An April Shroud

'We're covered against theft by insurance, surely?' said Tillotson.

Dalziel and Bertie laughed in unison.

'What's so funny?' asked Tillotson.

'After you,' said Bertie to Dalziel.

'Well, firstly no insurance company's going to rush to pay out on any claim coming from this household at the moment. Especially not if it's Anchor.'

'And secondly,' said Bertie. 'I doubt if my late lamented father ever bothered to insure the new equipment and so on. I asked him about it once, but got told in no uncertain terms that financial arrangements were his pigeon.'

'Oh,' said Tillotson. He looked very taken aback.

'Worried about your investment?' asked Bertie. 'Don't be, Charley. Just stiffen that upper lip and wave goodbye.'

There was a tap on the door and Cross came in.

'I'm finished now,' he said. 'May I have a word, sir, before I go?'

Dalziel rose.

'What are the chances of getting the stuff back. Sergeant?' asked Tillotson.

'Pretty low, I'm afraid,' said Cross. 'Do you think you'll be able to sort things out for the opening night?'

Bertie to whom the question was addressed yawned rudely.

'Who knows, Sergeant? But don't you worry about our business, just work hard at yours, will you?'

Dalziel put his arm over Cross's shoulder and ushered him through the door. He himself turned just before he closed it and said, 'Sergeant Cross has paid ten quid for two first night tickets. So think on; the customer is always right, eh?'

'Puffed up young git!' said Cross savagely in the hallway. 'I'll sort the bugger before I'm through.'

Inwardly Dalziel applauded the attitude but he put on his best impartial-guardian-of-the-law look and shook his head disapprovingly.

'That's no way to talk,' he said. 'You want to watch yourself, Sergeant.'

'I'm too busy watching other people, sir,' said Cross sulkily. 'I've had three hours sleep today, and when I leave here I'm going back to those bloody chickens again.'

'It's a full life,' agreed Dalziel. 'What did you want to see me about?'

'Nothing really, sir. Just to ask, really, if there was any other way you could help me; I mean, you staying in the house, and everything…'

This was the closest he dared come to a spoken reproach, realized Dalziel.

'I don't think so,' he answered.

'How long will you be staying here, sir?'

'Not long. Just till tomorrow probably. I don't know.'

It was true. He didn't. Everything pointed the way to a quick exit. But there were questions still to be answered if he cared to, or dared to, go on asking them.

'I see. The man Papworth hasn't come back yet, sir. I wonder if you'd mind keeping an eye open and letting us know when he returns. I'd like a word with him as soon as possible and we don't really have the establishment to spare a man to hang around here half the night.'

'A super in the house is worth a d.c. in the bush?' said Dalziel. 'Aye, I'll watch out for him. Is anything known about him, by the way?'

'Not by us, officially. But he's well known in the district. He's been around for twenty or thirty years, most of them working for the Percivals. His reputation's not so good. A rough, tough character, keeps himself to himself, hard to beat in a deal or in a fight.'

'Women?'

'What?'

'Is he known as a womanizer? I don't suppose he had Open Annie down here to cut his toenails.'

Cross considered.

'No. I've never heard of anything out of the way in that line. But I'll ask around if you think it's important.'

Dalziel shrugged indifferently.

'Your case, Sergeant. You ask what you want to know. Me, I'm just a tourist. Well, I won't keep you from your chickens. A tip-off, is it?'

Cross nodded.

'There's been a lot about and I've been told this battery's to be cleared out this week. I'll give it one more night.'

'It'll be tomorrow,' said Dalziel maliciously. 'Good hunting.'

He returned to the sitting-room. Louisa and Mavis had joined the others, but there was no sign of Bonnie. The two girls were looking down at Arkwright.

'Is he the sole survivor?' asked Dalziel.

Louisa nodded.

'The others left shortly before you and Bonnie reappeared,' she said. 'I think they got hungry. Also Herrie made it clear that he was fed up of listening to Abbott and Costello.'

'It wasn't very kind of Penitent to abandon him,' said Dalziel indicating the snoring Negro.

'What shall we do with him?' asked Tillotson. 'We can't just let him lie there all night.'

'Are you going to give him your bed then?' mocked Bertie.

'Stick him in Mrs Greave's room,' said Dalziel. 'She won't be back.'

'And of course the servants' quarters are the proper place for a black man,' said Bertie. He looked healthier now and his nastiness was returning.

'A bed's a bed,' said Dalziel, refusing to be drawn.

'A liberal policeman! But suppose it was your sister's bed, Dalziel. What then?'

'Personally,' said Dalziel, 'I wouldn't envy a randy billy goat getting into my sister's bed. Come on, sunshine. Charley boy, give us a hand.'

Together he and Tillotson lifted Arkwright from his tape-recorder and carried him, feet trailing, down the corridor to Mrs Greave's room where they dumped him on the bed, removed his tie and shoes and covered him with a patchwork quilt. Then at Tillotson's suggestion, they retired to the kitchen where the young man brewed a pot of coffee at the expense of only one cup and a few minor burns.

Dalziel glanced at his watch. It was still early, just a quarter past nine, but he found himself yawning.

'Tired?' said Tillotson sympathetically, pouring the coffee.

'A bit,' said Dalziel. 'It's been a hard day. Or a day of surprises, and that's always hard. You don't care much for surprises when you're getting on.'

'I don't like surprises either,' said Tillotson sadly.

'No? Well, you're young enough to take things in your stride anyway. How much cash have you got in this business?'

'A few hundred,' said Tillotson. 'Not much, but all I possess.'

'That's enough. All you possess is quite enough,' said Dalziel 'What's your standing?'

'I'm sorry?'

'I mean, what's the deal? Is it shares? Or a partnership agreement? What kind of investment have you made?'

'Does it matter?' asked Tillotson.

Dalziel rolled his eyes and scratched the skin around his Adam's apple.

'Look,' he said, 'love's one thing but business is another. Of course it matters. One way you can just lose your investment if the thing folds. Another way, though, you can be held partly responsible if the thing goes bankrupt which might mean you having to find more cash. You follow? It depends what you signed.'

'Oh, I didn't sign anything,' said Tillotson. 'I just made out a cheque to Conrad, Mr Fielding that is.'

'That was,' said Dalziel. 'Well, so much for the fatherly advice. If you're ever in the market for a used car, give us a ring.'

Shaking his bull-like head, he drank his coffee. It was truly awful but something in Tillotson touched off a non-habitual response of kindness and he said nothing. They talked in a desultory fashion for nearly half an hour before Dalziel yawned again and said he would take a turn in the fresh air before heading for bed.

After checking that Papworth had still not returned he left the house and strolled down to the water's edge to smoke a cigarette and think. The flood level had perceptibly dropped, for the wooden slats of the landing-stage were now quite clear of the surface. He took a couple of tentative paces along the stage, then halted for the treads were not only still greasy from their long submersion, but in addition he felt them give under his considerable bulk. Indeed, at the end of the landing-stage there was a gap, just perceptible in the dim light, where the treads seemed to have fallen away altogether.