‘In any case, Ronald Dick has confessed,’ said Mrs Bradley calmly.
‘Dick?’
‘You may well look amazed,’ said Mrs Bradley, with a brisk, incongruous cheerfulness.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘Verdict, please!’
1
‘HE MIGHT BE speaking the truth,’ said Gelert, frowning.
‘Read this,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Don’t speak until you have finished, and then tell me your conclusion.’
He took the sheets of paper she laid before him. They were typewritten, he was glad to notice, for he had had experience before of trying to read her handwriting. He laid them down, put on his pince-nez, crossed his legs, and took them up again. Mrs Bradley watched him settle down. Then she took up her book and forgot all about him for a bit.
The first sheet was a list of the members of the expedition, notes on the time of starting, and the route it had been proposed to follow. The second sheet was a map, very neat and clear, with times and halts marked on it as well as the places visited. The third sheet and the remainder of the sheaf ran as follows:
1. Alexander Currie. Could have used the bow with which I think the murder was committed. Had no motive, so far as I can discover. The method would not suit him.
2. Cathleen Currie. Could not have used the bow. No motive, particularly as the murder took place after she was under the protection of Ian. The method might have suited her temperament. This applies to all the women, as it precluded any necessity for actually grappling with the victim.
3. Dish. Could have used the bow. Not the method I should imagine he would choose. Admits to having made the bow. Admits to a hatred of Armstrong so strong that he preferred not to accompany the party to Ephesus when he thought that Armstrong was to be a member. I am not inclined to suspect him. He is no fool, and, if he had committed the murder, would have realized that to remain in Athens, where the murder had been committed, might lay him open to suspicion. Besides, if Dish had committed the murder, he would have had to conceal the head. The head went to Ephesus and there was concealed by somebody in Sir Rudri’s snake-box. This person must have been the murderer or a confederate. It is not easy to see who, of the party, would have acted as the confederate of Dish. On the other hand, Dish was fond of having a boat out at Phaleron or Piraeus, and could perhaps have rid himself of the body. He might also have smuggled himself on board with the head, followed the party from Izmir to Selçuk, and hidden the head himself, returning to Athens later. Memo. I must find out what he did with his time whilst the party was at Ephesus. Marie Hopkinson ought to be able to help me.
4. Dmitri. This man could not have used the bow. He seemed friendly with Armstrong whilst we were on tour, more so than some of the party deemed desirable. Their view was possibly the product of insular prejudice and snobbery. He is capable, perhaps, of a cowardly attack on an unsuspecting person, but I think Armstrong would have been keenly alive to danger from a man. A woman might have been able to hoodwink him. I know of no motive for murder in Dmitri’s case.
5. Gelert Hopkinson. Could have used the bow. Had quarrelled with the dead man, on one occasion so violently that he presumed he had killed him, and waited until morning to have the death investigated. Made no secret of his feelings. Was doubly capable of murder. Stabbed the son-in-law of a Greek shopkeeper whose daughter he had seduced. Is highly strung and nervous, suggestible, quick-tempered, volatile, passionate, and conceited. A likely suspect.
6. Ian MacNeill. Could have used the bow. What is more, could have hit the mark he aimed at, if I am a judge of character and ability. I do not suspect him of the murder. His only motive would have been the attempted seduction of his wife by Armstrong at Eleusis, before the company (Armstrong included) were aware that Cathleen was married to Ian. Armstrong twice waylaid the girl at night, but she was not harmed, because Megan reached her. Ian confesses that he would have killed Armstrong had it been worth doing. I believe this statement.
7. Ivor Hopkinson. A boy of twelve. Could not have used the bow. Disliked Armstrong. Highly strung and nervous.
8. Kenneth Currie. A boy of twelve. Could not have used the bow. Bold and predatory. Not the type even to commit acts of criminal violence. An extravert. Healthily mischievous. Strong and big for his age.
