Fall of a Philanderer by Carola Dunn

Author:Carola Dunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

15

Descending the steps to the track, Alec glanced to the south towards the mouth of the inlet. The bank of fog had dissipated, but clouds were blowing in from the south-west. Rain would make searching the cliff-top almost as difficult and dangerous as fog. The sooner he sent his men out, the better. The search ought to have been accomplished yesterday, and he could only blame his own reluctance to take charge.

He turned towards the village and quickened his stride.

Few people were about as yet. Most of those Alec saw ignored him, but two or three eyed him curiously. If he knew anything about small towns, it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t walk through the streets without everyone staring and whispering.

The parish hall was revealed by daylight as a shabby, weather-boarded building in need of a coat of paint. As he approached, a figure rose from the front step and came eagerly to meet him: Andrew Vernon.

“Good morning, sir! I’ve been waiting for you. They won’t let me in.”

“Quite right, too.”

His face fell. “Oh, I say, sir! You’re not going to shut me out now, after I made all the arrangements for a hearse to pick up the body? It’s on its way to Abbotsford now, and Dr. Wedderburn says I can attend the post mortem this afternoon.”

“Thank you! Isn’t that enough for you?”

“And after I battled with that pen to write a decent report for you, too! Look, my fingers are still stained with the ink the damn thing spluttered all over me. There must be something I can do to help this morning.”

“Writing reports?”

“Well, if that’s what you need,” he said disconsolately. “At least I have my fountain pen today.”

“Is that yours?” Alec indicated a small green canvas box with a shoulder-strap, in the porch of the hall.

“Yes, it’s my Portable Laboratory.”

“Modelled on Dr. Thorndyke’s?”

“As much as I could. Freeman doesn’t give all the details. Anyway, I couldn’t afford a high-powered miniature microscope.”

“You did a good job yesterday with your medical bag. I should think you’d better take your kit and go with Sergeant Horrocks to help to search the cliff-top.”

“Really? Do you mean it?”

“If you’ll follow his instructions without quibbling, and not try to teach your grandmother to suck eggs.”

“I will! I won’t! Gosh, thanks, sir!”

“And remember, absolutely everything you learn is confidential.”

“Of course, sir. Being a policeman’s sort of like being a doctor, that way, isn’t it?”

They went into the hall. A couple of long trestle tables had been set up, and several of the kind of folding chairs that seem designed by someone with the most cursory knowledge of human anatomy. On one table lay two unused notebooks, a dozen sheets of official writing-paper, three envelopes, four paperclips, an eraser, half a dozen pencils, a bottle of blue-black ink, and the pen Vernon so despised. This was the total contents of Puckle’s stationery drawer. He seldom filled a whole notebook in the course of a year, he had said.

On the other table was spread his map of the area.

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