"Ah, the riddles."
"I had copies with me. We quickly decided that it would be sensible to apply our minds to the latest one."
" 'Whither Victoria and with whom,' " chanted Julie.
"Yes."
"And did anyone throw any light on it?" asked Diamond.
A look of self-satisfaction passed fleetingly over Miss Chilmark's face. "I flatter myself that I did. As a graduate in English literature I was able to demonstrate that the two riddles had textual similarities that suggested they were composed by the same person-the archaisms such as the use of 'thee' in the one case and 'whither' in the other, for example."
"Very astute," said Diamond. "And what was your answer to the riddle?"
"Oh, we didn't get that far," said Miss Chilmark. "This was the point when that degenerate chose to appear, and chaos ensued."
"You're speaking of Rupert Darby now. This incident."
"Only the latest in a series of incidents," said Miss Chilmark, going pink at the memory. "He behaves deplorably. He has from the beginning. One looks to the Chair for discipline, or at least some effort to maintain order. She doesn't check him. One week, without so much as a word of warning, he arrived with the dog-a savage brute-and expected us to ignore it. A large, untrained, malodorous, terrifying dog. Mrs. Wycherley did nothing about it, in spite of my protests. Last week it came into the circle and shook its coat, drenching us all and ruining my clothes. This week it attacked me."
"Bit you?"
"I'm sure it meant to bite. They had to drag it off me. No wonder I had difficulty breathing."
Julie, who kept two large dogs of her own, couldn't stop herself saying, "If it meant to bite you, I'm sure it would have. They don't mess about."
Diamond said quickly, "So you think Mr. Darby brings the dog to cause you distress?"
"I'm certain of it."
"Some personal grudge?"
"I've given him no cause for one."
"He lives quite close, doesn't he, across the street in Hay Hill?"
Miss Chilmark drew herself up in the armchair. "What are you suggesting now?"
"I'm not suggesting anything, ma'am. I'm stating a fact. You're almost neighbors."
"The man lives in squalor," she said with distaste.
"You've visited him?"
"God forbid! I wouldn't need to. The state of the windows. The curtains. I try not to look when I am compelled to walk past."
"Considering the way you feel about this man, I'm surprised you haven't given up the Bloodhounds. It can't be any pleasure."
Her lips contracted into a tight, orange-colored knot. "Why should I allow him to hound me-literally hound me- out of an activity I've enjoyed for two years or more? Tell me that."
The defiance was admirable, the English gentlewoman at her finest. She was at one with the steely-featured ancestors whose portraits lined the walls.
"Forgive me, I'm still trying to understand the appeal of this club," said Diamond. "From all I've heard, you have very little in common except that you all read detective stories."
"Isn't that enough? People don't have to be like peas in a pod to function as a club. We speak of books we can recommend. Tastes differ, of course, and one doesn't have to agree with everything that is said, but discussion can be stimulating. Some of them will never break out of Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers. You can see that. Personally I favor a more demanding writer. I don't suppose you are familiar with Eco."
Diamond had heard of the so-called ecowarriors, who occupied the trees at Swainswick when the bypass was under construction, and he doubted if they would have Miss Chilmark's seal of approval, so he said, "No, ma'am, I can't say it's familiar."
"He. Eco is the name of an author."
Julie looked equally unwilling to commit herself.
"Umberto Eco," Miss Chilmark said, rolling the r and chanting her syllables like a native Italian, "the greatest of modern writers. To describe him as a crime writer would be to belittle the man, regardless that The Name of the Rose is, beyond question, the finest detective story ever written."
"I saw it," said Julie. "With Sean Connery."
Witheringly Miss Chilmark said, "I wasn't speaking of the film."
"It was good," said Julie.
"I doubt it. How could any film live up to the achievement of such an intricate and intelligent book?"
Julie retorted evenly, "So what is your opinion of Foucault'sPendulum?"
It was a delicious moment, the more enjoyable for being so unexpected. It didn't matter that Diamond had no idea who Foucault was or why his pendulum was of interest. The question hit Miss Chilmark like a cannonball.
She became inarticulate. "I, em, I can't say that I, em, that is to say, got on with it too well."
Before she could repair her defenses, Diamond said, "Do you drive?"
"You mean a car?"
"Well, I don't see you on a motorbike."
"I own a small car, yes. A Montego."
"Where do you keep it?"
"I rent a garage in Lansdown Mews."
"The color?"
"Blue. Dark blue. Why do you ask?"
"Registration?"
She gave the number. An F registration: quite a seasoned car.
"Did you use it on the Monday evening after the meeting?"
"Of course not. It's only a short walk from here to St. Michael's. Besides, I was far too shaken by my experience with the dog to take the wheel of a car."
"So what happened? Did you walk home?"
"Yes."
"Didn't anyone offer to drive you?"
"I can't remember. If they had, I wouldn't have accepted. You see, I was well enough by then to make my own way back here."
Miss Chilmark's fitness interested Diamond. During the interview he had been assessing her physique. Though probably around sixty, she was a sturdy woman, not incapable, he judged, of cracking a man over the head with a heavy implement.
"And after you got home, did you go out again?"
"No. Why should I?"
"Was anyone here that evening? A visitor?"
The look she gave him removed any doubt that if roused she was capable of violence. "How dare you?"
Diamond smiled faintly. "Miss Chilmark, I wasn't suggesting anything risque; I was trying to find whether you had an alibi for the time when the murder took place."
"Surely you don't believe…" Shocked, her voice trailed off.
"But it turns out you don't have one," said Diamond. "Shame." He heaved himself up from the settee and crossed the room to examine one of the portraits, of a mustachioed man in a gray suit with a cravat, one thumb tucked into a waistcoat pocket to give a good view of a gold watch chain. His young wife stood at his side in a long blue dress. She was holding an ostrich-feather fan. Three small boys were grouped in front, one of them in a sailor suit looking up adoringly at his father. "Family?"
Miss Chilmark's mind was on other things. There was a pause before she responded. "Er, yes. My grandparents, with Papa and my uncles Esmond and Herbert."
"Handsome family."
"Grandpapa was mayor of Bath before the First World War."
"Really? Did they live in this house at the time?"
"Yes."
"It passes down through the family?" He swung around from the painting and looked at her. "You did say it belongs to you still?"
She made a murmur of assent and nodded.
"Of course, if we had any doubt we could check who pays the Council Tax," Diamond dropped in casually to the dialogue.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
He then added, "Or we could ask the old lady upstairs."
"You can't do that!" said Miss Chilmark in a panic. "Well." She cleared her throat. "Technically, the house isn't in my possession any longer. Living here, as I have all my life, I still tend to think of myself as the owner." She had just been caught out, but she was doing her damnedest to gloss it over.