Tom Winter made up his mind to talk. His words came with a rush.
‘I’d have said it was impossible, only Mr Chudley is so dead set on sailing. He needed a lot of repairs this year, and I put them in hand for him. But I’m a small concern and I have to be paid for my material as I go along. Mr Chudley couldn’t manage the figure I gave him, so the work had to be suspended pro tem.’
‘I’m here as Mr Chudley’s friend,’ said David. ‘As I told you. I’ve not even made contact with the police yet. You may not want to tell me anything if you have your doubts of Chudley, but it would help a lot if you would say what you know about this money that is supposed to have been the incentive.’
‘I don’t see any harm in that,’ answered Winter. ‘Mr Harcourt was very regular in his habits. He didn’t come ashore more often than he could help, and he only went into Southampton once a month for stores and that. I think he always got his money on these trips, because he’d come into my office and pay his bill for the moorings, and any odd jobs we’d done for him. Regular as clockwork. And he always had a tidy bit of money with him those days.’
‘The day of his death was one of those days?’
‘Yes. And I noticed he had a lot of money in his wallet, more even than he usually did. There were a lot of five-pound notes, besides the usual thick wad of pound notes. I wasn’t really surprised because he was planning to go off down west to the Helford River for a month, starting at the next week-end, when he had a crew joining.’
‘I see. Have you any idea which bank he used?’
‘Oh, yes. It was on his cheques. We’ll get back on shore, and I’ll give you the address.’
With this written down on a slip of paper David was leaving the office when he paused and looked back.
‘I suppose no one else saw that money?’ he asked.
Winter’s face showed his annoyance. David repeated his question, adding, ‘The police will be sure to ask. It might help to get things clear first.’
Tom Winter nodded.
‘They did ask,’ he said. ‘I told them what I’m telling you. Young Bob Goacher, one of my apprentices, came in just as Mr Harcourt peeled off one of the single notes to give me. He must have seen, too. Couldn’t have helped it.’
‘Do you mind if I have a word with him?’
‘I’ll take you down to the shed. Whether he’ll speak up or not is his affair.’
Goacher was in the boat-builder’s shed, at work on a new fourteen-foot sailing dinghy. David went up to him and began, first of all, to admire his work.
‘She’ll be a nice job,’ agreed the young man, shortly. He seemed disinclined to talk. But as David continued his praise he dropped his reserve and became enthusiastic in his turn.
Very soon he was describing the sort of boat he meant to have for himself, and this seemed likely to continue indefinitely when he suddenly broke off with a muttered ‘Castles in the air.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t say that,’ said David easily. ‘You might win your football pools, or get left a legacy.’
Bob swung round on him.
‘What do you know?’ he asked quickly.
‘What about?’
‘People are saying I did the poor old beggar in to get his money. I did a lot of odd jobs for him one way and another. He used to say as a bit of a joke, “I’ll remember you in my will, Bob.” I never took it seriously. Now they’re saying I did.’
‘Do they say when you are supposed to have done it? Mr Chudley tells me the yard people went home at six and there was no one here when he tied up at seven-fifteen.’
‘That’s right. But I came back. Mr Harcourt wanted his accumulator. It was being charged and it wasn’t ready earlier. I fetched it here from the shop, and took it out to him at half-past seven. Just handed it to him and left.’
‘How did you get out over the mud, and back?’
The lad grinned.
‘It wasn’t quite dried out. But I had to get ashore climbing from one to another of the rest of the dinghies. I doubt anyone could have done it after me.’
‘Until well after sundown?’
‘That’s right.’
David next visited the bank where Mr Harcourt had kept his account. After a few words of explanation to the manager he was allowed to see Denton, the cashier who had served Mr Harcourt on the day he was killed.
‘Denton is not allowed to tell you anything about Mr Harcourt’s account,’ said the manager, as he moved towards the door of his room in order to leave the two men together. ‘In fact he will have very little to tell you, I’m afraid. The police told us to say as little as possible to the Press.’
‘I’m not the Press,’ said David, ‘as I told you before. I’m a friend of John Chudley’s.’
‘We’d like to oblige Mr Chudley,’ said the manager, in a guarded manner, ‘since he’s a customer of ours, too.’
When he had gone David turned to the cashier.
‘How many of you are there working here?’
‘Just the manager and one other clerk and myself. You see, we’re only a small branch for the convenience of people further out. The main branch is in the City centre.’
‘I see. Now tell me about Mr Harcourt’s visit.’
Denton drew a deep breath.
‘The old gentleman came in according to his usual habit at one o’clock precisely. I was on duty. I generally take the one to two break while the manager is out to his lunch. I go off twelve to one. The other chap and the young lady also go from one to two. We do practically no business during that hour.’
‘Are you quite alone in the bank at that time?’
‘The porter is back. He’s handy if wanted.’
‘So Mr Harcourt cashed his cheque at that time. Was he the only customer in the bank?’
‘Except for Mr Chudley. He was there, too, and spoke to Mr Harcourt. He was in very good form; we had our usual little chat about sailing.’
‘Ah!’ said David. ‘You are one of the breed, are you?’
