Wrenching open the door, he fell in on his hands and knees, picked himself up. The door was shut with a slam by an agile porter and Bobby found himself looking at the sole occupant of the compartment.
It was a first-class carriage and in the corner facing the engine sat a dark girl smoking a cigarette. She had on a red skirt, a short green jacket and a brilliant blue beret, and despite a certain resemblance to an organ grinder's monkey (she had long sorrowful dark eyes and a puckered-up face) she was distinctly attractive.
In the midst of an apology, Bobby broke off.
'Why, it's you, Frankie!' he said. 'I haven't seen you for ages.' 'Well, I haven't seen you. Sit down and talk.' Bobby grinned.
'My ticket's the wrong colour.' 'That doesn't matter,' said Frankie kindly. 'I'll pay the difference for you.' 'My manly indignation rises at the thought,' said Bobby.
'How could I let a lady pay for me?' 'It's about all we seem to be good for these days,' said Frankie.
'I will pay the difference myself,' said Bobby heroically as a burly figure in blue appeared at the door from the corridor.
'Leave it to me,' said Frankie.
She smiled graciously at the ticket collector, who touched his hat as he took the piece of white cardboard from her and punched it.
'Mr Jones has just come in to talk to me for a bit,' she said.
'That won't matter, will it?' 'That's all right, your ladyship. The gentleman won't be staying long, I expect.' He coughed tactfully. 'I shan't be round again till after Bristol,' he added significantly.
'What can be done with a smile,' said Bob;by as the official withdrew.
Lady Frances Derwent shook her head thoughtfully.
'I'm not so sure it's the smile,' she said. 'I rather think it's father's habit of tipping everybody five shillings whenever he travels that does it.' 'I thought you'd given up Wales for good, Frankie.' Frances sighed.
'My dear, you know what it is. You know how mouldy parents can be. What with that and the bathrooms in the state they are, and nothing to do and nobody to see - and people simply won't come to the country to stay nowadays! They say they're economizing and they can't go so far. Well, I mean, what's a girl to do?' Bobby shook his head, sadly recognizing the problem.
'However,' went on Frankie, 'after the party I went to last night, I thought even home couldn't be worse.' 'What was wrong with the party?' 'Nothing at all. It was just like any other party, only more so.
It was to start at the Savoy at half-past eight. Some of us rolled up about a quarter-past nine and, of course, we got entangled with other people, but we got sorted out about ten. And we had dinner and then after a bit we went on to the Marionette - there was a rumour it was going to be raided, but nothing happened - it was just moribund, and we drank a bit and then we went on to the Bullring and that was even deader, and then we went to a coffee stall, and then we went to a fried-fish place, and then we thought we'd go and breakfast with Angela's uncle and see if he'd be shocked, but he wasn't - only bored, and then we sort of fizzled home. Honestly, Bobby, it isn't good enough.' 'I suppose not,' said Bobby, stilling a pang of envy.
Never in his wildest moments did he dream of being able to be a member of the Marionette or the Bullring.
His relationship with Frankie was a peculiar one.
As children, he and his brothers had played with the children at the Castle. Now that they were all grown up, they seldom came across each other. When they did, they still used Christian names. On the rare occasions when Frankie was at home, Bobby and his brothers would go up and play tennis.
But Frankie and her two brothers were not asked to the Vicarage. It seemed to be tacitly recognized that it would not be amusing for them. On the other hand, extra men were always wanted for tennis. There may have been a trace of constraint in spite of the Christian names. The Derwents were, perhaps, a shade more friendly than they need have been as though to show that 'there was no difference'. The Jones, on their side, were a shade formal, as though determined not to claim more friendship than was offered them. The two families had now nothing in common save certain childish memories.
Yet Bobbie was very fond of Frankie and was always pleased on the rare occasions when Fate threw them together.
'I'm so tired of everything,' said Frankie in a weary voice.
