. He pushed his glasses slowly up on to the bridge of his nose with a forefinger. For a moment, so disturbed was he by the Inspector's marshalling of the facts, that he was unable to parry the indictment of Ruth's innocence with a counter-theory of his own. Viewed like that and set out with such damning clarity, he was forced to realise that Ruth was placed in a very precarious and unenviable position. Points 1 and 6 were new to him and he decided to question the Inspector further about these two happenings.

Bigswell, nothing loath, set out in a few concise sentences the evidence of Mrs. Cowper and her husband with regard to Ruth's quarrel at the dinner-table, concluding with his own version of what happened later that evening.

“May I take the first point first and deal with them one by one, Inspector?”

“That's exactly what I hoped you would do, Mr. Dodd. It's always been my principle to invite criticism. Truth doesn't always lie on the surface, eh? A good hammer-and-tongs argument is just what I need at this point in my investigations—so go ahead, sir, please.”

“First then,” said the Vicar, setting his finger-tips together and lying back in his arm-chair, “this quarrel. I set no store by that as evidence of Miss Tregarthan's guilt. Mind you, Inspector, I'm talking in your idiom now. I'm dealing with the facts of the case only. My intuition theory doesn't enter in—you understand? If Ruth had never before quarrelled with her uncle then, perhaps, this upset at the dinner-table might be more than a matter of coincidence—seeing that Tregarthan was shot an hour or so later. But she
had
quarrelled with her uncle before ... frequently. We have the Cowpers’ word for that. A verbal upset was quite in the natural order of things, and if Tregarthan had not been found dead that night, then nobody—the Cowpers included—would have considered this particular quarrel strange.

“The second point, of course, is unassailable. Unless any further witness comes forward, who actually heard the three shots fired and thus fixes the
exact
time of Tregarthan's death, and unless a further witness can prove that Ruth was elsewhere at that particular moment, then I grant you she has no cast-iron alibi.

“The third point—well frankly, Inspector, the third point puzzles me. I've no explanation to offer as to why only Ruth's and Mrs. Mullion's footsteps were found on the cliff-path. I can only suppose that the criminal by some ingenious arrangement obliterated his tracks as he went along. I've
read
of it being done. Whether it's practicable or not I can't say. Actually, considering the amount of rainfall, I'm rather wondering if we're not setting too much store by that particular line of investigation. A third set of prints
may
have been washed away. Weak, I admit—but a possible theory perhaps.

“The fourth point is interesting. I noticed the fact last night that Ruth had run into the house after looking in at the window.”

“The devil you did!” thought the Inspector.

“But there's nothing really suspicious in her action,” went on the Vicar blandly. “After all, it was a wet night. The sitting-room must have looked a veritable oasis of comfort from the cliff-path. Stimulated by the thought of a cheerful fire and a possible reconciliation with her uncle, the girl suddenly hurried on her way, by instinct, as it were.

“Then we come to your fifth point, Inspector—the scattered shots. You may remember that rather catchy ditty of W. S. Gilbert's about making the punishment fit the crime? You do? I thought you might! Well, here I feel I'd like to transpose the line—you're making the evidence fit the crime. You suspect Ruth Tregarthan. Ruth Tregarthan is a woman. The scattered shots suggest that a woman fired the revolver. You make your original suspicion stand on its head so that it
looks
like evidence against Miss Tregarthan. After all, Inspector, an unpractised male shot might be equally inaccurate—particularly if he was in the throes of a great emotional storm. No, really—I'm afraid that line of argument falls to the ground.”

“And the last point,” demanded the Inspector.

“Curious. Very curious. I'll admit Ruth's story does sound a little thin. On the other hand it does offer a feasible explanation for her action. She was distraught—in an unreasoning frame of mind—and therefore liable to indulge an utterly unreasonable whim. Women are often unreasonable, Inspector. Illogical, too. And here you're dealing with a woman under the stress of a violent shock.” The Vicar paused, sat up and gazed at the Inspector with great earnestness through his gold-rimmed glasses. “Have I shaken your faith in the theory that Ruth had some hand in this dreadful event? Or do you still believe her to be the guilty party?”

The Inspector stretched out his legs, elbowed himself upright and stared into the fire.

“I don't know. I don't know what to think. You've fought me fair and square with my own weapons, Mr. Dodd, and I don't mind admitting that there's a great deal in what you say. Now, if it's not taking up too much of your valuable time, sir, would you mind turning over a page in that note-book and having a look at the next paragraph.”

