Chapter 19 #2
Daisy sighed. She wasn’t getting anywhere.
Besides, for all she knew, by now Alec might have found witnesses to give both men alibis, or proof that Stebbins or Coleman was the murderer.
Or he might have found Coleman’s daughter and received from her an eyewitness report.
She wished she had an excuse to go and ask him.
A drop of rain splotched the open page of her book. Quickly she closed it and tucked it into her bag. No tea on the beach today. She managed to lever herself out of the deck-chair. As she straightened, she looked towards Bel and Deva and saw that Sid had arrived upon the scene.
He looked very much more respectable since his night in the washhouse gaol.
Though his feet were still bare, the trousers of dark brown duck had no visible holes.
His shirt, a green and brown check, was collarless, but he wore a red handkerchief around his neck.
It clashed abominably with the pink and purple band of the Panama Belinda had given him.
Beneath its brim, the stubbled chin and shy, innocent eyes were the same.
His hair was short and neat, though. Mrs. Puckle must have trimmed his mane.
He didn’t have his cart with him, but he had brought something to give the children.
Sid the beachcomber was Sid Coleman, the farmer’s brother and thus uncle to the vanished Olive. Might Olive have taken refuge in his shack? Surely Alec wouldn’t mind if she asked.
Daisy walked down the beach. The rain was spitting down now, and it was time to go in to tea. The girls skipped towards her, each adorned with a necklace of shells and feathers strung on fishing line.
“Look, Mummy! Sid made these for us. Isn’t he clever? It’ll be perfect with my Red Indian costume you brought me from America.”
Behind them, Sid beamed and nodded, took out his mouth-organ and played a snatch of “Widdecombe Fair.”
Deva pulled a face. “My ayah,” she said softly, “would say only an Untouchable would wear such rubbish.”
At least she spoke softly. Some of Belinda’s care for other people’s feelings had rubbed off on her. “How nice of Sid,” said Daisy. “I hope you both thanked him.”
“Of course, Mummy.”
“Good. Then collect your things and go on up to the house for tea, before you get any wetter. If that’s possible. I’ll be with you in a moment. I just want to ask Sid a question.”
Sid cocked his head with an enquiring look. Then his gaze moved beyond Daisy. His face convulsed with fright and he took to his heels.
“Sid!”
He scuttled on, heading for his cart, which he’d left on the track a short way up the hill, Daisy saw.
Turning, she found Peter Anstruther approaching. He was in civvies but had on his RN cap, presumably the first thing that came to hand to keep his hair dry. He stared after Sid. “What’s up with him? He’s never been afraid of me before.”
“Perhaps it’s your headgear. He’s probably afraid of any uniform since Constable Puckle hauled him off to the clink for the night.”
“Puckle arrested Sid? What on earth for?”
As they followed the girls back up the beach, Daisy told him about Sid’s brush with Mrs. Hammett and the law.
“Meddlesome old bi—witch,” he said with the easy tolerance of one rarely present to be meddled with.
He stopped to fold the deck-chair. “This is what I came down for, to help you with the chair. Ceci was sure you’d not want tea on the beach in this rain, not that it’s what we’d call rain at sea.
” Deck-chair in one hand, his other under her elbow to help her through the rocks, he went on, “Fred Puckle’s not a bad chap, a bit slow, but when Ellen Hammett gets on her high horse, it’s easier to knuckle under. ”
“She does rather steamroller one,” Daisy agreed.
While he put the deck-chair away in the shed, she went into the house and upstairs to make sure Bel and Deva scrubbed the sand from their fingernails.
Belinda wanted to wear Sid’s necklace to tea.
Deva didn’t. Daisy failed to see a problem, but they assured her they both had to do the same.
Bel won, by pointing out that as they weren’t at a huge, grand hotel such as Deva had occasionally stayed at with her parents, no one would see them anyway.
When they went down, Daisy was surprised to find that Donald Baskin had already returned.
He made the rain his excuse, though it was still only spitting, enough to deter a picnic but not a seasoned hiker.
To Daisy, he seemed to be on edge. Of course, being suspected of murder was enough to unsettle anyone.
Over tea, his schoolmaster aspect came to the fore. Challenging the girls to a memory game, he told them what all their shells and feathers were and proposed that after tea they should each write a list to see how many they remembered.
When they were thus occupied, he said to Daisy, “As I think you guessed, it wasn’t the rain that drove me back. To tell the truth, I started wondering whether your husband had found anyone to confirm my movements yesterday, or if he might be looking for me to ask more questions.”
“As far as I know, he hasn’t been looking for you. It might mean that your alibi’s been confirmed, or just that he’s too busy with other threads of the investigation.”
“At least that suggests that I’m not the chief suspect!
I assume the people at the Ferries Inn and on the ferry at least haven’t denied the possibility of my having been there at lunchtime.
There’s something else: I didn’t get a chance last night to mention to the inspector that I exchanged greetings with two or three yokels as I walked.
Not that I could pinpoint where. I can’t see how the police would find them and it seems unlikely they’d know what time I passed, anyway.
But do you think I ought to go and tell them? ”
“It can’t hurt. You’d be amazed at what they can find out when
they put their minds to it. As a matter of fact, I have something to tell Alec.
I was thinking of popping over to the parish hall if Mrs. Anstruther doesn’t mind keeping an eye on the girls.
Why don’t you go with me?” With any luck at all, Daisy thought, as they walked along together he would confide the reason for his interest in George Enderby.
She went to the kitchen. At one end of the table Cecily was rolling pastry.
At the other end, Anstruther was chewing on a pencil, in the throes of drafting a letter.
Several balls of crumpled paper testified to his difficulties.
From the scullery came a splashing and the chink of china as Vera washed up the tea things.
Daisy asked if Cecily would mind taking charge of Belinda and Deva for a while.
“Not at all. Do you think they’d like to help me make jam tarts?”
“I expect so.” Bel certainly would, and she could probably persuade Deva it would be fun. “But don’t feel you have to entertain them. Mr. Baskin and I are both going over to the parish hall. I don’t suppose we’ll be long.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Anstruther, throwing down his pencil. “I want to know what’s going on. And the inspector said we’d have to make formal statements. Might as well get it over with.”
Daisy suppressed a sigh. With Anstruther along, she had to abandon all hope of confidences from Baskin.