‘I’m very keen. I have a twelve-foot dinghy of my own.’
‘Where do you keep her?’
‘At Thimble. That’s about two miles down-stream from where Mr Harcourt’s yacht is.’
‘I’d like to see your boat,’ said David.
They agreed to meet at Thimble village pub near the river-side at six that evening.
Denton’s boat was on a mooring amongst a fleet of other small craft. David was surprised to see that her mainsail was bent on and neatly rolled under a sail-cover.
Denton borrowed a pram and rowed David off.
‘I haven’t got one of my own,’ he explained.
‘But you prefer a mooring?’ asked David politely.
Most small craft, like this twelve-footer, were pulled up on the hard after use, and the sails and halliards taken away and stowed in the boat-house. It was better for the sails, and prevented weed growing on the boat’s bottom.
‘Yes,’ Denton answered the question. ‘I think so. I can go out without wasting time. Less risk to the paint, too. Besides, I’m hoping to have an all aluminium boat before long, larger than this, of course. I secured a mooring when one was available. They are not so easy to come by.’
The two men climbed into the sailing dinghy. She was a smart little craft, painted bright red, with chromium fittings and an aluminium mast.
‘I’d like to take you for a sail, and show you what she can do,’ Denton said. ‘But the tide’s still running down for three hours or more, and there doesn’t seem to be much wind, and what there is will probably drop in the next hour or so. With no wind and no motor we couldn’t make up against the tide.’
‘Pity,’ said David. ‘Another time, perhaps.’
He touched the neatly stowed halliards, all grouped round the aluminium mast.
‘I’ve enjoyed se
eing her,’ he said politely.
Denton put him on shore, whence he made his way back to Chudley’s house. After dinner he got his friend to take him to the police station.
‘You’re in the clear, old boy—I think,’ he explained, as they drove along. ‘But the moment has come to declare myself to the official mind, and persuade them how right I am.’
‘But it’s less than twenty-four hours since you arrived,’ said John, doubtfully.
‘You’ve no idea how co-operative everyone has been,’ David answered.
At the police station David saw Inspector Wright and explained his position in the case, and also who he was, and why Chudley had asked for his help.
‘We know all that,’ said Inspector Wright. ‘You’ve been noticed here and there today, and we took the trouble to check up with Winter for the name, which rang a bell, so we were able to get the rest. You have a reputation for poking your nose into this sort of thing, Dr Wintringham.’
David laughed. The Inspector’s voice was genial; opposition might not be severe.
‘Was that why the bank manager was so cagey?’
It was the Inspector’s turn to laugh.
‘I’ll let you into the detail of the money. Harcourt cashed a cheque for sixty pounds that morning. He spent ten pounds on stores and small bills, Winter’s among them. The other fifty has gone.’
‘Apart from the bank the only people who knew he had all that money were the people he paid in cash, including Winter, and the ones who saw it, Chudley at the bank, and Goacher at the yard.’
‘That’s right.’
‘About Harcourt. He was fully dressed, wasn’t he? That and the evidence of the burgee puts the time early in the evening.’
‘His clothes wouldn’t. The only irregular thing in his habits was his bed-time. Oh, and his meals. People have seen the light on in his cabin well into the small hours. Not that anyone seems to have noticed it that night. He was getting a bit eccentric the last few years. Not surprising, with his history.’
‘So he could have been attacked during the night, when the tide was up again. Provided someone remembered to hoist his burgee again, too. The weapon went overboard, presumably.’
‘Not in the vicinity. At least, we’ve not found it. But it might be anywhere in the river.’
‘And the motive was unquestionably money?’ said David.
‘We haven’t come across any other,’ said Inspector Wright.
‘My friend John, and the boy, Bob Goacher, both have that motive. Winter complained of being short on capital, too. All of those could do with more money. But so, perhaps, could Denton, the bank cashier.’
‘Could he?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s very possible. I can’t prove it, but you could.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Wright, eyeing David closely. ‘He lives very quietly, he’s a bachelor, he pays all his bills, his only hobby is sailing.’
‘He wants a two-and-a-half-ton all aluminium yacht,’ said David.
The other smiled.
‘They all want more than they can afford in the way of boats. It isn’t often serious.’
‘In the case of these four it was serious enough to drive one of them to murder,’ said David.
There was silence for a time, then the Inspector said, ‘You’ve worked out the points about the ebb, I see.’
‘I have. But according to my theory they don’t matter.’
‘No. But have you anything to support it?’
‘The evidence is rather slender,’ said David. ‘Literally slender.’
He produced a few frayed wisps of rope from his wallet.
‘These came off Mr Harcourt’s boat. Identify them, and I think they will lead you to agree with me.’
He described his visit to the yacht that morning.
‘I see what you mean,’ said Inspector Wright. ‘But I’m dashed if I can see how we can make anything out of it.’
‘I’ll tell you,’ said David.
The next morning Chudley, Goacher, Winter, and Denton were taken out separately to Helena II, in turn, and then, after being brought back to land, to the police station.
David followed them there, and on arriving found Chudley, Goacher, and Winter sitting together in the charge-room.
