He picked it up and smoothed it out, realizing he had no idea who it might be addressed to.
“Saltecombe,’ he said. He noticed with surprise that the envelope was still sealed.
“You haven’t read it? Short of time?’ he asked, then added, ‘. You weren’t even going to read it, were you? It was ready for disposal. Why not?”
Roote sat up slowly, his eyes on Lapping’s stick. He rubbed the back of his head.
“I don’t like sticking my nose into other people’s mail,’ he said.
That’s constabulary business.” “Oh no,’ said Pascoe staring hard at the youth. ‘ were frightened, weren’t you? It worried you what a dying man might say about you. Not just because it might incriminate you, in the sight of the law, but because it might condemn you to yourself.” “Oh, piss off,’ said Franny.
Pascoe looked at the letter, faced with Dalziel’s dilemma when he had found it. Should he open it now or not?
“Open it for me,’ said Franny as though reading his thoughts. ”ve got nothing to worry about.”
He managed to sound quite confident. Pascoe shoved his bruised and bleeding face close to the youth’s and pointed to it.
“What do you think did this? Moths?’ he asked. He reached down and undid Roote’s belt and the top two buttons of his flies.
“Put your hands in your pockets,’ he said. ‘ ‘ up. Come on.”
They made an odd trio as they picked their way over the dunes and through the woodland back to the college. The letter was safely in Pascoe’s pocket. It would keep till they got back to Dalziel. That small part of Pascoe’s mind which wasn’t concerned with watching Roote or exploring the pain round his ribs and face kept on sniffing around the case. He ought to have felt happy. Franny’s actions demonstrated his guilt, the letter in his pocket would probably give some detailed indication of exactly what had happened. But what in fact was the man guilty of? Ever since he’d talked to Dalziel on the phone he’d been trying to construct models of motive and opportunity which would fit Fallowfield and Roote and the known facts together. So far nothing. It had all happened too quickly. A few hours ago he hadn’t been able to foresee an end to this business in six months. Now they had… Well, what did they have?
They found Dalziel in the college sickbay having his back treated by a little Irish matron with Marion acting as dogsbody. Landor was there too, still looking anxious, and Halfdane who did not look over-worried at the sight of Dalziel’s discomfiture. Even Miss. Disney had somehow realized that something was going on, and only her sense of the impropriety of being in the same room as a half naked superintendent kept her hovering in the doorway.
The arrival of Pascoe and Roote caused quite a stir. Roote looked round the room with a lop-sided grin and shrugged his shoulders as though in resignation. The matron came across to Pascoe and looked at his bloody face. He caught a glimpse of himself in a wall-mirror and realized how horrific he looked.
Dalziel swung down from the couch on which he was lying for treatment.
The top of his back was very nastily bruised and he held his head thrust forward in a rather becomingly aggressive pose. He began pulling on his shirt, despite the matron’s protests.
“I’ll see the quack when he condescends to come,’ he said. ‘ too, Sergeant. Meanwhile we need a bit of privacy to talk with Mr. Roote here.”
“There seem to be quite a lot of students outside,’ said Landor diffidently. Miss. Scotby who had just arrived nodded in confirmation of this.
“The boy, Cockshut, is there,’ she said in her precise tones, as though that explained everything. ‘ I go and disperse them, Simeon?”
She probably would too, thought Pascoe. And it’s ” now, is it? If she’s out to supplant Mrs. Landor, please God let her do it by legitimate means.
That’s unnecessary,’ said Dalziel. ‘ office will do, if we may, Matron.”
She nodded and led the way into a small room opening off the sickbay.
Roote sat down uninvited and smiled up at them. He seemed quite recovered from his knock and mentally unperturbed.
“If you beat me, I shall scream,’ he said with a grin.
“I think I can promise you that,’ said Dalziel softly. Pascoe, who was sponging blood off his face at the small wash-basin in the corner, suddenly felt happy to be himself despite his aches and pains.
Roote had stopped smiling and was fingering the lump on the back of his head where Lapping had hit him. Pascoe caught Dalziel’s eye and nodded at the youth’s head, making a chopping motion. Dalziel’s eyes gave a flicker of understanding. Solicitors made a lot of fuss about their clients being questioned while suffering from untreated injuries, and the courts didn’t like it much either.
Now Pascoe brought the letter from his pocket and held it up for Dalziel to see. The fat man’s eyes rounded and he began to look pleased. He obviously had not expected to see it again. Pascoe hoped it was going to be worth all the trouble.
Dalziel picked up the telephone on the desk and after a moment spoke to the operator.
“Get me Mr. Saltecombe at his home please. Ask him if he would come to see me as soon as possible. Yes, I’m in the matron’s office.”
It was almost possible to sense the switchboard girl’s disapproval of Dalziel’s free movement round the college.
He replaced the receiver and looked solicitously at Franny.
“Now, Mr. Roote, we’ve got a doctor coming to have a look at that bump on your head. Is there anything you’d like to say before he turns up?”
Pascoe expected some flip obscenity, but strangely the youth seemed to be considering the suggestion carefully.
“I could have got rid of the letter,’ he said inconsequentially. ‘ didn’t think you’d be so quick.”
“We’re lightning when roused,’ said Dalziel.
“I wish I’d read it now. Then I’d know what — not that it matters. I’m rather tired of it all. It’s about time I went off on a new tack. And Sam’s probably said it all.’ He laughed. ‘ was a great one for words, Sam. Ideas. But not so hot on action.”
“Perhaps you should try words for a change.”
“You may be right, lovey. Anyway, what the hell. We’ll see. There’s an old police proverb, isn’t there? He who talks last serves longest? I’ll tell you what, Superintendent. You’d better get used to me as a picture of misguided innocence. I’ll bring character witnesses.” He’s nervous, thought Pascoe. Somewhere deep down inside him there’s a little bit of fear fluttering. He doesn’t like to sit and wait. He likes to be doing, doing, doing. He likes to feel the initiative to action lies with him.
Dalziel obviously caught this feeling too. He looked uninterested, glanced at his watch.
“Well, we’ll just get the doctor to look at you. Then we can talk later at the station.”
He opened the door and stepped into the sickroom.
“Any sign of that doctor?” From the window the matron said, ‘ think that his car is coming down the drive now. Come along, everybody. I can’t have you all hanging around here. What will the doctor think?”
They began to move reluctantly, Halfdane sticking close to Marion Cargo, Landor patting Miss. Scotby’s elbow reassuringly, Disney walking backwards as though from a royal presence.
“Superintendent.”
The voice stopped them all. It was Franny standing at the office door.
Behind him Pascoe hovered, ready to pounce.
“Murderer!’ hissed Disney magnificently.
“Mr. Dalziel. When Mr. Saltecombe comes, may I be there when he opens his letter? I’d like to see it.”
Something about his intonation bothered Pascoe.
“I bet you would,’ said Dalziel. ”t worry. You’ll find out what’s in it soon enough.”
Disney snorted and left. Marion, looking ill after the strain of the evening, went out with Halfdane’s arm supporting her waist, followed by Scotby and Landor.
Pascoe watched them all go, vaguely disturbed. Roote had sat down again and was whistling softly to himself. Pascoe looked at him with great dislike.