'Aren't you?' Bobby considered.
•No, I don't think I am.' 'My dear, how wonderful,' said Frankie.
'I don't mean I'm hearty,' said Bobby, anxious not to create a painful impression. 'I just can't stand people who are hearty.' Frankie shuddered at the mere mention of the word.
'I know,' she murmured. 'They're dreadful.' They looked at each other sympathetically.
'By the way,' said Frankie suddenly. 'What's all this about a man falling over the cliffs?' 'Dr Thomas and I found him,' said Bobby. 'How did you know about it, Frankie?' 'Saw it in the paper. Look.' She indicated with her finger a small paragraph headed: 'Fatal Accident in Sea Mist.' The victim of the tragedy at Marchbolt was identified late last night by means of a photograph which he was carrying. The photograph proved to be that of Mrs Leo Cayman. Mrs Cayman was communicated with and journeyed at once to Marchbolt, where she identified the deceased as her brother, Alex Pritchard.
Mr Pritchard had recently returned from Siam. He had been out of England for ten years and was just starting upon a walking tour.
The inquest will be held at Marchbolt tomorrow.
Bobby's thoughts flew back to the strangely haunting face of the photograph.
'I believe I shall have to give evidence at the inquest,' he said.
'How thrilling. I shall come and hear you.' 'I don't suppose there will be anything thrilling about it,' said Bobby. 'We just found him, you know.' 'Was he dead?' 'No, not then. He died about a quarter of an hour later. I was alone with him.' He paused.
'Rather grim,' said Frankie with that immediate understanding that Bobby's father had lacked.
'Of course he didn't feel anything ' 'No?' 'But all the same - well - you see, he looked awfully alive that sort of person - rather a rotten way to finish - just stepping off a cliff in a silly little bit of mist.' 'I get you, Steve,' said Frankie, and again the queer phrase represented sympathy and understanding.
'Did you see the sister?' she asked presently.
'No. I've been up in town two days. Had to see a friend of mine about a garage business we're going in for. You remember him. Badger Beadon.' 'Do I?' 'Of course you do. You must remember good old Badger.
He squints.' Frankie wrinkled her brows.
'He's got an awfully silly kind of laugh - haw haw haw - like that,' continued Bobby helpfully.
Still Frankie wrinkled her brows.
'Fell off his pony when we were kids,' continued Bobby.
'Stuck in the mud head down, and we had to pull him out by the legs.' 'Oh!' said Frankie in a flood of recollection. 'I know now. He stammered.' 'He still does,' said Bobby proudly.
'Didn't he run a chicken farm and it went bust?' inquired Frankie.
'That's right.' 'And then he went into a stockbroker's office and they fired him after a month?' 'That's it.' 'And then they sent him to Australia and he came back?' 'Yes.' 'Bobby,' said Frankie. 'You're not putting any money into this business venture, I hope?' 'I haven't got any money to put,' said Bobby.
'That's just as well,' said Frankie.
'Naturally,' went on Bobby. 'Badger has tried to get hold of someone with a little capital to invest. But it isn't so easy as you'd think.' 'When you look round you,' said Frankie, 'you wouldn't believe people had any sense at all - but they have.' The point of these remarks seemed at last to strike Bobby.
'Look here, Frankie,' he said. 'Badger's one of the best - one of the very best.' 'They always are,' said Frankie.
'Who are?' 'The ones who go to Australia and come back again. How did he get hold of the money to start this business?' 'An aunt or something died and left him a garage for six cars with three rooms over and his people stumped up a hundred pounds
to buy second-hand cars with. You'd be surprised what bargains there are to be had in second-hand cars.' 'I bought one once,' said Frankie. 'It's a painful subject.
Don't let's talk of it. What did you want to leave the Navy for?
They didn't axe you, did they? Not at your age.' Bobby Hushed.
'Eyes,' he said gruffly.
