The Dangerous Islands

by Ann Bridge

  ‘Yes. Well I shall sit without a jury,’ he said. ‘No doubt about the cause of death, in spite of an attempt at murder by a subject of a foreign power. That can be dealt with later—I shall sit tomorrow, and then I may adjourn. Will that suit you?’ he asked, turning to Jamieson.

  ‘Very well indeed, Sir, if I can go up to London during the adjournment.’

  ‘Of course you can—you’ll have to, to identify this creature,’

  Both Doctor Richards and the old constable were rather astounded by all this. The constable, at least, had never known his Coroner to behave quite so arbitrarily before. Jamieson could not repress a grin—Brown obviously had got through to the Home Office.

  ‘Very well,’ Mr. Robinson said, getting up. ‘Eleven-forty-five tomorrow. And Bolitho, nothing of this to the press. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Sir’

  ‘Can you identify the deceased yourself?’ the Coroner asked, turning to Jamieson.

  ‘Certainly. I have already done so, in the presence of the constable and Doctor Richards.’

  ‘Well, since you actually saw him fall I don’t think we need call any other witnesses, except perhaps his landlady on Bryher, who was the last person to speak to him. Bolitho, have you got her address?’ Jamieson gave it, and the little receipted bill, to the constable. ‘Right—send some boat over to fetch her,’ the Coroner said.

  ‘If young Hicks brought her he could say on oath that this gentleman really fished that ladder out of the water, Sir,’ the constable said, looking lovingly at his cherished ‘Exhibit A’, still propped against the wall.

  ‘Not necessary. Colonel Jamieson will say on oath that he did so. But there’s no reason why Hicks shouldn’t bring her—save two trips. You see to that, Bolitho.’ He rose.

  ‘One moment, Sir,’ Jamieson interposed.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A very old lady, a close friend of Professor Burbage’s, came down last night from London; she very much wishes to see his body, and take flowers and so on. Could that be allowed?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. Where is she staying?’

  ‘At my hotel—the Zennor.’

  ‘I’ll come with you, and see about it. Good night, Bolitho; good night, Trelawny.’

  Two ‘Good night, Sirs’ followed Jamieson and the Coroner out into the street.

  ‘I should like to have a word with you,’ Mr. Robinson said. ‘Perhaps better not at your hotel—could you come up to my place?’

  In his warm comfortable room Mr. Robinson offered the Colonel a whisky—‘It’s after six.’ When he had filled their glasses—‘I had a call from the Home Office,’ the Coroner said.

  ‘I imagined you had.’

  ‘Yes. They asked for a week’s adjournment, and said everything was to be played down, and the Press kept out of it—if one ever can keep the Press out of anything!’ Robinson said sourly. ‘I gather you are in Intelligence?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you found something here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell me what, or where?’

  ‘I think it would probably be more convenient for you if I didn’t,’ Jamieson said with his agreeable grin; ‘even though you are, so wisely, sitting without a jury.’ (He guessed, but didn’t say, that this also had probably been arranged on an intimation from the Home Office.) ‘Anyhow it’s highly classified information,’ he added.

  Robinson grinned back at him.

  ‘You’re probably right. I shall hear in time; in the Islands one hears everything, sooner or later—generally sooner! We have lived here for so many centuries by our eyes and ears, using our wits and risking our lives, that we have become rather sharper at observation than you comfortable stodgy mainlanders.’

  ‘I think you’ve also remained much nicer,’ Philip Jamieson said sincerely; he spoke of the reaction on Bryher to the Professor’s death—Robinson was pleased.

  ‘Yes, they’re nice people. Tough as hell and obstinate as mules, of course, if you get across them in any way—but they have nice instincts still.’ He paused. ‘Now, when would your old lady like to go to the mortuary? Tonight, or tomorrow morning before the inquest?’

  ‘I think tomorrow would be best. She will be tired tonight, after her journey.’

  ‘Very well—say ten-forty-five tomorrow. That not too early?’

  ‘No, that will do perfectly, I’m sure. Thank you very much. I’m glad you don’t want to call her.’

  ‘No need, that I can see. You say you can identify the body, and if your people want me to have any more facts about the old gent, they’ll get the Home Office to pass them on.’

