The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [21]
“One or two things, sir. In the first place, the body’s clothes were almost dry—the back quite dry. But there was a heavy dew last night. If he had been lying about in grass, or even in the boat, since midnight (Doctor Grice fixed the time of death, you remember, sir, as before midnight) wouldn’t the clothes have been wet?”
Inspector Rudge eyed his companion with interest.
“From which you infer … ?” he asked.
“That the Admiral was killed indoors and kept indoors—or at any rate under cover—for some time after he was killed.”
The Inspector was silent for so long that Hempstead began to fear that he had exceeded his duty. Just as they reached the boat-house, however, Rudge said:
“That’s a neat point; we’ll talk about it later. Ah, Appleton, sorry to keep you waiting. Found anything?”
Detective-Sergeant Appleton was a square, solemn-looking man, valuable as a detective rather for his persistence in following up small clues than for any brilliance in deducing theories from them.
“Only two suggestive points, sir. This boat’s very clean and rather wet inside—looks as if it might have been swabbed out recently. That’s one; the other is that its bow’s facing inwards. The Vicar’s sons tell me that the Admiral always used to go in stern first, so as to be facing the right way when the boat went out again.”
“Ah, Navy trick, eh? That’s worth noting. Nothing else? No blood, signs of struggle, footmarks, finger-prints?”
“No to the first two, sir. There are one or two good footmarks I’ve covered over with boards and there look to be plenty of finger-prints all over the boat and sculls.”
“We’ll have to examine them later. Any theories, Appleton?”
“None, sir.”
Inspector Rudge sat down on the bank and motioned to his subordinates to join him.
“Light up,” he said, pulling a pipe out of his pocket. “Think better smoking, and we must think now. The Vicar’s hat, in the first place; why was it in the boat?”
“Put there by the guilty party to throw suspicion on the Vicar,” hazarded Sergeant Appleton.
“Improve on that, Hempstead?”
“The other alternative is that the Vicar left it there himself, sir, and forgot he had.”
“He stated positively that he had his hat on when he saw the Admiral off after dinner last night and that he left it on the seat in the summer-house.”
“But supposing he went out in the boat after that, sir?”
“Ah, you mean … well, never mind what you mean. Now, why was the painter cut?”
“Someone was in a hurry,” said Appleton.
“Someone wanted to suggest that the boat was stolen,” murmured Hempstead.
“And the rowlocks were unshipped,” the Inspector added his quota of surmise, “either because the body was dumped into the Vicar’s boat from another and the boat then cut adrift, or … to suggest that explanation, eh, Hempstead?”
“Possibly, sir.”
“Now, can anyone explain why the body was found where it was and when it was?” asked the Inspector, adding to himself, “and if it was.”
Sergeant Appleton brightened.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I thought that out while I was waiting. If the murder was committed at midnight, as Doctor Grice says, and the boat cut adrift then, it would have gone right out to sea, because the tide was at full ebb then. My theory is that the murder was committed several miles up-stream and that before the boat reached Whynmouth the tide turned and it floated back to where it was found.”
“What time did the tide turn?”
“According to Mr. Ware, sir,” said Hempstead, “it turned about 3.45 a.m.”
“Well, let’s work this out. He told us, you remember, Hempstead, that it would have taken forty to forty-five minutes for the boat to get from the Vicarage to the spot where he was when it reached him; what time was that?”
“Just after 4.30 a.m., sir.”
“That means it left—or passed—the Vicarage at about 3.50 a.m.—only five minutes after the tide turned?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Then that means that if it was set adrift