‘Where is Denton?’ he asked.
‘In the superintendent’s office. He said would you please go in, sir. This way, sir.’
Denton, white-faced and cringing, swung round as he entered. David looked at him.
‘You didn’t take enough trouble, Denton,’ he said. ‘It was quite a neat idea to put up the burgee again after you killed Harcourt. It muddled the time. It made it seem impossible for anyone from your part of the river to come up by water and do it before sundown. There was no wind that evening, we know. You were lucky with the medical evidence, too. It is not always easy to put the time of death within a few hours, and Harcourt must have had his last meal particularly late that evening, which was a bit of luck for you at the post-mortem. You were helped by the fact that Mr Chudley and Goacher both visited the yacht between six and eight, when you were known to have been playing around in your own dinghy down at Thimble. Also your boat is red, and by using Mr Chudley’s green dinghy to bump the yacht’s side you again suggested local effort. Going off, from Winter’s yard, as you did, some time early that night, you had enough water to use the landing-stage and keep the mud off your clothes. You saw his cabin light on, and knew he was up, so you had your weapon handy and your plan of action prepared. You scrambled on board Helena quickly, not caring if you bumped her or not, or was that devilishly deliberate? You must have flung a loop of the dinghy painter round the nearest stanchion to make fast, jumped up over the rail, and struck down Mr Harcourt as he began to come up on deck to see what was happening. You took the money and put out the cabin lights. You flung the weapon in the river—or did you row farther off, afterwards, to sink it where it couldn’t be picked up? But you ought to have known Mr Harcourt better. You ought to have got to know his yacht better before you tampered with her. Because several people knew him and his ways and his boat very well indeed.’
‘You’re mad,’ Denton spluttered. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Read him what the other three said,’ David suggested.
The Superintendent took up three pieces of paper which Inspector Wright pushed along the desk to him.
‘Chudley, Winter, and Goacher all state the same things,’ the Superintendent began. ‘They were asked separately this morning, as you were, to put down anything unusual you saw on the yacht Helena. You put down one word: Nothing. They all pointed out that the burgee hoist is at present fastened to a cleat at the foot of the mast, whereas Mr Harcourt invariably fastened it to the shrouds on the starboard side. He had a thing about halliards flapping. He tied all his strings out away from the mast.’
‘That was what I noticed,’ said David. ‘And moreover, I found some frayed bits of rope on the shrouds. They tally with the hoist, don’t they, Superintendent?’
‘That’s so.’
‘Just because you make fast your own burgee halliard to a cleat on your mast is no reason you should do so on another boat. Every man has his own way of fixing things. You ought to have remembered that and gone to look first. After all, you knew it would be dark when you planned to go off to kill an unsuspecting, defenceless old man, in order to steal his money. The money you had counted out to him yourself that very morning.’
‘I didn’t,’ said Denton, breathlessly. ‘That’s no proof. I didn’t notice that burgee halliard, I didn’t notice anything wrong, but why should I? I’ve never been on that boat in my life.’
‘Someone put the burgee up again. The man with a motive for murder. You, Denton.’
‘Why me? I only saw him once a month. What did I know of his affairs? What should I do it for, any
way? I had no motive.’
‘I’m afraid you had,’ said David.
He looked at the Superintendent, who nodded to him to go on.
‘Your own story of your times of work at the bank showed me that for an hour every day you had the bank to yourself. You could have indulged in a spot of embezzling if you had wanted to.’
‘And you did,’ said Inspector Wright, leaning forward. ‘Your manager had already found the leak, and he was expecting you to do something about it, though he naturally never thought of murder. He came to us a couple of days after the murder, because he found that some of the trouble had been put right. That gave us ideas, but there didn’t seem to be anything to go on until Dr Wintringham came along with his theory about the burgee.’
‘I didn’t pin it on Denton until he showed me his own boat,’ said David, determined to be honest. ‘Seeing his own halliards stowed round the mast, and knowing from the wisps of rope that Harcourt had been in the habit of tying out his burgee halliard like his other ropes, it was obvious.’
‘You devil!’ the cashier gasped. ‘You treacherous devil!’
‘That’s enough of that,’ said the Superintendent.
Denton was charged with the murder and removed. The Superintendent said, ‘You’d never think a sailing man would do such a thing.’
‘He sailed for show,’ said David. ‘Haven’t you seen his boat? Vulgar little piece, she is. Not the design, of course. The way he had her. Good varnished wood wasn’t flashy enough for him; he had to have red paint. And he kept her in the river, away from the other dinghies; fully rigged, too, as if she was a cruising yacht, not a twelve-foot sailing dinghy at all. Also he told me he wanted a bigger craft, all alloy. Metal boats are pretty expensive.’
The Superintendent said, ‘I congratulate you, Dr Wintringham. They all have pretty good alibis for that night, and now we know which we have to break. Save us a lot of time. Your observation lets the other three out, too, at the same time it puts Denton in.’
David smiled, then turning to Inspector Wright, said, ‘Does that lad, Bob Goacher, really get a legacy from the old man?’
Deep Waters Page 25