  Chapter 15

  Julia was hanging about when Jamieson got back to the hotel.

  ‘Is it all right for her to see him?’ the girl asked. ‘She’s in rather a fuss.’

  ‘Yes—tomorrow, at a quarter to eleven; the inquest is an hour later.’

  ‘Oh good. The hotel people here have got hold of some lovely flowers for her. Will she have to show up at the inquest?’

  ‘No—nor will you. The office got onto the Home Office, and they’ve spoken to the Coroner. No jury, and an adjournment.’

  ‘Goodness, does that mean he can’t be buried for a week, of whatever the adjournment is for?’

  ‘I never thought of that—I’ve no notion. I should imagine that once the body has been identified, and the cause of death given by the doctor after a post-mortem, he could be buried. But I’ll find out.’

  ‘What do they want an adjournment for, anyhow?’

  ‘The Navy has mopped up that trawler, and her crew are being taken to London. If I can identify the animal with the revolver he may be tried for attempted murder.’

  ‘Could you identify him?’

  ‘Yes, if he survived. She scuttled herself when she was overhauled, and they’re not sure if they picked up the whole crew. I expect his dear chums shot him, anyhow,’ Jamieson said coldly.

  ‘Oh.’ Julia was thinking about Mrs. Hathaway. ‘Do you think there’d be time for us to nip down to the mortuary before supper, and see that it’s all tidy and nice?’ she asked.

  ‘Not before, no—it’s nearly seven now. We’ll go down afterwards, when you’ve settled her into bed, and see to it then.’

  They did this. Mrs. Hathaway was tired, and glad to go to bed early. Julia saw that she took her sleeping-pills, and read a psalm to her—‘Better than any tranquilliser, if people only knew,’ she said to Philip when she rejoined him in the hall.

  But nothing could have been nicer than the hospital mortuary—small, simple, bare, clean. The old woman who had died of a stroke had been buried that afternoon, and the mortal remains of Professor Burbage had the little place to themselves, flanked by Jamieson’s chrysanthemums, and a small bunch of late asters.

  ‘I wonder who brought those?’ Philip speculated—‘I didn’t.’

  ‘A lady from Bryher sent them over,’ said the nurse who had taken them in. ‘I think the old gentleman had been staying with her.’ Once again, Philip thought what nice people the Islanders were; out in the street he told Julia of the ‘Suntrap’ landlady’s distress, and quoted her words.

  ‘Sweet,’ Julia said. They strolled along the street; the wind had fallen dead calm, and the air was balmy, with the sweetness and purity peculiar to the Scillies.

  ‘Darling, would it be awful if we went into the Mermaid?’ she asked. ‘I do feel like a beer.’

  ‘Not awful in the least.’ Philip felt like a beer too. But in fact this was an unfortunate move. There was a little stir of interest as they walked in; the big room was full of people, and when they had found a place to sit down with their beers the young woman from Bryher, who had given them the Professor’s address only two evenings ago, came over to them.

  ‘How terrible about the old gentleman,’ she said. ‘I hear he had a fall, and killed himself. Did you manage to find him first?’

  ‘No—we were too late,’ Jamieson said. How right the Coroner had been about ever
ything in the Islands becoming known sooner rather than later! He ought perhaps to have told young Hicks to keep his mouth shut; but such warnings usually only made people talk more, in his experience.

  ‘He was a great friend of yours, wasn’t he?’ the girl said to Julia, all sympathy. (This certainly was Hicks.)

  Julia put down her glass and looked up at the nice young woman with her great dove’s eyes.

  ‘I’ve loved him ever since I was seven years old,’ she said ‘Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?’

  It couldn’t have been better done, Jamieson acknowledged— the nice young woman beat a hasty retreat, murmuring more sympathy. But a man in grey flannel trousers and a tweed jacket, who next accosted them, was less courteous.

  ‘I believe you actually saw this fatal accident on Brayher yesterday,’ he said, addressing himself to Jamieson. ‘I represent The Daily Error—I should be very glad to have your account of it.’

  ‘I could never have seen any accident on Brayher, because there’s no such place,’ Philip replied curtly. ‘Do you mean Bryher?’

