Chapter 16
When Alec returned to the parish hall, Puckle reported on his call upon the Wallaces. Rory Wallace had indeed driven over from Plymouth on Sunday, arriving shortly before his father was called out to the lifeboat.
“Damn!” said Alec, studying the map. “That’s much too late.
Anstruther said he saw him just before Malborough, but it wouldn’t take young Wallace more than a few minutes to get to Westcombe.
Anstruther should have reached South Huish by then if he rode straight there, or even the camp, if he didn’t hang about waiting for his friend. ”
Inspector Mallow rubbed his hands together in a satisfied way. “So Anstruther went round by the cliff and shoved the victim over, just as I thought. It’s a wonder how you cleared up the case so quick. Scotland Yard methods, eh? D’you want me to apply for a warrant, sir, or will you do it?”
“Not so fast! In the first place, we don’t know that it was Wallace he saw.
Secondly, Wallace may have stopped to see a friend in the village before going to his parents’ house.
And in the third place, Mrs. Stebbins confesses to an affair with Enderby and Tom Stebbins is not at home nor at his place of work, though I’m assured he’s a regular, steady worker. ”
“That he is, sir,” put in Puckle.
“Hopped it, has he?” Mallow frowned. “Well, that’s a puzzler, for sure.”
The telephone had still not been connected.
Alec sent Mallow up to the police station to try to get hold of Rory Wallace; to ask the Abbotsford police to send someone to enquire at the hotel Mrs. Stebbins had named for the commercial traveller she had named; and to ring up Exeter with a request to alert all South Devon officers to keep a lookout for Stebbins.
The gardener was not likely to flee far from home.
In particular, because of his unhappy experiences with his wife, London surely figured in his mind as anything but a refuge.
In fact, he had probably gone to roost with some local relative or friend. Alec set Puckle to calling on Stebbins’s known associates and family connections.
During Alec’s absence, Mallow had brought order to the piles of rough notes of which the investigation had hitherto consisted.
He had obtained a third table for Alec’s exclusive use, and on it had placed the two reports he had already completed in spite of the scant supplies of stationery available.
However unlikable, the man was efficient.
Alec had just sat down to read the report of DS Horrocks’s enquiries at the Schooner when a hideous roar rent the peaceful morning.
It grew louder, approaching, then suddenly cut off just outside the hall.
A moment later, a young man in dusty overalls bounded in, goggles in one hand, a large canvas satchel in the other.
This he set with a thump on the nearest table before coming to attention and saluting.
“Sergeant Tumbelow, sir, from Abbotsford. I brought the stuff you asked for, sir, and my motor-cycle. With a side-car, sir. I can take you wherever you want to go, right away!”
“Nowhere just now, thank you. But I do have a job for you,” he added as Tumbelow’s face fell. He introduced himself, then asked, “Are you wearing uniform under that kit?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Here, take a look at the map. You see the Ferries Inn. I want you to make enquiries about a hiker who dropped in yesterday for a drink with his picnic lunch. He claims to have then crossed over the river and immediately back again on the ferry.” Alec described Donald Baskin, realizing in the process what an undistinctive young man he was—medium height, medium build, medium-brown hair, a pleasant, ordinary face.
“Khaki trousers, brown boots, canvas knapsack, pipe-smoker. Oh, and a Norfolk jacket, nondescript colour. It’s not much to go on. Do your best.”
Tumbelow saluted and went out. A moment later, his machine roared to life and the racket receded up the street.
As quiet returned, Alec continued reading Horrocks’s report.
The staff of the inn confirmed that Enderby had sneaked out sometime between two and half past, and that his wife had remained on the premises, “run off her feet.” No one admitted to knowing where he had gone or whom he was going to meet.
An account of the quarrel between the Enderbys added nothing to what Daisy had overheard.
The chamber-maid confirmed that when Enderby first came to Westcombe, he and his “sister” had shared a bed. When he took up with Nancy, they had been heard to part discreetly and amicably, with a gift of twenty quid on one side and best wishes for good luck on the other.
Mallow came back just as Alec turned to the second report. “The word’s out all over the county, Mr. Fletcher,” he announced, rubbing his hands together briskly. “I don’t doubt we’ll have Stebbins under lock and key in no time.”
“What of Rory Wallace?”
“He was out of his office, an appointment with a client. His clerk will have him telephone here when he gets in. But now Stebbins has scarpered—”
“And the commercial traveller in Abbotsford?”
