Ngaio Marsh - Dead Water

“Wally, don’t,” Jenny said. “Eat it properly, old boy. You were out in the rain, weren’t you? Your shoes are muddy.”

“So I wor, then. I don’t mind the rain, do I?”

“No,” Jenny said and added rather sadly, “You’re a big boy now.”

“I don’t suppose,” Alleyn suggested, “there was anybody else out in that storm, was there? I bet there wasn’t.”

“Was there, Wally? Out in the rain?”

“There wur! There wur !” he shouted and banged the table.

“All right. All right. Who was it?”

Wally thrust his tongue into the cone. “There wur,” he said.

“This is heavy work,” Alleyn observed mildly.

Jenny asked the same question and Wally at once said: “I seen’er. I seen the old b… Yah !”

“Who do you mean? Who did you see?”

He flourished his right arm: the gesture was as uncoordinated and wild as a puppet’s, but it was not to be mistaken. He made as if to throw something. Jenny caught back an exclamation.

“Who did you see? Was it—” Jenny looked at Alleyn, who nodded. “Was it Miss Pride?”

“ Pridey-Pridey bang on the bell

Smash and ’bash ’er and send ’er to hell .”

“ Wally ! who taught you that?”

“The kids,” he said proudly and began again: “ Pridey-Pridey —”

“Stop. Don’t do that, Wally. Be quiet.” She said to Alleyn: “It’s true, I heard them, yesterday evening.”

Wally pushed the last of the cone into his mouth. “I want another,” he said indistinctly.

Coombe had come in from the parlour. Wally’s back was towards him. Alleyn gave a warning signal and Coombe stayed where he was. Trehern loomed up behind him, smirking and curious. Coombe turned and jerked his thumb. Trehern hesitated and Coombe shut the door in his face.

“More,” said Wally.

“You may have another,” Alleyn said, before Jenny could protest. “Tell me what happened when you were out in the rain this morning.”

He lowered his head and glowered. “Another one. More,” he said.

“Where was Miss Pride?”

“Up-along.”

“By the gate?”

“By the gate,” he repeated like an echo.

“Did you see her go away?”

“She come back.”

Jenny’s hand went to her lips.

Alleyn said: “Did Miss Pride come back?”

He nodded.

“Along the path? When?”

“She come back,” Wally shouted irritably. “Back!”

“A long time afterwards?”

“Long time.”

“And went into the spring? She went through the gate and into the spring? Is that right?”

“It’s my spring. She bean’t allowed up to my spring.” He again made his wild throwing gesture. “Get out!” he bawled.

“Did you throw a rock at Miss Pride? Like that?”

Wally turned his head from side to side. “You dunno what I done,” he said. “I ain’t telling.”

“Tell Miss Williams.”

“No, I won’t, then.”

“Did you throw stones, Wally?” Jenny asked. “One evening? Did you?

He looked doubtfully at her and then said: “Where’s my dad?”

“In there. Wally, tell me.”

He leaned his smeared face towards her and she stooped her head. Alleyn heard him whisper: “It’s a secret.”

“What is?”

“They stones. Like my dad said.”

“Is the rock a secret, too?”

He pulled back from her. “I dunno nothing about no rock,” he said vacantly. “I want another.”

“Was Miss Cost at the spring?” Alleyn asked.

Wally Scowled at him.

“Wally,” Jenny said, taking his hand, “did you see Miss Cost? In the rain? This morning? Was Miss Cost at the spring?”

“At the Fustyvell.”

“Yes, at the Festival. Was she at the spring this morning too? In the rain?”

“This is getting positively fugal,” Alleyn muttered.

“This morning?” Jenny repeated.

“Not this morning. At the Fustyvell,” said Wally. “I want another one.”

“In a minute,” Alleyn said. “Soon. Did you see a man this morning in a motorboat?” And, by a sort of compulsion, he added: “In the rain?”

“My dad’s got the biggest launch.”

“Not your dad’s launch. Another man in another launch. Dr. Mayne. Do you know Dr. Mayne?”

“Doctor,” said Wally vacantly.

“Yes. Did you see him?”

“I dunno.”

Alleyn said to Jenny: “Mayne noticed him at about half past seven.” He waited for a moment and then pressed on: “Wally: where were you when you saw the lady at the spring? Where were you?”

Wally pushed his forefinger round and round the table, leaving a greasy trail on the plastic surface. He did this with exaggerated violence and apparently no interest.

“You couldn’t get in, could you?” Alleyn suggested. “You couldn’t get through the gate.”

With his left hand, Wally groped under his smock. He produced a number of entrance disks, let them fall on the table and shoved them about with violent jabs from his forefinger. They clattered to the floor.

“Did you go into the spring this morning?”

He began to make a high whimpering sound.

“It’s no good,” Jenny said. “When he starts that, it’s no good. He’ll get violent. He may have an attack. Really, you mustn’t. Really . I promise, you mustn’t.”

“Very well,” Alleyn said. “I’ll get him his ice cream.”

“Never mind, Wally, it’s all right,” Jenny said. “It’s all right, now. Isn’t it?”

He looked at her doubtfully and then, with that too familiar gesture, reached his hand out towards her.

“Oh, don’t!” Jenny whispered. “Oh Wally, don’t show me your hands.”

When Wally had absorbed his second ice cream they all left the tearoom by a door that, as it turned out, led into the back garden.

Coombe said: “We’ve come the wrong way,” but Alleyn was looking at a display of grayish undergarments hung out to dry. A woman of unkempt appearance was in the yard. She stared at them with bleared disfavour.

“Private,” she said and pointed to a dividing fence. “You’m trespassing.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Trehern,” Jenny said. “We made a mistake.”

Trehern had come out through a back door. “Get in, woman,” he said. “Get in.” He took his wife by her arm and shoved her back into the house. “There’s the gate,” he said to Alleyn. “Over yon.”

Alleyn had wandered to the clothesline. A surplus length of line dangled from the pole. It had been recently cut.

“I wonder,” he said, “if you could spare me a yard of this. The bumper bar on my car’s loose.”

“Bean’t none to spare. Us needs it. Rotten anyways and no good to you. There’s the gate.”

“Thank you,” Alleyn said as they went out, Wally trailing behind.

“Was it the same as the trip wire?” Alleyn asked Coombe.

“Certainly was. But I reckon they all use it.”

“It’s old but it’s been newly cut. Have you kept the trip wire?”

“Yes.”

“How was it fastened?”

“With iron pegs. They use them when they dry out their nets.”

“Well, let’s move on, shall we?”

Patrick was sitting in a dinghy alongside the fisherman’s jetty, looking aloof and disinterested. Wally made up to a new pair of sightseers.

“That was very nice of you,” Alleyn said to Jenny. “And I’m more than obliged.”

“I hated it. Mr. Alleyn, he really isn’t responsible. You can see what he’s like.”

“Do you think he threw the stones at Miss Emily the other night?”

She said very unhappily, “Yes.”

“So do I.”

“But nothing else. I’m sure: nothing more than that.”

“You may be right. I’d be very grateful, by the way, if you’d keep the whole affair under your hat. Will you do that?”