"In such a night
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
That did renew old Aeson."
Magnus could have sat here and taken the drug. He could have gone to any of the places where I had been. I drove down to the farm where Julian Polpey had lived six centuries ago, and where the postman had found me a week ago, and walked down the farm-track to Lampetho. If I had traversed the marsh at night, my body in the present, my brain in the past, Magnus could have done the same. Even now, with no water and no tide filling the inlet, only meadow-marsh and reeds, the route was familiar, like some scene from a forgotten dream. The track petered out, though, into marsh, and I could see no way forward, no means of crossing the valley to the other side. How I had done it myself at night, following, in that earlier world, Otto and the other conspirators, God only knew. I retraced my footsteps past Lampetho Farm, and an old man came out of one of the buildings, calling to his dog, who ran towards me, barking. He asked if I had lost my way and I told him no, and apologized for trespassing.
"You didn't by any chance see anyone walking this way last night?" I asked. "A tall man, gray-haired, carrying a stick?"
He shook his head. "We don't get many visitors coming here," he said. "Doesn't lead anywhere, just to this farm. Visitors stay mostly on Par beach."
I thanked him and walked back to the car. I was not convinced, though. He could have been indoors between half-past eight and nine; Magnus could be lying in the marsh below his farm... But surely someone would have seen him? The effect of the drug, if he had taken it, would have worn off hours ago; if he had taken it at half-past eight, or nine, he would have come to by ten, by eleven, by midnight.
There was a police car drawn up outside the house when I arrived, and as I entered the hall I heard Vita say, "Here's my husband now."
She was in the music-room with a police officer and a constable.
"I'm afraid we've no definite news for you, Mr. Young," the Inspector said, "only a slight clue, which may lead us to something. A man answering to the description of Professor Lane was seen last evening between nine and half-past walking along the Stonybridge lane above Treesmill past Trenadlyn Farm."
"Trenadlyn Farm?" I repeated, and the surprise must have shown in my face, for he said quickly, "You know it, then?"
"Why, yes," I said, "it's much higher up the valley than Treesmill, it's the small farm right on the lane itself."
"That's right. Have you any idea why Professor Lane should have been walking in that particular direction, Mr. Young?"
"No," I said with hesitation. "No... There was nothing to take him there. I would have expected him to be walking lower down the valley, nearer to Treesmill."
"Well," the Inspector replied, "our information is that a gentleman was seen walking past Trenadlyn between nine and half-past. Mrs. Richards, wife of Mr. Richards who owns the farm, saw him from her window, but her brother, who farms Great Treverran, higher up the lane, saw no one. If Professor Lane was walking to Kilmarth it seems a long way round, even for someone who wanted exercise after sitting in a train."
"Yes, I agree. Inspector," I went on hesitantly, "Professor Lane is very interested in historical sites, and this may have been the reason for his walk. I think he was looking for an old manor house which he believes stood there once. But it couldn't have been either of the farms you mentioned, or he would have called at one of them."
I knew now why Magnus--and it must have been Magnus, from the woman's description--was walking past Trenadlyn on the Stonybridge lane. It was the route Isolda had taken on horseback with Robbie, when the two of them had come riding down to Treesmill to the creek, to find Bodrugan murdered, drowned. It was the only route to the unknown Tregest when the ford across Treesmill was impassable through flood or high tide. Magnus, when he passed Trenadlyn farm, was walking in time. He could have been following Roger, and Isolda too.
Vita, unable to contain herself, turned to me impulsively. "Darling, all this historical business is beside the point. Please don't be angry with me for butting in, but I feel it's essential." She turned to the Inspector. "I'm quite sure, and so was my husband last night, that the Professor was going to call on some old friends of his, people called Carminowe. Oliver Carminowe is not on the telephone, but he does live somewhere in that district, where the Professor was last seen. It's quite obvious to me that he was on his way to call on them, and the sooner somebody contacts them the better."