“No one of that name’s been staying at that hotel. I expect he gave Mrs. Stebbins a false name. But he don’t matter now we know it’s
Stebbins we’re after … or do you think him and his missus was in league together, sir?”
“Not a chance,” Alec said immediately, remembering the perky Cockney and the morose countryman. Then he reconsidered.
There were no flies on Rita Stebbins. Suppose she had thought up the uncheckable story about the traveller, then persuaded Enderby to meet her for one last fling on the cliffs and pushed him over.
Meanwhile her husband was to provide himself with an unbreakable alibi before disappearing, temporarily.
With a hue and cry out for Tom, no one would question his unfaithful wife too closely.
Reappearing, Tom would produce his alibi and the couple would be written off as suspects.
It sounded like one of Daisy’s wilder theories, far-fetched but possible.
Alec sighed. “On second thoughts, could be. When your chaps get back, we must check door-to-door with the Stebbinses’ neighbours and question the crew of the ferry to Abbotsford, as well as the hotel staff.
If Rita Stebbins travelled to Abbotsford yesterday afternoon, she’d not pass unnoticed. ”
“Right, sir.” Mallow made a note. “Still, we’ve narrowed it down to him with maybe her help.”
“Great Scott, no! We can’t by any means write off Anstruther or Baskin yet, and there’s still the farmer’s daughter to be found. We haven’t the shadow of a clue as to who she is.”
Andrew Vernon burst into the parish hall like a whirlwind, followed closely by a girl and a large black dog. Vernon skidded to a halt in front of Alec, holding up a tweed jacket.
“We found it! Oh, Julia, this is Chief Inspector Fletcher. Miss Bellamy, sir. Actually, one of the bobbies found the jacket. Then, of course, we concentrated on that area and we found a—something else. I’ve got it in here.
” He set his Portable Laboratory on the table.
“I’ll show you as soon as Julia leaves.”
“Mean beast!” Julia Bellamy was a pretty girl not a day over eighteen, with a fair bob beneath her brown, green-banded cloche. A dark
green skirt, good but well-worn, and bulky hand-knitted jumper failed to disguise a trim, athletic figure. Sturdy walking shoes emphasized long slim legs. No wonder Vernon was attracted. “I suppose,” she accused him, “you’re going to try and hog the credit for the earring, too!”
“Earring?”
“Julia found it. The rest of us were working back towards the cliff edge …”
“Actually, it was Popsy. Popsy, say ‘How do you do.’” The dog sat down and raised a paw, regarding Alec with soulful brown eyes.
Miss Bellamy patted her head. “Sorry, I haven’t any biscuits, girl.
She’s awfully clever, isn’t she? She was sniffing around where they found the jacket and she found an earring under a heather bush. ”
“And Julia picked it up so it’s got her fingerprints all over it. Isn’t that just like a girl?” Vernon extracted a small envelope from his case and handed it to Alec. “I put it in this, anyway.”
“Most men would have done exactly the same,” Alec assured Miss Bellamy as he opened the envelope and slid a dangling diamanté earring onto the table.
“Hijjous,” she observed dispassionately. “Cheap and nasty.”
But the sort of thing that would please a Cockney tart, or a farm-girl. He had to find out who Enderby’s latest flame had been.
“It’s so bright and shiny, it can’t have been there long,” Vernon pointed out. “I expect Enderby took it as a present for the girl he was meeting.”
Mallow had come up, giving the dog a wide berth when she wrinkled her lip at him. “Where’s the other one of the pair?” he wanted to know. “And where are my men?”
“Still up there, looking for it, and for the weapon—whatever he was hit with. Horrocks said we could bring you this one and the jacket.”
“Thank you.” Alec suspected the detective sergeant had been only too glad of an excuse to rid himself of his amateur assistants. “The sooner the better.”
“Shall I dust it for fingerprints?” Vernon offered eagerly.
Alec doubted that the single earring bore useful prints on its tiny, multi-faceted surfaces, especially as Miss Bellamy had handled it. He was inclined to let the young almost-doctor have a go, but Mallow’s disapproval was obvious.
“We’d better leave that to the experts,” Alec said.
After all, if they ever found out who the farm-girl was, she might very likely deny having met Enderby, in which case fingerprints could prove her presence.
“Why don’t you watch and learn? Miss Bellamy’s prints will have to be taken, too, for elimination. ”
“Gosh, really?” The vicar’s daughter was wide-eyed. “What a lark!”
“Did you touch it, too, Vernon?”
With regret, the young man admitted, “No, I took it from her with my forceps.”