Josephine Tey - To Love and Be Wise

'Between here and Salcott. Depends on the amount of rain. We've had so little lately that you'd normally find the river low, but they had a cloudburst at Tunstall on Tuesday-out of the blue in the good old English fashion-and the Rushmere came down like a mill-race.

'I see. What became of the camp stuff?

'Walter Whitmore had it taken up to Trimmings.

'I take it that Searle's normal belongings are still at Trimmings.

'I expect so.

'Perhaps I had better take a look through them tonight. If there was anything interesting to us among them it will have gone by now, but they may be suggestive. Had Searle been on good terms with the other inhabitants of Salcott, do you know?

'Well, I hear there was a scene about a fortnight ago. A dancer chap flung a mug of beer over him.

'Why? asked Grant, identifying the 'dancer chap' without difficulty. Marta was a faithful recorder of Salcott history.

'He didn't like the attentions that Toby Tullis was paying to Searle, so they say.

'Did Searle?

'No, if all reports are true, Rodgers said, his anxious face relaxing to a moment's amusement.

'So Tullis wouldn't love him very much either?

'Perhaps not.

'You haven't had time, I suppose, to get round to alibis.

'No. It wasn't until early evening that we found it might be more than a simple case of missing. Up till then it was a simple matter of drag and search. When we found what was turning up we wanted outside help and sent for you.

'I'm glad you sent so soon. It's a great help to be there when the tapes go up. Well, I don't think there is anything else we can do here. We had better get back to Wickham, and I'll take over.

Rodgers dropped them at the White Hart, and left them with assurances of any help that was within his power.

'Good man, that, Grant said, as they climbed the stairs to inspect their rooms under the roof-rooms with texts in wools and flowered wall-paper-'he ought to be at the Yard.

'It's a queer set-up, isn't it? Williams said, firmly taking the pokier of the two rooms. 'The rope trick in an English meadow. What do you think happened to him, sir?

'I don't know about "rope trick", but it does smell strongly of sleight-of-hand. Now you see it, now you don't. The old conjurer's trick of the distracted attention. Ever seen a lady sawn in half, Williams?

'Many's the time.

'There's a strong aroma of sawn lady about this. Or don't you smell it?

'I haven't got your nose, sir. All I see is a very queer set-up. A spring night in England, and a young American goes missing in the mile between the village and the river. You really think he might have ducked, sir?

'I can't think of any adequate reason why he should, but perhaps Whitmore can.

'I expect he will be very anxious to, Williams said dryly.

But oddly enough Walter Whitmore showed no anxiety to put forward any such theory. On the contrary, he scorned it. It was absurd, he said, manifestly absurd, to suggest that Searle should have left of his own accord. Quite apart from the fact that he was very happy, he had a very profitable deal to look forward to. He had been enormously enthusiastic about the book they were doing together, and it was fantastic to suggest that he would just walk out like that.

Grant had come to Trimmings after dinner, tactfully allowing for the fact that dinner at Trimmings must be very late on broadcast day. He had sent in word to ask if Mr Whitmore would see Alan Grant, and had not mentioned his business until he was face to face with Walter.

His first thought on seeing Walter Whitmore in the flesh was how much older he looked than he had expected; and then wondered whether it was that Walter looked much older than he had done on Wednesday. He looked disorientated, Grant thought; adrift. Something had happened to him that did not belong to the world he knew and recognised.

But he took Grant's announcement of his identity calmly.

'I was almost expecting you, he said, offering cigarettes. 'Not you personally, of course. Just a representative of what has come to be known as the Higher Levels.

Grant had asked about their trip down the Rushmere, so as to set him talking; if you got a man to talk enough he lost his defensive quality. Whitmore was drawing too hard on his cigarette but talking quite freely. Before he had actually reached their Wednesday evening visit to the Swan, Grant deflected him. It was too early yet to ask him about that night.

'You don't really know much about Searle, do you, he pointed out. 'Had you heard of him at all before he turned up at that party of Ross's?

'No, I hadn't. But that isn't strange. Photographers are two a penny. Almost as common as journalists. There was no reason why I should have heard of him.

'You have no reason to believe that he may not be what he represented himself to be?

'No, certainly not. I may never have heard of him, but Miss Easton-Dixon certainly had.

'Miss Easton-Dixon?

'One of our local authors. She writes fairy-tales, and is a film addict. Not only did she know about Searle but she has a photograph.

'A photograph? Grant said, startled and pleased.

'In one of those film magazines. I haven't seen it myself. She talked about it one night when she came to dinner.

'And she met Searle when she came to dinner? And identified him?

'She did. They had a wonderful get-together. Searle had photographed some of her pet actors, and she had reproductions of them too.

'So there is no doubt in your mind that Searle is what he says he is.

'I notice you use the present tense, Inspector. That cheers me. But he sounded more ironic than cheered.

'Have you yourself any theory as to what could have happened, Mr Whitmore?

'Short of fiery chariots or witches' broomsticks, no. It is the most baffling thing.

Grant caught himself thinking that Walter Whitmore, too, was moved to think of sleight-of-hand.

'The most reasonable explanation, I suppose, Walter went on, 'is that he lost his way in the dark and fell into the river at some other spot, where no one would hear him.

'And why don't you approve of that theory? Grant asked, answering the tone that Whitmore used.

'Well, for one thing, Searle had eyes like a cat. I had slept out with him for four nights, and I know. He was wonderful in the dark. Secondly he had an extra-good bump of locality. Thirdly he was by all accounts cold sober when he left the Swan. Fourthly it is a bee-line from Salcott to the river-bank where we were camped, by the hedges all the way. You can't stray, because if you walk away from the hedge you walk into plough or crop of some kind. And lastly, though this is hearsay evidence, Searle could swim very well indeed.

'There is a suggestion, Mr Whitmore, that you and Searle were on bad terms on Wednesday evening. Is there any truth in that?

'I thought we should get to that sooner or later, Walter said. He pressed the half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray until it was a misshapen wreck.

'Well? Grant prompted, as he seemed to have nothing more to say.

'We had what might be called a-a «spat», I suppose. I was-annoyed. Nothing more than that.

'He annoyed you so much that you left him at the pub and walked back by yourself.

'I like being by myself.

'And you went to sleep without waiting for his return.

'Yes. I didn't want to talk to him any more that night. He annoyed me, I tell you. I thought that I might be in a better humour and he in a less provocative mood in the morning.

'He was provocative?

'I think that is the word.

'About what?

'I don't have to tell you that.

'You don't have to tell me anything, Mr Whitmore.

'No, I know I don't. But I want to be as helpful as I can. God knows I want this thing cleared up as soon as possible. It is just that what we-disagreed about is something personal and irrelevant. It has no bearing whatever on anything that happened to Searle on Wednesday night. I certainly didn't lie in wait for him on the way home, or push him into the river, or subject him to violence.