‘Don’t, Sarge. I shall never enjoy another “M” Division outing. What makes ’em choose the seaside, do you think?’
‘Obvious reasons. Place is full of strangers right through the summer. Irregular behaviour isn’t noticed. People tend to be more conversational on holiday, too. Chance of making casual acquaintances.’
‘You’re right, now I come to think about it. You couldn’t find a better place for a spot of murdering.’
‘Accidental deaths are happening all the time,’ said Cribb, warming to his theme. ‘There’s one reported in the paper here. Woman of fifty-five found drowned. Non-swimmer. Seems she took a dip on the last day of her holiday. Ashamed to take a dry costume back to London, so she went for an early morning bathe, when not many people were about. Now who’s to know whether someone didn’t hold her head under?’
‘Blimey, Sarge, you’ve got a suspicious mind.’
‘I don’t say it happened, but it could have. And if she wasn’t murdered, what about the cove that falls off the pier next week, or the one that swims out too far the week after? It’s Lombard Street to a china orange that sooner or later some evil-minded person will see it as a neat way of dispatching a victim.’
‘Well, you have, Sarge.’
‘Exactly. You’ve got to learn to think as they do, Constable. We wouldn’t be much help to the Brighton force if we couldn’t. They’re looking to you and me for something special in the way of detective-work. It’s not like them to call in the Yard unless they’re driven to it. Put the winkles out of your mind, Thackeray, and use the rest of the journey to set your thoughts in order for a piece of smart investigating.’
Two tunnels on, Thackeray caught Cribb’s eye again, in transit from Social Intelligence to In the Magistrates’ Court. ‘Sarge, why did you make that remark about Punch and Judy? I can’t see what connection it has with murder. It’s children’s entertainment after all.’
Cribb was silent, disinclined to relate the criminal career of Mr. Punch for the benefit of his assistant.
‘Part of any seaside holiday,’ Thackeray persisted.
Cribb spoke without looking up. ‘Constable, there was one other murder I should have mentioned earlier. A year ago, on this very line, a Mr. Gold was done to death in the Brighton Express by one Lefroy, whose effigy is now in Madame Tussaud’s. If you ask me one more question I guarantee there’ll soon be a likeness of me standing beside him in the waxworks. Just think that out and let me read my newspaper.’
Grafton Street, where they had been asked to report, proved to be a turning off the Marine Parade, as handsome a setting for a police station as either detective had encountered. Constabulary duties in such surroundings could not be anything but delightful. The cab-drive along the front, besides introducing them to the champagne quality of the sea air, afforded glimpses of a way of life seldom seen anywhere in London but Hyde Park. Society beauties paraded in open carriages, warding off the undesirable effects of the sun with lace parasols, and contriving simultaneously to be seen to advantage from both sides of the road. Others rode on horseback or walked beside young men in blazers and straw hats. In the background the waves lazily unfurled and sent dazzling white foam racing up the shingle. What a beat for some fortunate bobby to pound!
The atmosphere inside the station was just as balmy. ‘A pot of fresh tea, if you please, Constable Murphy,’ called the duty sergeant as they entered. ‘It’s either two gentlemen what’ve come to confess to stealing a pair of boots each, size twelve, or the reinforcements from the Yard are here. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Privileged to meet you. Brown’s my name and Pink’s my Inspector’s. Singular, don’t you think? I’d better take you straight in to him. Murphy will take care of your things.’ Inspector Pink was misnamed. His face bore witness to thirty summers or more of service on the south coast, as brown and creased as one of last season’s potatoes. ‘Uncommon glad to see you, gentlemen. It’s not often that we get a case that we know straight away is quite beyond the skills of our own detectives. Extraordinary affair, this. He damned near got away with it, too. If it hadn’t been for a sharp-eyed young lad, he certainly would have.’
‘There was a witness to the crime, then?’ said Cribb.
‘No, more’s the pity. Don’t know where it happened, or when. This boy was smart enough to spot the evidence, that’s all. He reported it to the manager, who came straight to us this morning. It’s still in place. We couldn’t have moved it if we’d wanted. You’ll see why. If you’re not too tired, we’ll go along as soon as you finish your tea. It’s just a short walk from here.’
The inspector was clearly determined not to spoil the impact of his evidence in situ by saying any more about it, so with respect for his feelings they stirred and sipped and blew on their tea to such effect that they were marching along the Marine Parade in minutes, leaving Sergeant Brown to marvel over the prodigious capacities of the Scotland Yard palate.
‘I’m sure you must have heard of our aquarium,’ said the Inspector as he led them down the granite steps. ‘Designed by Birch, the fellow who built the West Pier. It’s always been a favourite place of mine. There’s something about the atmosphere. This is a deuced unfortunate thing to happen. I only hope it won’t discourage visitors.’
‘The reverse, I should think,’ said Cribb.
They strode importantly through the reading-room and along the main aisle, their substantial tread diverting attention from the tanks. Halfway along, a large, uniformed constable was reinforcing a notice announcing that owing to unforeseen circumstances the Alligator and Crocodile Cavern was temporarily closed. A small man in pince-nez hovered anxiously nearby.
‘This is the manager, Mr. Pym,’ the Inspector explained. ‘Sergeant Cribb and his assistant are from the Criminal Investigation Department, Mr. Pym. They will be conducting this inquiry.’
Mr. Pym advanced a nervous hand. ‘Most gratified. I hope that we shall not need to involve the newspapers. It could have such a discouraging effect on attendances.’
‘Have you done as I asked?’ enquired Inspector Pink.
‘Yes. The big one is well-drugged, and I think the others are asleep too. Shall we go inside?’
‘We shall need more light,’ said the inspector. ‘Where did you put the bull’s-eyes, Constable?’
‘Just inside the door, sir, on your left.’
Even with lanterns lit and probing the interior, the shape and size of the cavern were disconcertingly difficult to make out. ‘Your eyes will get accustomed shortly,’ Mr. Pym assured them. ‘It’s perfectly safe to step forward. The specimens are all on the other side of the glass.’
‘This is the tank,’ said the inspector. ‘Crocodylus Niloticus. D’you see them gentlemen? The ugliest beasts alive. Now, bring your lantern nearer, Sergeant, will you? It won’t disturb the crocs. That one with its jaws agape will stay like that for hours.’
‘In their natural state they let the tick-birds clear their teeth of leeches,’ volunteered Mr. Pym.
‘Now take a look at this,’ said the inspector. ‘Wedged down between the rock and the glass. What do you think of that, gentlemen?’
The lantern beams converged on a section at the base of the tank normally in shadow, the arrangement of the rocks ensuring that the reptiles were kept a yard or so away from the glass. There, in a crevice formed between rock and glass, was a human hand, severed above the wrist and resting on its stump, palm facing outwards.
‘The devil of it is,’ said Inspector Pink, ‘that this is all we’ve got to go on. Where the rest of the body is you may well conjecture, gentlemen.’
The wicked yellow eyes of the largest inmate of the tank continued to glitter unwinkingly in the artificial light.