There was a momentary silence after her outburst. Then the Inspector glanced at me. His expression had changed from concern to surprise, even disapproval.
"Is that so, Mr. Young? You said nothing about the possibility of Professor Lane visiting friends."
I felt my mouth flicker in a weak smile. "No, Inspector," I said, "of course not. There was no question of the Professor visiting anyone. I'm afraid my wife had her leg pulled over the telephone by the Professor, and I very foolishly did nothing to put her wise, but kept up the joke. There are no such people as Carminowe. They don't exist."
"Don't exist?" echoed Vita. "But you saw the children riding ponies on Sunday morning, two little girls with their nurse, you told me so."
"I know I did," I said, "but I can only repeat I was pulling your leg."
She stared at me in disbelief. I could tell, from the expression in her eyes, that she thought I was lying to get Magnus and myself out of an awkward situation. Then she shrugged her shoulders, flicked a rapid glance at the Inspector and lit a cigarette. "What a very stupid joke," she said, and added, "I beg your pardon, Inspector."
"Don't apologize, Mrs. Young," he said, rather more stiffly, I thought, than before. "We all get our legs pulled from time to time, especially in the police force." He turned again to me. "You're quite certain about that, Mr. Young? You know of no one whom Professor Lane might have been calling upon after he arrived at Par station?"
"Absolutely not," I said. "As far as I know we are his only friends here, and he was definitely coming to spend the weekend with us. The house belongs to him, as you know. He's lent it to us for the summer holidays. Quite frankly, Inspector, I was not really concerned about Professor Lane until this morning. He knows the district well, for his father, Commander Lane, had this house before him. I was sure he couldn't lose himself, and that he'd turn up with some plausible explanation of where he had been all night."
"I see," said the Inspector.
Nobody said anything for a moment, and I had the impression that he doubted my story, just as Vita did, and that they both thought Magnus had been bound on some doubtful assignation and I was covering up for him. Which, indeed, was true.
"I realize now," I said, "that I should have got in touch with you last night. Professor Lane must have twisted his ankle, probably shouted for help, and nobody heard. There wouldn't have been much traffic up that side road once it was dark."
"No," the Inspector agreed, "but the people from Trenadlyn and Trevarran would have been astir early this morning, and should have seen or heard something of him by now, if he had had some mishap on the road. More likely he walked up to the main road, and then he could have taken either direction, on towards Lostwithiel or back to Fowey."
"The name Tregest doesn't convey anything to you?" I asked cautiously.
"Tregest?" The Inspector thought a moment, then shook his head. "No, I can't say it does. Is it the name of a place?"
"I believe there was a farm of that name once, somewhere in the district. Professor Lane could have been trying to find it, in connection with his historical research." Then I suddenly had another idea. "Trelawn," I said, "where exactly is Trelawn?"
"Trelawn?" repeated the Inspector, surprised. "That's an estate a few miles from Looe. Must be eighteen miles or more from here. Professor Lane would surely not start to try to walk there around nine o'clock at night?"
"No," I said, "no, of course not. It's just that I'm trying to think of old houses of historical interest."
"Yes, but, darling," interrupted Vita, "as th
e Inspector says, Magnus would hardly start looking for something of that sort, miles away, without telephoning us first. That's what I can't understand, why he didn't attempt to telephone."
"He didn't telephone, Mrs. Young," said the Inspector, "because he apparently thought Mr. Young would know where he was going."
"Yes," I said, "and I didn't know. I don't know now. I only wish to God I did."
The telephone rang with startling suddenness, like an echo to all our thoughts. "I'll get it," said Vita, who was nearest to the door. She crossed the hall to the library, and we stood there in the music-room saying nothing, listening to her voice.
"Yes," she said briefly, "he is here. I'll get him."