'You always had trouble with your eyes, I remember.' 'I know. But I just managed to scrape through. Then foreign service - the strong light, you know - that rather did for them.
So - well - I had to get out.' 'Grim,' murmured Frankie, looking out of the window.
There was an eloquent pause.
'All the same, it's a shame,' burst out Bobby. 'My eyes aren't really bad - they won't get any worse, they say. I could have carried on perfectly.' 'They look all right,' said Frankie.
She looked straight into their honest brown depths.
'So you see,' said Bobby, 'I'm going in with Badger.' Frankie nodded.
An attendant opened the door and said, 'First luncheon.' 'Shall we?' said Frankie.
They passed along to the dining car.
Bobby made a short strategic retreat during the time when the ticket collector might be expected.
'We don't want him to strain his conscience too much,' he said.
But Frankie said she didn't expect ticket collectors had any consciences.
It was just after five o'clock when they reached Sileham, which was the station for Marchbolt.
'The car's meeting me,' said Frankie. 'I'll give you a lift.' 'Thanks. That will save me carrying this beastly thing for two miles.' He kicked his suitcase disparagingly.
'Three miles, not two,' said Frankie.
'Two miles if you go by the footpath over the links.' 'The one where ' 'Yes - where that fellow went over.' 'I suppose nobody pushed him over, did they?' asked Frankie as she handed her dressing-case to her maid.
'Pushed him over? Good Lord, no. Why?' 'Well, it would make it much more exciting, wouldn't it?' said Frankie idly.
CHAPTER 4 The Inquest
The inquest on the body of Alex Pritchard was held on the following day. Dr Thomas gave evidence as to the finding of the body.
'Life was not then extinct?' asked the coroner.
'No, deceased was still breathing. There was, however, no hope of recovery. The ' Here the doctor became highly technical. The coroner came to the rescue of the jury: 'In ordinary everyday language, the man's back was broken?' 'If you like to put it that way,' said Dr Thomas sadly.
He described how he had gone off to get help, leaving the dying man in Bobby's charge.
'Now as to the cause of this disaster, what is your opinion, Dr Thomas?' 'I should say that in all probability (failing any evidence as to his state of mind, that is to say) the deceased stepped inadvertently over the edge of the cliff. There was a mist rising from the sea, and at that particular point the path turns abruptly inland. Owing to the mist the deceased may not have noticed the danger and walked straight on-in which case two steps would take him over the edge.' 'There were no signs of violence? Such as might have been administered by a third party?' 'I can only say that all the injuries present are fully explained by the body striking the rocks fifty or sixty feet below.' 'There remains the question of suicide?' 'That is, of course, perfectly possible. Whether the deceased walked over the edge or threw himself over is a matter on which I can say nothing.' Robert Jones was called next.
Bobby explained that he had been playing golf with the doctor and had sliced his ball towards the sea. A mist was rising at the time and it was difficult to see. He thought he heard a cry, and for a moment wondered if his ball could have hit anybody coining along the footpath. He had dedded,,however, that it could not possibly have travelled so far.
'Did you find the ball?' 'Yes, it was about a hundred yards short of the footpath.' He then described how they had driven from the next tee and how he himself had driven into the chasm.
Here the coroner stopped him since his evidence would have been a repetition of the doctor's. He questioned him closely, however, as to the cry he had heard or thought he heard.
'It was just a cry.' 'A cry for help?' 'Oh, no. Just a sort of shout, you know. In fact I wasn't quite sure I heard it.' 'A startled kind of cry?' 'That's more like it,' said Bobby gratefully. 'Sort of noise a fellow might let out if a ball hit him unexpectedly.' 'Or if he took a step into nothingness when he thought he was on a path?' 'Yes.' Then, having explained that the man actually died about five minutes after the doctor left to get help, Bobby's ordeal came to an end.
The coroner was by now anxious to get on with a perfectly straightforward business.
Mrs Leo Cayman was called.
