The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [101]
“Not murder!” exclaimed the Major.
“I didn’t say that, sir,” Rudge replied quickly. “What I do say is that old Ware doesn’t think it was murder. Whether it was or not, of course we can’t know yet, but I’ll take my oath that’s what Ware thinks.”
“What’s your evidence?” snapped the Superintendent.
“None, sir. An impression only. But I know Neddy Ware pretty well; and though he may not be above a bit of trout-poaching and so on, I’d bet all I’ve got that he wouldn’t stand for murder. And my inference is that whatever the others wanted to do, he wouldn’t stand for the body being sunk or any hanky-panky. I believe the boat was his idea altogether.”
“You believe this and believe that,” growled the Superintendent. “Let’s have a bit of proof.”
“There isn’t any,” Rudge returned, unabashed. “And in any case I only put it forward as my own idea. But I do suggest, sir, that there may be something in it; and if there is—why, it alters the case considerably.”
“It is a possibility,” Major Twyfitt agreed.
The Superintendent, seeing his murder slipping away from him, only looked sulky.
“Still, we must proceed as if there was no question of it being anything but murder,” pointed out the Chief Constable.
“Of course, sir. So I’ll get on with my reconstruction. Well, we had the Admiral being rowed down to Whynmouth by Neddy Ware, and this reporter fellow, the nephew, rowing the Vicarage boat after him about an hour later, with Mrs. Mount as his passenger.”
“Eh?” said the startled Chief Constable, who did not remember having heard anything of the sort. “What’s this?”
“I think it’s obvious, sir. I mean,” said Rudge, with a naughty glance at his Superintendent, “there’s evidence to that effect. We know Mrs. Mount got to the Vicarage about eleven; we know the Vicar didn’t see her till well past twelve; we know the Vicarage boat was taken out that night; we’re pretty sure Fitzgerald had a hand in the business; we know Fitzgerald was Mrs. Mount’s lover. What’s the result? Why, that Fitzgerald, knowing she’s coming down that night to see the Vicar about the divorce, intercepts her in the garden, takes her to the summer-house for a talk, decides they’d better go down to Whynmouth after the Admiral (it’s more than possible there was some sort of appointment between the two men), takes the Vicar’s hat to put on in case anyone sees them going off in the boat (nothing like a hat to establish identity), takes the Norwegian knife the boys left there, to cut the painter with—no!” said Rudge thoughtfully. “She ran back for the knife when they found they couldn’t untie the knot.”
“How the devil do you know that?”
“I don’t know it, sir. But if she did it would explain a lot. It’s always puzzled me that the Vicar was watering his garden so hard the next day in the blazing sun. Mr. Mount can’t be such a bad gardener as all that. But suppose she’d left footprints on the beds when she ran back for the knife. A nice strong jet of water would destroy them, and so much less obvious than a fork or a trowel, the garden being under observation all the time by our men in the Admiral’s boat-house. And he even gave the inside of the summer-house a bit of a splashing. Suppose she left powder scattered about there, like they do?”
“It’s a possibility,” the Chief Constable agreed with interest. “More than a possibility.”
The Superintendent said nothing.
“Well, anyhow, as I said, we have Fitzgerald chasing after the Admiral. It would take him half an hour to forty minutes, I suppose, to get down to Whynmouth. Then there’s a gap of, say, fifteen or twenty minutes, during which the Admiral is killed and arrangements made about the two boats. The body is dumped in the Vicarage one, the two painters tied together, and someone rows them up-stream. Who? Not Fitzgerald. He wouldn’t have time; we’ve got him at Rundel Croft soon after twelve. Not Mrs. Mount; she’s at the Vicarage at about the same time.”
“Ware,” nodded the Chief Constable. “Yes, that seems clear.”
The Superintendent said nothing.
“Neddy Ware, sir, yes,” said Rudge, who was now very much enjoying himself.