She came back into the room and told the Inspector that the call was for him. We waited for what seemed an interminable three or four minutes, while he answered in monosyllables, his voice muffled. I looked at my watch. It was just on half-past twelve. I had not realized it was so late. When he returned he looked directly at me, and I saw from the expression on his face that something had happened.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Young," he said, "I'm afraid it's bad news."
"Yes," I said, "tell me."
One is never prepared. One always believes, in moments of acute stress, that things will turn out all right, that even now, with Magnus missing for so long, it would surely be to say that someone had picked him up with loss of memory and taken him to hospital.
Vita came and stood beside me, her hand in mine.
"That was a message from Liskeard police station," said the Inspector. "Word has come through that one of our patrols has found the body of a man resembling Professor Lane near the railway line just this side of Trevarran tunnel. He seems to have received a blow on the head from a passing train, unobserved by the driver or the guard. He managed, apparently, to crawl into a small disused hut just above the line, and then he collapsed. It looks as if he must have been dead for some hours."
I went on standing there, staring at the Inspector. Shock is a peculiar thing, numbing emotion. It was as though life itself had ebbed away, leaving me a shell, like Magnus. I was only aware of Vita holding my hand.
"I understand," I said, but it was not my voice. "What do you want me to do?"
"They are on their way to the mortuary in Fowey now, Mr. Young," he said. "I hate to trouble you at such a moment, but I think it would be best if we took you there right away to identify the body. I should like to think, for both your sakes, yours and Mrs. Young's, that it is not Professor Lane, but in the circumstances I can't offer you much hope."
"No," I said, "no, of course not."
I let go of Vita's hand and walked towards the door and out of the house into the hot sunlight. Some Scouts were putting up tents in the field beyond the Kilmarth meadow. I could hear them shouting and laughing, and hammering the pegs into the ground.
17
The mortuary was a smallish, redbrick building not far from Fowey station. There was nobody there when we arrived: the second patrol car was still on its way. When I got out of the car the Inspector looked at me a moment, and then he said, "Mr. Young, there may be some delay. I'd like to offer you a cup of coffee and a sandwich at the cafe just up the road."
"Thank you," I said, "but I'm all right."
"I can't insist," he continued, "but it really would be wise. You'll feel the better for it."
I gave in, and allowed him to lead me along to the cafe, and we each had some coffee, and I had a ham sandwich too. As we sat there I thought of the times in the past, as undergraduates, when Magnus and I had traveled down by train to Par to stay with his parents at Kilmarth. The rattle in the darkness and the echo of sound in the tunnel, and suddenly that welcome emergence into the light, with green fields on either side. Magnus must have made that journey every school holiday as a boy. Now he had met his death by the entrance to that same tunnel.
It would make sense to no one. Not to the police, or to his many friends, or to anyone but myself. I should be asked why a man of his intelligence had wandered close to a railway line on a summer's evening at dusk, and I should have to say that I did not know. I did know. Magnus was walking in a time when no railway line existed. He was walking in an age when the hillside was rough pasture, even scrub. There was no gaping tunnel mouth yawning from the hillside in that other world, no metal lines, no track, only the bare grassland, and perhaps a man astride a pony, leading him on...
"Yes?" I said.
The Inspector was asking me if Professor Lane had any relatives.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't hear what you said. No, Commander and Mrs. Lane have been dead for a number of years, and there were no other children. I've never heard him mention cousins or anyone."
There must be a lawyer somewhere who dealt with his affairs, a bank which managed his finances: now I came to think of it I did not even know his secretary's name. Our relationship, binding, intimate, did not concern itself with day-to-day matters, with ordinary concerns. There must be someone other than myself who would know about all this.
Presently the constable came to tell the Inspector that the second patrol car had arrived, and the ambulance too, and we walked back to the mortuary. The constable murmured something which I did not hear, and the Inspector turned to me.
"Dr. Powell from Fowey happened to be at Tywardreath police station when the message came through from our patrol," he said, "and he agreed to make a preliminary examination of the body. Then it will be up to the Coroner's pathologist to conduct the post-mortem."
