Chapter 19
Undeterred by dark clouds threatening more rain, and by the fact that their creations never survived more than a few hours, Belinda and Deva were hard at work on yet another castle.
Daisy, relaxing in a deck-chair Peter Anstruther had obligingly carried down to the beach for her, tried to concentrate on a new library book.
Her mind wandered.
Anstruther was still a suspect. Though Alec hadn’t been able to tell her much in that sneaky Inspector Mallow’s presence, he surely would have let her know if their host was exonerated.
This afternoon, Anstruther and Cecily both seemed preoccupied, not exactly worried but their thoughts elsewhere.
At least they themselves were still here, unlike Donald Baskin.
Daisy had returned from the parish hall to find that Baskin had departed, his knapsack on his back.
He’d told the girls he was off on an afternoon’s hike with his picnic tea, as he’d mentioned to Daisy he might.
But she remembered that he had arrived in Westcombe with all his possessions in the knapsack.
Suppose he had quietly packed up again and scarpered?
He had come in search of George Enderby, that seemed indisputable. Foreseeing a possible opportunity to give the dastard his
comeuppance, Baskin might well have used a false name, in which case the police would find it near impossible to trace him.
So, ought Daisy to go and tell them he had gone off again? She tried to weigh the pros and cons.
Baskin had originally intended to leave today, satisfied with having accomplished what he came for.
He had seen most of the countryside hereabouts, he had hurried to explain.
Had he stayed on just to give the girls a treat, or to watch where the police investigation was heading?
If the latter, why should he decamp now?
Nothing suggested they were about to single him out from the list of suspects.
Daisy tried to remember what Alec had said about Baskin’s apparent reactions on hearing Enderby was dead.
No, she thought, not that he was dead, but that he had fallen from the cliff.
First, believing Enderby to be injured, he had seemed frustrated, or rather, as though he didn’t know what to do next.
Suppose he had planned to give Enderby a thrashing, why should he care that his goal was thwarted since someone else had done the job for him?
But if he had planned to kill him, the injuries would complicate matters since Enderby would be under medical care.
He might well be unsure as to what was now his best course of action.
On the other hand, Enderby’s death meant he did not have to go through with the planned murder. Small wonder if he had been relieved!
Daisy found herself faced with the conclusion that Baskin had come to Westcombe to discover whether the landlord of the Schooner really was the man he was after, and if so to kill him.
And that led her right back to the question of whether he had in fact pushed Enderby over, which could account equally well for his relief on hearing he was dead, not merely injured.
Before Daisy had time to work out whether she was indulging in circular reasoning—an error not unknown to her—or ought to tell Alec that Baskin had left, Peter Anstruther arrived.
“Not the best of weather for lounging on the beach, I’m afraid,”
he said. “Ceci sent me to ask if you’d like me to carry down your tea on a tray, but I expect you’d rather come back to the house.”
“I don’t know. The girls are having a wonderful time. I’m sure they’d rather have sand in their sandwiches than have to wash and change and brush their hair.”
Looking down the beach, he laughed. “They are in the middle of an ambitious project, aren’t they? When I was a boy, my mother used to have the greatest difficulty getting me to come in for meals.”
“The house was your father’s?” Daisy asked, then suddenly couldn’t recall whether that was a scrap of information she ought not to know. That was always a risk with eavesdropping.
But for all Anstruther knew, his wife had told her.
“Yes,” he said, sitting down on a nearby rock.
“My grandfather did well enough as a skilled craftsman with one of the local shipbuilders to build himself a cottage here. The business was booming in those days, but Westcombe isn’t a deep enough port to build the modern big ships.
My father went into the Coast Guard. He enlarged the house when he married. I’ve lived here all my life.”
“I envy you. It’s a beautiful place.”
“It’s wonderful to come home to after months at sea—years during the War—but that’s the trouble.” He sighed. “I’ve been at sea the greater part of the last twenty years.”
“Trouble?” Daisy said sympathetically.
“My poor Ceci! She’s never complained, so I didn’t realize how lonely she’s been.
You’re too kind to condemn her for … for what happened, but she can’t go on living here among people who know.
That’s what I was thinking about up at the old fort yesterday, trying to work out what to do for the best. I just needed to get away somewhere quiet where I could think!