9. Megan Hopkinson. Could have used the bow. Could and did mislead Armstrong into believing that she was fond of him. Has the character and temperament for the deed. Knew that Armstrong was a menace to her father. This motive might have been, in her, a powerful one. Some daughters are particularly strongly attached to their fathers, especially ‘only’ daughters. Megan would count as such, now that her sister is married, and has a child.
10. Ronald Dick. Could not have used the bow. This man is small and delicate. He has the character and temperament for murder. He is shy, self-conscious, conceited, and suffers from an almost unmanageable inferiority complex. His motive would be a powerful one – jealousy of one whom he believed to be a rival in love. He has confessed to the murder, but the confession is not altogether in accordance with my deductions. ‘This road is wrong; it is not like my map!’
11. Sir Rudri Hopkinson. Could have used the bow. Is mentally unbalanced. Is capable of murder, or anything else that the spirit moved him to attempt. Amoral and imaginative. Insensitive, except to ridicule. An ideal criminal. Practises deception. Has no conscience, even in connexion with archaeology, the thing he loves best in the world, not excepting his wife, of whom he is certainly fond. Was being blackmailed by the dead man. Probably had been asked to consent to a ‘marriage’ – the dead man already had a wife living, but Rudri did not know that – between his daughter and Armstrong. Lovable, like many graceless people.
12. Stewart Paterson. A boy of eleven. Could not use the bow. Incapable of murder. Too much character. Would find another way out. Intellectually above average. Good-tempered and courageous.
Gelert laid down the last sheet, and took off his pince-nez.
‘Rubbed it into me, haven’t you?’ he said, rather ruefully.
‘A characteristic first comment,’ said Mrs Bradley, putting aside her book. Gelert flushed and grinned.
‘I can’t quite see the arrangement —’
‘Alphabetical order of Christian names, except for Dish. I don’t know his.’
‘Oh yes. I understand. So you suspect my father, me, Dick, and Megan, do you?’
‘Before I answer that question, a big task remains to be accomplished, child, I think. I’m assuming that the death of Armstrong was caused by an arrow. If it was caused by some other means I should have to revise my conclusions a little, perhaps.’
‘Not much, though, I’ll bet,’ said Gelert, looking at her shrewdly. ‘It isn’t any good, I suppose, to tell you I didn’t do it?’
‘Not the least good, dear child. About as much good, in fact, as Mr Dick’s telling me that he did do it.’
‘I observe you say he couldn’t have used the bow.’
Mrs Bradley shrugged.
‘I can’t prove that,’ she said, ‘but Dish and I have carefully compared our opinions, and in every case but one they tallied.
‘Whose was the one?’
Mrs Bradley smoothed the sleeve of her golden jumper.
‘Dish did not think that you could bend the bow,’ she answered smoothly.
‘Good old Dish,’ said Gelert, not over-enthusiastically. He took off his shantung jacket when she had gone, flexed his biceps, and regarded them critically but with favour.
2
‘Marie,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘what did Megan do with her time here before she came to Ephesus and acted Artemis so nicely?’
‘She was here such a very short time,’ said Marie Hopkinson. ‘Let me see.…’
‘The thing I want to know is how long she spent in the house – actually within the four walls.’
‘All the time except for a walk we took each day.’
‘She was with you all the time, then?’
‘Yes,
all the time. You frighten me, Beatrice. Why are you asking me all this? You don’t think Megan killed Armstrong?’
‘Don’t I?’ said Mrs Bradley.
‘Oh well, if she did,’ said Megan’s mother with spirit, ‘it was no more than the horrible boy deserved. I never liked him. I shouldn’t think anyone did. He was a positive Dionysus!’
‘What happened at night? Who went to bed first – you or Megan?’
‘We slept in adjoining rooms. You had better come up and see them. We went up together and talked as we prepared for bed.’
‘What about after you’d got into bed?’
‘You know, Beatrice, these questions aren’t the least use! If I thought you suspected Megan – and, of course, I can see you do – I should just lie and lie. You wouldn’t be able to believe a word I said.’
‘I could pick out the lies,’ said Mrs Bradley urbanely. ‘You see, Armstrong was killed before the expedition went to Ephesus.’