"Yes," I said. Post-mortem... inquest... the whole paraphernalia of the law.
I went into the mortuary. The first person I saw was the doctor I had met at the lay-by, who had watched me recovering from my attack of vertigo over ten days ago. I saw the instant recognition in his eyes, but he did not let on when the Inspector introduced us.
"I'm sorry about this," he said, and then, abruptly, "If you haven't seen anyone before who's been badly smashed up in an accident, let alone a friend, it's not a pleasant sight. This man has had a great gash on the head."
He took me to the stretcher lying on the long table. It was Magnus, but he looked different--smaller, somehow. There was a sort of cavity caked with blood above his right eye. There was dried blood on his jacket, which was torn, and a tear in one of his trouser legs.
"Yes," I said, "yes, that is Professor Lane."
I turned away, because Magnus himself wasn't there. He was still walking in the fields above the Treesmill valley, or looking about him, in great wonder, in some other undiscovered world.
"If it's any consolation to you," said the doctor, "he couldn't have lived very long after receiving a blow like that. God knows how he managed to crawl the few yards to the hut--he wouldn't have been conscious of his movements, he would have died literally a few moments afterwards."
Nothing was a consolation, but I thanked him all the same. "You mean," I said, "he would not have lain there, wondering why nobody came?"
"No," he answered, "definitely not. But I'm sure the Inspector will let you have the full details, as soon as we know the extent of the injuries."
There was a walking-stick lying at the end of the table. The sergeant pointed it out to the Inspector. "The stick was lying halfway down the embankment, sir," he said, "a short distance from the hut."
The Inspector looked inquiringly at me, and I nodded. "Yes," I said, "it's one of many he had. His father collected walking-sticks; there are about a dozen in his flat in London."
"I think the best thing to do now is for us to run you straight back to Kilmarth, Mr. Young," said the Inspector. "You'll be kept fully informed, of course. You realize that you will be required to give evidence at the inquest."
"Yes," I said. I wondered what would happen to Magnus's body after the post-mortem. I wondered if it was going to lie there through the weekend. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered.
As the Inspector shook hands he said that they would probably come out on Monday
and ask me a few more questions, in case I could add to my original statement. "You see, Mr. Young," he explained, "there might be a question of amnesia, or even suicide."
"Amnesia," I repeated. "That's loss of memory, isn't it? Most unlikely. And suicide, definitely no. The Professor was the last man in the world to do such a thing, and he had no cause. He was looking forward to the weekend, and was in very good spirits when I spoke to him on the telephone."
"Quite so," said the Inspector. "Well, that's just the sort of statement the Coroner will want to have from you."
The constable dropped me at the house, and I walked very slowly through the garden and up the steps. I poured out the equivalent of a triple whiskey, and flung myself on the divan bed in the dressing-room. I must have passed out shortly afterwards, for when I woke up it was late afternoon or early evening, and Vita was sitting on the chair nearby with a book in her hands, the last of the sun coming through the western window that gave on to the patio.
"What's the time?" I asked.
"About half-after six," she said, and came and sat on the bed beside me.
"I thought it wisest to let you lie," she went on. "The doctor who saw you at the mortuary telephoned during the afternoon, and asked if you were all right, and I told him you were sleeping. He said to let you sleep as long as possible, it was the best thing that could happen." She put her hand in mine and it was comforting, like being a child again.
"What did you do with the boys?" I asked. "The house seems very quiet."
"Mrs. Collins was wonderful," she said. "She took them down to Polkerris to spend the day with her. Her husband was going to take them fishing after lunch and bring them back about seven. They'll be home any moment now."
I was silent a moment, and then I said, "This mustn't spoil their holiday, Magnus would have hated that."
"Don't bother about them or me," she said. "We can take care of ourselves. What worries me is the shock it's been for you."
The House on the Strand Page 22