The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [102]
“That doesn’t sound like a naval man,” demurred the Major, “to cut a painter instead of untying it.”
“But supposing it wasn’t a naval man who tied it, sir? Suppose it was a landsman, with a ridiculous knot, which the dragging in the water had made tighter still. Besides, it’s my opinion that old Ware was in the sort of mood then when one does cut instead of untying, even a naval man.”
“All right,” assented the Chief Constable. “Go on.”
The Superintendent said nothing.
“Fitzgerald must have come back by car, on the Whynmouth side of the river to drop Mrs. Mount at the Vicarage for her interview. And he parked the car while he was over at Rundel Croft. I made a bit of a bloomer over that, sir. I’d suspected he must have a car, but seeing he himself was at Rundel Croft I’d only had enquiries made that side of the river. As soon as Sergeant Appleton got back last night I sent him off to work the other side. He’s found two witnesses who saw a car, with the lights out, standing just inside the Vicarage gate, behind the laurels, out of sight of the road, one at twelve-fifteen and one at twelve-forty.”
“How could they have seen it if it was out of sight of the road?”
“How do people in the country see so much, sir? They’ll have some plausible explanation you can be sure. But you know as well as I do that if it had been parked in the Vicar’s cellar with a tarpaulin over it, someone would have seen it there. And very handy for us too.”
Major Twyfitt laughed. “All right. How did Fitzgerald get across the river, then?”
“He must have swum it. No other way. I suggest he stripped quickly, rolled his clothes up in his coat, tossed the bundle across the stream (it’s not more than forty feet wide there), and swum after it. And there he was, looking for File X as comfortable as you like, and his sister helping him, when along comes Holland and taps at the french windows. That must have given both of them a nasty shock. But he rose to it. Muttered to her to get rid of him at once, kept himself in the shadow and handed over the typed consent to their marriage. That was quite enough to send Holland half off his head with pleasure—far too much to have any room in his mind for noticing how young the Admiral was looking nowadays. Then Fitzgerald gets the papers, destroys them, goes upstairs and shaves off his beard, crosses the river again, picks up Mrs. Mount, and goes off with her in the car. I haven’t been able to trace where they went, but I expect they made for London—as far away as they could.”
“Then you think Holland was genuine in his identification of the Admiral that night?”
“I do, sir. Mind you, I think he knows the truth now all right; but he didn’t then.”
“That makes him an accessory after, too.”
“Yes, sir. Though it seems likely that he’s been told the same tale as Neddy Ware was—that it wasn’t murder. And Mrs. Holland, too. That would explain why she didn’t seem surprised, the first time I saw her, to hear that her uncle was dead, but she did jump when I said he’d been murdered.”
“That fits very well, Rudge,” commended Major Twyfitt.
The Superintendent said at last: “Have you found the weapon?”
“No, sir,” said Rudge.
“Ah,” said the Superintendent.
“But I found this.” Rudge produced from his breast-pocket a strip of brown paper. Unwrapping it, he brought to light a long slender Norwegian knife, rather rusty.
The Superintendent took it eagerly.
“Then you have found the weapon.”
“No, sir.”
“Where did you find it, Rudge?” interposed Major Twyfitt.
“In a clump of antirrhinums in the Vicar’s garden, sir.”
“Were you looking for it there?”
“Yes, sir. There was a nice bright moon last night.”
“Why, Rudge,” asked the Chief Constable patiently, “were you looking for this knife in a clump of antirrhinums last night in the Vicar’s garden?”
“Well, sir, you see, I’d worked it out this way. Was the crime premeditated or was it not? Somehow, what with Ware’s remarks and the