Obviously, that bast—sorry, that dastard of an inspector didn’t believe me. ”
“Oh, Mallow didn’t believe Mr. Baskin’s story, either. At a guess, he never believes anything anyone says, on principle. Of course, the police have to be sceptical, but you needn’t worry that Alec automatically
disbelieves what he’s told. Did you come to any conclusions about what to do next?”
“The first step is obvious. I’m already working at a letter applying for a shore job. Gunnery instructor, with luck, not a glorified clerk. It may mean I don’t get my commission, which I was hoping for next voyage, but it can’t be helped.”
“Will you miss the sea?”
“There’ll be plenty of short sails. You can’t teach a man to shoot from a ship if he don’t go to sea.”
“I suppose not.”
“Then, once I find out where I’m posted, I’ll have to sell the house.
I can’t deny it’ll be a wrench, but if I can’t live here, there’s no point hanging on to it.
It’s not as if I’ve stopped in this corner of Devon all my life.
I know how to get on anywhere in the world. We’ll be all right and tight.”
“I’m sure you will. You seem to have had a productive session of sweet silent thought.”
Anstruther looked blank. “A what?”
“Sorry! It’s a bit of Shakespeare, I think. Poetry, anyway, and misquoted, and the reverse of relevant if I remember the next line correctly. I just meant you came to a lot of decisions while you were at the camp.”
“Actually, I’d pretty much decided all that already.
It was more a matter of thinking things through, taking a look at possible consequences, making sure I’d decided right.
And, to tell the truth, I was in two minds what to do about Enderby.
The temptation to give him a good hiding was nearly irresistible. ”
“Nearly?”
Standing up, Anstruther paced restlessly, one fist smacking into the other hand, while he explained.
“It would have done more harm than good, wouldn’t it?
Drawn more attention to Ceci, confirmed in people’s minds that what Stebbins said was true, perhaps got me thrown out of the Navy. I’d almost made up my mind the game
wasn’t worth the candle, but the temptation was still there, I can’t deny it. It’s just as well for us that someone else got to him first, and more lethally than I’d ever contemplated.” He stopped and looked straight at Daisy. “I didn’t kill him.”
“I’m quite prepared to believe you, or the girls and I would have left your house by now. But Alec needs evidence.”
He smiled. “I’m cheered by the thought that the chief inspector hasn’t moved out, either. What about tea?”
Daisy glanced at Bel and Deva, still absorbed in their building. “We’ll have it down here, if it’s really not too much trouble and if it doesn’t start raining.”
“Right you are. Thank you for letting me get that off my chest, Mrs. Fletcher.” He sketched a salute and turned towards the house.
All very well, Daisy thought: She was indeed prepared to believe—even inclined to believe—that Anstruther hadn’t killed Enderby, but that wasn’t quite the same thing as actually believing.
He produced lots of good reasons for not pursuing vengeance, but had he really thought better of it?
On the other hand, would he be calmly making plans for his and Cecily’s future if there was a possibility that he might at any moment be arrested for killing his wife’s lover?
“What’s done is done,” he had said. “No use crying over spilt milk.” Did that philosophy enable him to continue coolly with his life as though he had not committed murder?
He had means, opportunity, and a strong motive. Not that means was an important indicator in this case. If Enderby had been close enough to the edge of the cliff and taken by surprise, practically anyone could have pushed him over.
How close to the edge had the jacket and earring been found?
Daisy wished she had thought to ask Miss Bellamy.
As for taking the victim by surprise, Georgie Porgie would have been on the alert the instant he caught sight of Anstruther, his known enemy.
Baskin would have had a much better chance of getting close to Enderby, who had no reason to suppose him an ill-wisher.
Where Donald Baskin was concerned, motive was the sticking
point. Daisy could not forget his mutter in the dark garden: “That settles it! The man’s a cad and a bounder and he’s got to be stopped.
” It sounded as if what they had overheard about Enderby and Cecily had been the last straw, making Baskin decide to act.
But what were the rest of the straws burdening the proverbial camel?
Impossible to believe that the mild schoolmaster was actually a maniac who went around righting other people’s wrongs by murder!