‘Oh, when he disappeared. Yes, of course, we all know that. But, at any rate, I’m not going to answer your questions. This I will say, however, and it’s the truth, so far as I know. Megan could not have left her room at night without waking me. I’ve been a light sleeper ever since Ivor was born. The slightest sound wakes me.’
‘Why have you sent Megan over to her sister? Did you want to get her out of the way?’
‘Beatrice, don’t be horrid! I told you why she had gone. She’ll be back next week, in any case.’
‘Very well, child. The difficulty was to get the body on the ship, you know. I don’t believe it was done.’
‘Who said it was done?’
‘Ronald Dick. Do you think I should go to the stadion to look for bloodstains?’
‘Bloodstains?’
‘That’s where Dick said he shot the young man. He shot him with the back-bent bow of Odysseus.’
‘Ridiculous!’
‘Yes, I know. But, if not the stadion, where?’
‘I expect there are heaps of places. Athens isn’t like London.’
‘Not in the least like London,’ Mrs Bradley agreed.
‘And what’s more,’ Marie Hopkinson continued, ‘one doesn’t feel the same here about these things – murder, and being suspected of it, and regarding it as something belonging to the Sunday papers, and so on. One remembers all the old stories – one sees things as Homer saw them, and as Aeschylus and Euripides and darling Aristophanes saw them – and they seem – death seems – trivial compared with – I don’t know how to put it – great things looming, and slaves’ lives meaning nothing, and fate hovering – great wings, great mountains, great, clean, sweeping skies.’
Mrs Bradley broke into involuntary, unseemly laughter, but, waving her hand, her hostess continued, less vaguely, ‘You remember the view from the Palamidi at Nauplia, Beatrice, don’t you?’
‘I do. But there are things I remember more clearly,’ Mrs Bradley replied. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you killed Armstrong, Marie?’
‘No. But, if I were, I should feel quite safe. You see, Beatrice, you wouldn’t go to the police or anything sordid, I know. We have known each other far too long and too intimately. I could trust you where I was concerned. I’m not so sure about the others. Leave the whole thing alone. No one regrets that the wretched boy was killed. He was cruel and horribly immoral —’
Mrs Bradley laughed again.
‘Show me his body, Marie, and let’s be done with it,’ she said.
‘But I thought it was in the sea! Didn’t Dish say he threw it into the sea?’
‘Dish?’ said Mrs Bradley, taking her up so suddenly that Marie Hopkinson, seeing the blunder she had made, clapped her hand to her mouth, and moaned.
‘I knew their names were too much alike! I’d made up my mind to call him Ronald,’ she said. ‘Dish, Dick! Dish, Dick! Oh dear! I’ve done it now!’
3
Dish was stolid.
‘I had my orders, mam.’ He led her out to the portico. Mrs Bradley looked intently at all the woodwork until she found what she wanted, a hole filled in with putty.
‘What was it, Dish? A meat-skewer?’
‘No, mam. It looked to me more like a good, thick piece of very hard wood as had been sharpened to a seven-inch point and put in the fire a bit to make it harder. Anyway, there he was, took a fair treat through the throat, and pinned up tight against the woodwork. Done from a distance the length of this little balcony; not a yard over fifteen, as you can measure. He’s dead when I finds him, of course, but whether instantaneous I couldn’t say. Anyway, I takes him by the shoulders and wrenches hard, and away he comes, the arrow still stuck through his neck, and I takes him round the back and lays him down, and puts my foot on his chest and jerks out the arrow, and then I hacks off his head, as per instructions, right through the place the arrow went in, not to leave no trace. Then I wraps the head in vine-leaves and lays it in a basket to give to Mr Dick when he leaves for Ephesus.’
‘So you didn’t go to Ephesus because you had to dispose of the body.’
‘That’s right, mam. I had my orders. It laid in the shed till you’d gone.’
‘And you took the body to sea and threw it in?’
‘That’s right, mam.’
‘I don’t see how you got it down to Phaleron from here.’