  ‘That’s right. I can’t get round all these names: St. This and St. That—funny, aren’t they? Well now, Sir’—he drew out his reporter’s pad, and looked expectantly at Jamieson.

  ‘I am sorry, but I can tell you nothing. The police are handling the matter.’

  ‘Now look, Sir,’ the press-man said, thrusting his face unpleasantly close to Jamieson’s, and speaking rather low. ‘For a personal story, an eye-witness account, with anything you can tell of this old gentleman’s background, what about two hundred and fifty pounds? Fair enough, eh?’

  Julia rose to her feet; she overtopped the journalist by several inches, and in her indignation she forgot her good resolution about leaving Philip to handle things himself.

  ‘No, not fair at all. Would you mind leaving us?’

  The man from the Daily Error didn’t take her point in the least. He merely raised his ante. ‘Well, say three hundred and fifty, Miss,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, go to hell!’ the girl exclaimed, and walked out of the bar.

  Outside—‘Darling, that was unwise,’ Philip said. ‘Never make a scene.’

  Julia was crying.

  ‘I know—I was a fool. I did just manage not to slap his face, though! But how can they be so beastly?’

  ‘Their lords and masters, the Press Barons, pay them to be what they are—just that.’ Up in the hotel garden he held her close, wiped her tear-stained face with his handkerchief, and kissed her. ‘Sleep well,’ he said. ‘Concentrate on helping the old lady.’

  Next morning Philip ordered a taxi to take them to the hospital. He waited in the corridor while a nurse took the old and the young woman in to bestow their flowers and say their prayers; then he saw them safely back into the hotel, and went down to the inquest.

  This was a brief and businesslike affair. One or two features of it surprised Philip. He had expected that the Coroner would wish to go to the mortuary for the body to be identified, but no. P.C. Trelawny stated on oath that Colonel Jamieson had identified the deceased, in his presence, as Professor Alfred Burbage, and recounted the rest of his story: the telephone call from Bryher, his trip to Shipman Head with the police surgeon, and finding the body. He tried to embark on the business of the ladder, but the Coroner cut him short, and called on Doctor Richards for an account of his post-mortem.

  ‘The deceased fractured his skull by falling onto a bare rock; in my opinion this was the cause of death,’ Doctor Richards said, ‘in view of the fact that this fall took place an appreciable time before the two bullets, which I found in the body, were fired at it.’

  ‘Was there any medical evidence that the bullet-wounds were inflicted after death?’ the Coroner asked.

  ‘No—the interval was too short, according to the account of the person who witnessed both the fall, and the firing of the revolver. But if the Professor fell some ninety seconds before he was shot, he was already dead.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The doctor stood down and the landlady of ‘Suntrap’ was called—her name, naturally, was also Hicks. Yes, the dead gentleman had been staying in her house for nearly a month; he went out almost every day to his ‘explorations’, as Mrs. Hicks called them. Had he seemed cheerful, or depressed?— the Coroner asked.

  ‘Oh, he was just quiet, and so pleasant always,’ Mrs. Hicks replied, tears coming into her eyes. The Coroner put his next question to her very gently.

  ‘Now Mrs. Hicks, you are the last person who spoke to him alive. Can you tell us exactly what happened that morning?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. He didn’t order a picnic lunch, as he often did; he said he had some letters to write, and he sat in my front room, writing—he was sitting at the table in the window when I went in to clear away his breakfast, and he said—‘A very nice breakfast, Mrs. Hicks.’ She began to cry.

  ‘And then?’ the Coroner asked, still gently.

  ‘When I’d washed up I went to his bedroom to make his bed, and straighten up. I saw young Hicks’s boat come in, and a strange lady and gentleman walking up through The Town, but I didn’t pay any attention—and then the first thing I knew, I heard the front door slam, and out he ran, no hat or anything, along the track.’

  ‘He didn’t speak to you before he went out?’

  ‘No, Sir. He never went out before without saying goodbye, so friendly, nor without that funny hat of his.’ Now Mrs. Hicks began to sob audibly. The Coroner made some notes; really to give her time. Presently—‘What became of the letter he was writing?’ he asked.