The Vicar did so, rather flattered and not a little astonished, that Inspector Bigswell had deigned to discuss the matter with him. Never, even in his most optimistic moments, had he visualised a scene of this nature—himself in one arm-chair, a police officer in another, and between them ... a mystery. If he had not been so appalled by the crime and its consequent effects on Ruth, he would have enjoyed the unprecedented situation.

He resettled his glasses on his nose and began to absorb the contents of the next paragraph. The page was headed “Ronald Hardy,” and as before this bald announcement was followed by a number of clearly defined points.

(1)
R.H. had quarrelled with deceased on the evening of his death. (Mrs. P.’s evidence
.)

(2)
R.H. left Cove Cottage in a great hurry, having left his supper untouched, at about
8.45.
(
Mrs. P.’s evidence
.)
Did not say where he was going
.

(3)
R.H. has not been seen since in the vicinity. Probably disappeared after the murder had been committed
.

(4)
R.H. had a revolver. Webley pattern
.
.45
calibre. Bullets found prove to be of this type. Revolver, recently removed from holster now missing
.

(5)
R.H. has, as far as is known at present, no alibi from
8.45
onward
.

(6)
Known to be temperamental and liable to sudden emotional storms. Shell-shocked in the war
.

Finding that this apparently concluded Inspector Bigswell's indictment of Ronald, the Vicar handed back the note-book. Seeing that the Inspector was quizzing him with a look of expectant enquiry, he shook his head.

“I'm sorry, Inspector. I'm not prepared to tackle
these
points one by one. For one thing I wasn't present when you cross-examined Mrs. Peewit, and for another, I don't pretend to know Ronald Hardy as intimately as I know Ruth. Points 4 and 6, coupled with point 1, do make the case against him appear rather black. His disappearance, as I said before, may be quite simply accounted for. I suppose you're making enquiries as to his whereabouts?”

“I've been through to headquarters from the ‘Ship’ where I lunched, and they're broadcasting a description of the young man. Also a description of his car. But by now he may be in the wilds of Scotland or abroad for all we know. Has he ever spoken to you, Mr. Dodd, of any relations or mentioned any particular friends?”

“Never. He always struck me as a somewhat lonely young fellow. Men of an independent and thoughtful nature often are. Beyond the fact that he had a Public-School-Varsity education and fought with the infantry in the war as a 2nd Lieutenant, I really know nothing about his past.”

“Well, until we can lay our hands on Mr. Hardy and get a statement as to his movements last night, I don't think we can travel further along that line of enquiry. In the meantime, sir, what about this man, Ned Salter? You know him by reputation, I expect?”

The Vicar chuckled.

“Know him! Dear me—yes! He's one of Boscawen's public institutions. Much as I deplore his inability to discriminate between
meum
and
tuum
, I don't think he's really vicious. His misdeeds are of the minor order—poaching, petty pilfering and so on. But taken all in all I don't think Ned is the true criminal type. He's not subtle or intelligent enough.”

The Inspector nodded dismally.

“Much as I imagined,” he said. “I think we can dismiss his talk with Tregarthan on the drive as pure coincidence. Still I shall have to see him.”

“By the way,” went on Bigswell after a brief pause, “you went through Tregarthan's papers, I take it? Did you find anything useful?”

“Nothing, I'm afraid. Except this. I found it behind a drawer in his desk. It was thick with dust.”

And he handed the Inspector the little slip of paper, which he had thrust into his waistcoat pocket. The Inspector looked at it in silence, then he folded it up and put it between the leaves of his note-book.

“Umph! Can't expect much from that, I'm afraid. Still if you've no objection I think I'll hang on to it for the present. No stone is too small to be left unturned, Mr. Dodd. We're up against a very tricky problem.”

Before the Vicar could make suitable reply, there was the crackle of wheels on the drive and Grouch's helmeted head went by the window.

“Wants me, I expect,” said the Inspector, rising. “I told him I should probably be up here.” He held out his hand. “Well, very many thanks, Mr. Dodd, for your help and a very interesting chat. You'll attend the inquest, I suppose? I don't think we shall have to call on you as a witness, but it would be as well if you were in court.”

“Oh, I'll be there,” the Vicar assured him. “There's Ruth—poor child. It's going to be a great ordeal for her. I must do all I can to make things easy.” He opened the door. “Good-bye, Inspector. You'll let me know the moment you have anything definite to report? I shan't rest easy in my mind until I know that you've placed both Ruth and Ronald entirely beyond suspicion.”