Bobby gave a gasp of acute disappointment. Where was the face of the photo that had tumbled from the dead man's pocket? Photographers, thought Bobby disgustedly, were the worst kind of liars. The photo obviously must have been taken some years ago, but even then it was hard to believe that that charming wide-eyed beauty could have become this brazenlooking woman with plucked eyebrows and obviously dyed hair. Time, thought Bobby suddenly, was a very frightening thing. What would Frankie, for instance, look like in twenty years' time? He gave a little shiver.
Meanwhile, Amelia Cayman, of 17 St Leonard's Gardens, Paddington, was giving evidence.
Deceased was her only brother, Alexander Pritchard. She had last seen her brother the day before the tragedy when he had announced his intention of going for a walking tour in Wales. Her brother had recently returned from the East.
'Did he seem in a happy and normal state of mind?' 'Oh, quite. Alex was always cheerful.' 'So far as you know, he had nothing on his mind?' 'Oh! I'm sure he hadn't. He was looking forward to his trip.' 'There have been no money troubles - or other troubles of any kind in his life recently?' 'Well, really I couldn't say as to that,' said Mrs Cayman.
'You see, he'd only just come back, and before that I hadn't seen him for ten years and he was never one much for writing.
But he took me out to theatres and lunches in London and gave me one or two presents, so I don't think he could have been short of money, and he was in such good spirits that I don't think there could have been anything else.' 'What was your brother's profession, Mrs Cayman?' The lady seemed slightly embarrassed.
'Well, I can't say I rightly know. Prospecting - that's what he called it. He was very seldom in England.' 'You know of no reason which should cause him to take his own life?' 'Oh, no; and I can't believe that he did such a thing. It must have been an accident.' 'How do you explain the fact that your brother had no luggage with him - not even a knapsack?' 'He didn't like carrying a knapsack. He meant to post parcels alternate days. He posted one the day before he left with his night things and a pair of socks, only he addressed it to Derbyshire instead of Denbighshire, so it only got here today.' 'Ah! That clears up a somewhat curious point.' Mrs Cayman went on to explain how she had been communicated with through the photographers whose name was on the photo her brother had carried. She had come down with her husband to Marchbolt and had at once recognized the body as that of her brother.
As she said the last words she sniffed audibly and began to cry.
The coroner said a few soothing words and dismissed her.
Then he address the jury. Their task was to state how this man came by his death. Fortunately, the matter appeared to be quite simple. There was no suggestion that Mr Pritchard had been worried or depressed or in a state of mind where he would be likely to take his own life. On the contrary, he had been in good health and spirits and had been looking forward to his holiday. It was unfortunately the case that when a sea mist was rising the path along the cliff was a dangerous one and possibly they might agree with him that it was time something was done about it.
The jury's verdict was prompt.
'We find that the deceased came to his death by misadventure and we wish to add a rider that in our opinion the Town Council should immediately take steps to put a fence or rail on the sea side of
the path where it skirts the chasm.' The coroner nodded approval.
The inquest was over.
CHAPTER 5 Mr and Mrs Cayman
On arriving back at the Vicarage about half an hour later, Bobby found that his connection with the death of Alex Pritchard was not yet quite over. He was informed that Mr and Mrs Cayman had called to see him and were in the study with his father. Bobby made his way there and found his father bravely making suitable conversation without, apparently, much enjoying his task.
'Ah!' he said with some slight relief. 'Here is Bobby.' Mr Cayman rose and advanced towards the young man with outstretched hand. Mr Cayman was a big florid man with a would-be hearty manner and a cold and somewhat shifty eye that rather belied the manner. As for Mrs Cayman, though she might be considered attractive in a bold, coarse fashion, she had little now in common with that early photograph of herself, and no trace of that wistful expression remained. In fact, Bobby reflected, if she had not recognized her own photograph, it seemed doubtful if anyone else would have done so.
Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans Page 2