‘Easy as kissing your hand. You remember the bullock-wagon, mam? The one that went with us to Eleusis?’
‘In that? But what about getting the corpse to the boat?’
‘That was the trickiest bit. L’odass, I thinks, so I puts it on me shoulder like a butcher carrying mutton, and walks to me little boat that I has every time I has my off-day – and this was my usual off-day – we see to that between us – and them Greeks, didn’t they sweat! And they rows the boat out towards Salamis, and when we gets far enough out, as I thinks, I upsets the whole bloomin’ outfit, and in we all goes, me and the corpse and all. Them Greeks can’t swim, so all they thinks about is getting drownded and that. We clings to the boat for a bit, and then some chaps comes along and picks us up.’
‘But cannot you swim?’ asked Mrs Bradley.
‘Well, I can, mam, in a manner of speaking, but judged it better not. By the time we got ourself rescued them Greeks were so full of water and the fear of never seeing their homes again, that the bundle I came aboard with didn’t get mentioned. And when, later on (not to seem suspicious, if anybody remembered it afterwards), I said, surprised-like, “Oh, cripes, I forgot me laundry!” there was only a bit of a laugh, as you might say, and there the matter rested, and likely to, so far as I can see. These Greeks don’t trouble about nothing what don’t concern ’em. Easy -natured, that’s them.’
‘I see,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘And Mr Dick took the head with him to Ephesus. Did Mr Dick kill Mr Armstrong, Dish?’
‘Not knowing, mam, can’t say. My orders came, as usual, from Lady Hopkinson. “Dish,” she says, in a bit of a flivver, of course, “Dish,” she says, “a most awkward thing has happened. We were playing with Mr Dick’s bow, and Mr Armstrong is shot. He’s killed, in fact. Instantaneous killed,” she says. “Do what you can,” she says. “We don’t want every English idiot in Athens hearing all about it.”
‘So I goes and has a decko, and there he is. It must have been a quick job. A lovely shot, mam, too, whoever done it. But, naturally, being a lady, the missus don’t think about that.
‘“It’s dreadful,” she says. “I don’t know what to do. It looks bad, very bad,” she says. “I don’t want to tell the police.”
‘“No need, mam,” I says, “so far as I see,” I says. “Why not get rid of him, mam? Nobody won’t cry over him, nor wish him back. I’ll go round to his home,” I says, “and break the news, if you gives me instructions so to do!”
‘“It’s so dreadful,” she says. “I don’t know what to do.”
‘Well, we talks it over, and then I gets my orders. As described. I also advised her ladyship, mam, to confide herself in you. “She’ll
help us out,” I says (with all respect to you, mam), but the missus she thought better not.’
‘But the blood from the wound?’ said Mrs Bradley, inspecting the woodwork again.
‘There wasn’t very much, mam. I hosed it down and holystoned it over. Good bit of wood, mam, that. It was hacking off the head, but I done that on about twenty sheets of Sir Rudri’s blottin’ paper, mam.’
‘But all this, Dish, was horribly illegal.’
‘In England, mam, I don’t say. I wouldn’t try it on with Scotland Yard. But things seem different out here.’
‘I really don’t see why.’
‘No, mam. It isn’t easy to explain.’
He stood respectfully at ease, gazing modestly into the distance, northwards towards Delphi, with its mountain hollows and its green and purple heights; behind it the snowy slopes of divine Parnassus, the Phaedriadae, the shining peaks that overlook Apollo’s ancient sanctuary.
4
The suspects, obviously, if Dish were telling the truth, were the members of the family of Hopkinson. For nobody else, Mrs Bradley decided, would Dish have taken the risks he appeared to have taken to rid the house of the body. Possibly all of them were in it. She ought to be able to work out a little more closely, she thought, the day and hour of the killing, and find out who was in the house at the time of the death. She wondered what she herself had been doing when it happened – if it really had happened in the portico.
She turned over the leaves of her diary until she came to the days they had spent in Athens before going off to Ephesus, and doing so, came upon an entry which made her blink. She re-read it.
Come Away, Death Page 27