did you know that?’
‘I went to see Tyson myself a couple of days back.’ He stirred his coffee, then added significantly: ‘Do you know what happened, Mr Wyatt?’
‘I haven’t an idea.’
Knight dropped his voice to an even more confidential level.
‘I went to see Tyson in my car. When I reached the bridge, the one where you had your accident, I heard another car coming behind me. He was blowing his horn, and I pulled over to let him pass. Suddenly, and quite deliberately, he attempted to force my car off the road.’
‘But that’s exactly what happened to us!’ cried Sally excitedly.
‘Go on, Mr Knight,’ said Wyatt.
‘Fortunately for me,’ continued Knight, ‘I went into a skid, or he’d have forced me right over the bridge. He was off like the devil, of course.’
‘Didn’t you follow him?’ asked Wyatt.
‘Well, I was a bit shaken,’ Knight admitted. ‘And there was really not much point in my chasing him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ explained Knight impressively, ‘I managed to get his number.’
Sally sat up straight in her chair.
‘You got his number!’ she repeated.
Knight slowly took a small, black notebook from his waistcoat pocket and read out:
‘GKC 973. Perhaps you’ll take a note of it, Mr Wyatt.’
Wyatt did so.
‘It looks as if someone was trying to prevent you from seeing Mr Tyson,’ said Sally shrewdly.
‘Exactly, Mrs Wyatt. And I think the attempt on your life was for precisely the same reason.’
Wyatt balanced on the two rear legs of his chair and considered this.
‘It’s quite a theory, Mr Knight,’ he said at last.
Sally was looking puzzled now.
‘But surely Tyson can’t know anything about this business,’ she put in. ‘After all, he’s just an old fisherman who happened to discover the body.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Mrs Wyatt, if I were you,’ said Knight. Wyatt gave him a quick glance.
‘You saw Tyson?’ he demanded.
‘Yes,’ said Knight, ‘I saw him. He was annoyed and rather bad tempered.’
‘I expect he’s had quite a lot of people questioning him lately,’ suggested Sally.
‘I have an idea he’s holding something back,’ persisted Knight, turning to Wyatt. ‘I wish you’d go and see him, Mr Wyatt. I think a dose of third degree might not do any harm.’
Wyatt shrugged.
‘I’m afraid third degree is hardly in my line,’ he said slowly. ‘But I certainly propose to see Mr Tyson.’
Knight rose at once.
‘Good – I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that,’ he declared. ‘When do you think you’ll go?’
‘Some time this morning, I dare say.’
‘That’s fine. I hope you’ll catch him in a better temper – and if he isn’t, don’t hesitate to throw a scare into him.’
‘I rather gather that you don’t much care for Mr Tyson,’ said Wyatt with a faint smile.
‘I think he knows more than he’s told anyone so far.’ He finished his coffee and picked up his hat.
‘I must rush off now. Perhaps I’ll see you in London?’
‘It’s quite possible,’ nodded Wyatt, taking his stick and crossing to the door with him.
When he returned a minute later, he found Sally standing at the window watching their departing visitor.
‘Well?’ said Wyatt.
‘He’s much too good-looking,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘I thought he had a singularly weak face,’ said Wyatt.
‘He’s a typical playboy, of course.’
‘Do you think he was telling the truth about that car?’
‘I can easily get it checked when we’re in Town.’
‘If he was telling the truth,’ continued Sally, ‘it rather looks as if there is some sort of plot to prevent people going to see Mr Tyson.’
‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,’ he conceded. ‘All the same, we are going to see Tyson – this very morning, just as soon as I can get a car.’
Sally turned from the window.
‘Darling, why don’t we walk over there? It’s only four miles, and it’s a lovely morning.’
‘All right,’ he agreed, ‘if you’re quite sure you feel up to it.’
‘I feel fine.’
Two hours later they were slowly climbing the cliff road on which Bill Tyson’s cottage stood. They had enjoyed their walk, but Sally was feeling a little tired and was holding on to her husband’s arm. Occasionally they stopped to admire the view across the bay, or to watch a seagull as it swooped overhead.
There was a sudden sound of footsteps descending the rough road, and round a corner came Hugo Linder, whistling to himself. He greeted them warmly.
‘I thought you were going back to Town this morning,’ said Wyatt casually.
‘In half an hour,’ replied Linder. ‘I’ve just been to say goodbye to Tyson.’
‘As a matter of fact, that’s where we’re going. Is the old boy in?’
‘Yes, he’s in all right,’ said Linder, with a certain amount of hesitation, ‘but I’m afraid you won’t find him in a very good humour. He seems quite morose just lately.’
‘How far is the cottage?’ asked Sally.
‘Only just round the next bend, Mrs Wyatt. It’s quite a climb up here, but I always think it’s worth it.’
Linder bade them a cheerful farewell, and went swinging down the road.
‘Come on, darling, put your best foot forward,’ urged Wyatt, whose leg was beginning to ache for the first time since their arrival.
They
