and that makes her all the more pitiful.’
‘What a darling you are,’ he said judicially.
Troy paid no attention to this. Dr Natouche who had not taken part in the conversation, looked directly at her and gave her a smile of such clear understanding that she wondered if she had blushed or turned pale.
Mr Lazenby offered one or two professional aphorisms to the effect that Miss Rickerby-Carrick was a dear soul and kindness itself. Mr Hewson looked dry and said she was just a mite excitable. Mr Pollock agreed with this. ‘Talk!’ he said. ‘Oh dear!’
‘They are all delighted,’ Troy thought.
On that note she left them and went up on deck. The Zodiac was still at Crossdyke, moored below the lock, but Tom and his father were making their customary preparations for departure.
They had cast off and the engine had started when Troy heard the telephone ringing in the lock-keeper’s office. A moment later his wife came out and ran along the tow-path towards them.
‘Skipper! Hold on! Message for you.’
‘OK. Thanks.’
The engine fussed and stopped and the Zodiac moved back a little towards the wharf. The lock-keeper came out and arched his hands round his mouth.
‘Car Hire and Taxi Service, Longminster.’ He called. ‘Message for you, Skipper. Miss something-or-another Carrick asked them to ring. She’s been called away to a sick friend. Hopes you’ll understand. OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Ta-ta, then.’
‘So long, then, Jim. Thanks.’
The Skipper returned to his wheelhouse doing ‘thumbs up’ to Troy on the way. The Zodiac moved out into mid-stream, bound for Longminster.
Dr Natouche had come on deck during this exchange. He said: ‘Mrs Alleyn, may I have one word with you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Troy said. ‘Where? Is it private?’
‘It is, rather. Perhaps if we moved aft.’
They moved aft round the tarpaulin-covered heap of extra chairs. There, lying on the deck, was an inflated, orange-coloured Li-lo mattress.
Dr Natouche, stooped, looked down at it and up at Troy. ‘Miss Rickerby-Carrick slept here last night, I think,’ he said.
‘She did?’
‘Yes. That, at least, was her intention.’
Troy waited.
‘Mrs Alleyn, you will excuse me, I hope, for asking this question. You will, of course, not answer it if you do not wish. Did Miss Rickerby-Carrick speak to you after she returned to the ship last evening?’
‘No. I went very early to my cabin. I’d had a go of migraine.’
‘I thought you seemed to be not very well.’
‘It was soon over. I think she may have – sort of scratched – at my door. I fancy she did but I was asleep and by the time I opened my door there was nobody.’
‘I see. She intimated to me that she had something to tell you.’
‘I know. Oh, dear!’ Troy said. ‘Should I have gone to her cabin, do you think?’
‘Ah, no! No. It’s only that Miss Rickerby-Carrick has a very high opinion of you and I thought perhaps she intended – ’ He hesitated and then said firmly. ‘I think I must explain that this lady spoke to me last evening. About her insomnia. She had been given some tablets – American proprietary product – by Miss Hewson and she asked me what I thought of these tablets.’
‘She offered me one.’
‘Yes? I said that they were unknown to me and suggested that she should consult her own doctor if her insomnia was persistent. In view of her snoring performance on the previous night I felt it might, at least in part, be an imaginary condition. My reason for troubling you with the incident is this. I formed the opinion that Miss Rickerby-Carrick was overwrought, that she was experiencing some sort of emotional and nervous crisis. It was very noticeable – very marked. I felt some concern. You understand that she did not consult me on the score of this condition: if she had it would be improper for me to speak to you about it. I think she may have been on the point of doing so when she suddenly broke off, said something incoherent and left me.’
‘Do you think she’s actually – well – mentally unbalanced?’
‘That is a convenient phrase without real definition. I think she is disturbed – which is another such phrase. It is because I think so that I am a little worried about this departure in the middle of the night. Unnecessarily so, I dare say.’
‘You heard the telephone message, just now?’
‘Yes. A friend’s illness.’
‘Can it,’ Troy exclaimed, ‘be Mavis?’
She and Dr Natouche stared speculatively at each other. She saw the wraith of a smile on his mouth.
‘No. Wait a bit,’ Troy went on. ‘She walked up to the village with Mr Lazenby and me. My head was swinging with migraine and I scarcely listened. He might remember. Of course she talked incessantly about Mavis. I think she said Mavis is in the Highlands. I’m sure she did. Do you suppose Miss Rickerby-Carrick has shot off by taxi to the Highlands in the dead of night?’
‘Perhaps only to Longminster and thence by train?’
‘Who can tell! Did nobody hear anything?’ Troy wondered. ‘I mean, somebody must have come on board with this news and roused her up. It would be a disturbance.’
‘Here? At the stern? It’s far removed from our cabins.’
‘Yes,’ Troy said, ‘but how would they know she was back here?’
‘She told me she would take her tablet and sleep on deck.’
Troy stooped down and after a moment, picked up a blotched, red scrap of cloth.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
The long fingers that looked as if they had been imperfectly treated with black cork, turned it over and laid it in the pinkish palm. ‘Isn’t it from the cover of her diary?’ Troy said.
‘I believe you’re right.’
He was about to drop it overboard but she said: ‘No – don’t.’
‘No?’
‘Well – only because –’ Troy gave an apologetic laugh. ‘I’m a policeman’s wife,’ she said. ‘Put it down to that.’
He took out a pocket-book and slipped the scrap of cloth into it.
‘I expect we’re
