The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [28]
His original intention had been to drive out and see Sir Wilfrid Denny at West End, after he had finished with Mrs. Davis. But the possible light which that loquacious lady had thrown upon the Admiral’s movements decided him to defer the visit. He had formed the rudiments of a theory as to the time and place of the murder, but the possibility of this theory depended upon the tides in the River Whyn, and upon this subject he must seek expert advice. Why not have another chat with Neddy Ware? He knew the tides as no one else did, his hobby had rendered a study of them absolutely necessary to him. And besides, there was always the chance that he might have observed some detail which he had not recollected in the first excitement of his discovery.
Inspector Rudge turned his car towards Lingham once more, and very soon reached Ware’s cottage. The old man was at home, smoking his pipe contemplatively after his midday meal. He greeted the Inspector hospitably, and the two sat down in a room decorated with models of ships and faded photographs of the vessels in which Ware had served.
“You want to know about the tides in the river?” he replied, in answer to the Inspector’s explanation of the cause of his visit. “Why, they’re simple enough, so long as you remember that it’s high water, Full and Change, at Whynmouth at seven o’clock.”
Rudge laughed. “I haven’t a doubt it’s simple enough to you,” he said. “Personally, I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about. What on earth do you mean by high water, Full and Change?”
“Why, merely that it’s high water at Whynmouth at seven o’clock nearabouts, on the days when the moon is full or new,” replied Ware. “Now, take this morning’s tide, for instance. To-day’s Wednesday, the 10th. It was new moon on Monday, that’s to say it was high water at Whynmouth at seven on Monday evening. It would be about eight yesterday evening and half-past this morning. You can allow six hours between high and low water, making it low water at half-past two this morning. The tide up here begins to flow half to three-quarters of an hour after low water at Whynmouth, or say soon after three. And that’s when I went out fishing.”
“After three!” exclaimed Rudge. “But I thought you said the church clock struck four not long before you saw the boat?”
“The clock!” replied Ware, in a voice of supreme contempt. “You don’t expect the tide to fall in with the children’s games you play with the clock in summer, do you? You play a game of make-believe with the time, just because you haven’t the courage to face the prospects of getting up an hour earlier than usual. It may be all very well for landsmen, but it won’t do for sailors. To them, time’s time, and you can’t alter it.”
“I see. Then, by summer-time the tide began to flow this morning up here, soon after four. From what you tell me, then, I gather that it began to ebb about ten last night?”
“That’s right, ten or a little before,” agreed Ware. “As I say, the moon was new two days ago, which means that it was pretty well the top of the springs last night. I reckon the ebb must have run down the river nigh on three knots for the first couple of hours or so. After that it would have slacked off a bit, as it always does.”
“So that a man leaving here between ten and eleven would have had no difficulty in getting to Whynmouth by boat?” suggested Inspector Rudge.
“He’d have drifted there and likely enough gone straight out to sea,” replied Ware. “That is, if he didn’t use his oars. If he did, he could have got to Whynmouth in under the hour, easy.”
The old sailor had glanced shrewdly at the Inspector as he spoke. Rudge saw what was in his mind, and smiled. “You can guess what I’m getting at,” he said. “I thought it possible that Admiral Penistone might have taken his boat down to Whynmouth last night. But if he did, the boat cannot have come back by itself. Somebody must have rowed it back and put it into the boat-house.”
He paused, half expecting some comment from Ware, but the old man merely