  ‘I brought it, Sir, and the envelope—I thought it might be important.’ She delved into her bag and produced a rather crumpled envelope and the two sheets of paper; the envelope was addressed to Mrs. Hathaway, and the letter began—‘My dear Mary’; it was unfinished. The Coroner read it in silence, and put it in his brief-case.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs. Hicks. That is very useful. I don’t think we need keep you any longer—I expect you would like to do a little shopping. The boat will be ready to take you home presently.’ The Coroner knew the habits of his Islanders pretty well—a chance at the shops in St. Mary’s was always welcome. Wiping her eyes, Mrs. Hicks went out; Mr. Robinson next called Colonel Jamieson.

  After Philip had given his name, address and occupation the Coroner asked him how long he had known the deceased?

  ‘Personally, for some two months; by reputation, of course, all my life, as an archaeologist.’

  ‘When did you first meet him?’

  ‘This summer, in the Hebrides. I was introduced to him by my fiancée, who has known him since her childhood.’

  ‘And can you say on oath that the body now in the mortuary is that of Professor Alfred Burbage?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Philip then repeated the account of the accident which he had already given to the police and the doctor.

  ‘Did you see him leave this house, “Suntrap”?’ the Coroner asked.

  ‘Yes. He seemed in a hurry,’ Jamieson said cagily. The Coroner looked rather keenly at this witness; he opened his mouth as if to speak—then he closed it again, and made a note.

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘We followed him. My fiancée wished to see him; that was why we had gone to Bryher, when we learned that he was staying there.’

  ‘Ah.’ The Coroner again made a note—Jamieson got the impression that he used these notes to cover pauses for reflection. ‘That was how you came to be on Bad Place Hill in time to see him fall?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Thank you. You can stand down.’

  Young Hicks was then called. He described taking the lady and gentleman to The Town, and how later he had taken the gentleman round to Shipman Head; the discovery of the ladder in the gulley, the arrival of the police and the doctor. The Coroner shuffled his notes together.

  ‘Very well. I adjourn for one week. Thank you.’ He got up.

  Philip Jamieson rose too, and spoke to him as he wa
s leaving the room.

  ‘Can Professor Burbage be buried, in view of the adjournment?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course—so long as you don’t cremate him! And you’d have to take him to the mainland for that,’ Mr. Robinson said cheerfully. ‘I’ll let the hospital know. Bolitho!’ he called.

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘Tell the Matron at the hospital that I’ve given permission for this corpse to be buried.’

  ‘Right, Sir.’

  ‘Who’s the parson?’ Jamieson asked, as they went out.

  ‘Oh, the Chaplain to the Isles.’ He took out a card and scribbled a name and address on it. ‘He will arrange everything. He’s very nice.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir. In the cemetery at Old Town?’

  ‘Yes—that’s our only burial-ground. You might just catch him now,’ he added, glancing at his watch.

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’ But Philip did not leave him.

  ‘May I ask you one highly unprofessional question? Shut me up if you want to.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Was the letter Mrs. Hicks brought you addressed to a Mrs. Hathaway?’

  ‘Yes—though I’ve no business to tell you so. I suppose that’s the old lady who’s at your hotel?’

  ‘Yes. When you have done with it I expect she would like to have it.’

  ‘She shall, after the adjournment. To tell you the truth I didn’t read it very carefully, but I don’t think there was much in it.’

  ‘That’s very good of you. Goodbye.’

  Philip debated whether to go and see the parson—what a charming title, ‘Chaplain to the Isles’!—there and then; but the Zennor Hotel was rather rigid about punctuality at meals, and he decided to leave it till after lunch. On his way back he stepped through the stone gateway, where Julia had spotted the Professor coming in only a few days before, to take a look at the harbour, which he always found so attractive—fishing-boats tied up close under the houses at the inner end, and the long grey quay with the small motor-launches which kept the islands in communication with one another. He recognised young Hicks’s boat just setting off for Bryher with the landlady from ‘Suntrap’. But there was a new-comer lying in the small anchorage; a naval patrol-boat, from which a cutter was just being launched. Oh, better eat! He hurried back to the hotel.