Chapter 11

Cottage By The Sea

 

David stood on the edge of the cliff, stunned, unbelieving. He knew of course that Becky had not seen him running towards her, but surely she must have heard him shouting. But now, standing by the abyss he was aware of the terrible noise. Against the sound of the wind and crashing waves his voice will have been no more than a whisper.

     Neither had David heard her last words; a muttered ‘God forgive me’ accompanied by a quick sign of the cross before she jumped, to be immediately swallowed by the mist and the spray that swirled around her. As she fell there were other cries from the gulls that floated gracefully on the up drafts, unexpectedly disturbed by a falling object. There was another sound too, but one that Becky will not have heard. The anguished cry of disbelief and misery.

     David could hear nothing more above the roar of the crashing waves far below, unseen in the mist and the spray. It was over; the dream was now a nightmare and Becky had gone to her death;  alone. She had picked her spot well, for there was nothing between her and South America. She would be swept away and it was quite possible that her body might never be found. At this point of the coast the prevailing winds were ever present, and the surge of the storm driven surf was unbroken for thousands of miles. A body lost here may turn up at any point, at any time on either side of the Atlantic; or it may never turn up at all.

   David had seen Becky jump but could not see her now. All that was visible was a wet swirling cauldron. He sat and waited unable to move; turned to stone. For an hour or two - he didn’t know how long. He sat until he was completely soaked, and very cold. But still he did move; nor did he care. Everything was gone; there was nothing left to make life worthwhile. It was then the thought occurred to him, a way to end this mess. If he could not have Becky in life, at least they could be together in death; He would jump too.

   Wearily he got to his feet and went to the edge and looked down on the rocks below, seeing them for the first time. It was warmer now despite the rain, and the misty conditions had given way, providing a clearer view. The waves continued to crash noisily onto the rocks, sending spray high into the air, where the wind took it and spun it, twisting it into spirals of mist until it disappeared, only for it all to begin again with the next surging wave.

   In the time since Becky had jumped the mist had cleared, and in full daylight he could make out the rocks where constant yet intermittent spray conspired to obscure then reveal the  frightening scene below; the angry wind and the screeching gulls adding a devilish scream to the frightening scene.

     Would Becky have jumped had she been able to see the cauldron below, as I can see it now?’ David wondered, as he took the last step to the very edge.

   Just then something caught his eye. On a ledge near the bottom, just below some bushes and shrubs was what looked like a bundle of rags.

   He looked hard, but still it was not very clear. Fine spray from the crashing waves was swirling about, and the rain, not too hard but driven by the wind, was getting in his eyes. He said a silent prayer; his heart missed a beat, hardly daring to believe. But the more he looked the more he was sure.

   It was Becky.

   It was a long climb down, and David, unskilled and uncertain, came near to falling more than once. But eventually he found a way to the bottom. He had picked the only route he could see and found himself some seventy yards from, and perhaps twenty feet below the ledge. Now he had to find a way back to where she lay, using tiny footholds little better than those which would test a mountain goat. From rock to rock, over or round, sometimes jumping; often drenched as the waves crashed around him, tugging at his legs and feet as they sought to dislodge him, and hanging on when they almost succeeded. Finally he came close to the place close to where Becky lay, but the ledge was still twenty feet above him. He could not see her now, but he could see the damaged branches of the small trees above the ledge which might have broken her fall.

   So near and yet so far; and maybe too late. Even if the trees had stopped her hitting the rocks, they may themselves have done enough damage to kill her.

   He had found a way down the bottom of the small but sheer rock face, which now separated him from Becky. Looking for something he could use; anything to help him climb the testing slab, he found nothing except broken rocks. Rocks that had been disturbed by the forces of nature. The pounding tide, rain and wind, icy cold winters, and then heat from the summer sun, constant and incessant, never ending from one century to the next, ancient stones loosened until they lay where they fell, broken into millions of pieces large and small.

   He had noticed some cracks in the rock face, and desperately searched for some driftwood which he might drive into the cracks to create a ladder of pegs, but there was nothing. He picked up a good sized sliver of rock and pushed it into a crack just above knee height, then with another boulder of manageable size he hammered it in. It seemed to work and tentatively he put his foot on it, and then his weight. It held.

   The next suitable crack was about shoulder height, but where the lower crack was a horizontal one, the next was nearly vertical. He knew that it would it would need a bigger piece of rock, well driven, to hold his weight.

   He searched until he found a piece of the right size, and then another, much larger, to use as a hammer. This was more difficult, and far more arduous, but finally it was done.

   Now he could reach about two thirds up to the ledge. One more good wedge and he might be able to make it. But how? Building steps was hard enough standing on firm ground, but how could he apply the force he would need when balanced on one foot, and holding on with one hand. Just the same he had to try.

   Clinging on while standing on the top step, he searched for another crack, and his fingers found one which from below he couldn't see. Trusting now on hope rather than skills; skills he didn't possess, he placed his foot higher up the crack above his second step, moving it around trying to find something on which it might gain purchase. By good luck or divine intervention he did not know, but he felt his foot jam enough to support his weight. Pulling hard now on the little crack into which his fingers were clinging, he heaved himself up to a new 'base' position. Though pleased with his progress he was now in a quandary for unless

there was another foothold within reach, he would be unable to gain further hight. He also doubted his ability to get down without falling. If that was not enough, he feared that his stamina might give our, for just getting this far had all but exhausted him.

   It took another half hour of nerve racking and painfully slow movement to reach the ledge, but at last he was there, and now he would know. Becky's body was crumpled and appeared lifeless. She was cold and at first he could find no signs of life, but then, when tearfully he had reached the conclusion that she was dead, he felt a tiny pulse.

   There were many cuts and abrasions on her face, arms and legs, but no obvious signs of broken limbs. Though the rain had stopped her cloths were still wet, and would not have been doing her any good. By contrast his cloths were now thoroughly dry following all the exertions of the last hour.

   Quickly and carefully he removed her night gown, a garment of silk and lace, which he had seen flying in the wind, floating and billowing, moments before Becky had disappeared. Now it was torn and shredded, dirty and sodden, its former elegance totally lost. He removed his top coat and jacket, which he wrapped around her as best he could, and then laid down with her, closely, hugging her tightly to him, covering them both with his coat. With his arm around her, pulling her firmly against him, he hoped that some of his own body heat might get through.

   There was nothing more he could do.

   Later he might be able to go for some help, but not now. Not now that he had found  her still alive. How long would it take to get help? He could not say. How long would it take to get off the ledge? He did not know. And how long might she stay alive? All he knew was that for now at least, he must stay with her. To leave her now, he feared, would be to leave her forever.

   How long they lay there here could not say, for in his exhaustion, he had drifted off into a kind of sleep. He thought he must be dreaming, and at first could not make it out, but then he realized he could hear something.

   What was that noise? Voices?

   Then the fog in his head started to clear and he could feel Becky against him. He was stiff and cold, and every part of his body seemed to ache. But Becky? Her body was warmer than before, and he could hear her breathing.

   There was that noise again. 'What is it' he wondered.  He lay still, trying to work it out.  ‘Hello.’ there it was again "Hey there."

   'It's someone shouting' his mind starting to make sense of the sound. "It's someone shouting!" he called out to Becky, as he leapt to his feet. Far above a party of walkers were calling. They had seen them from a little further along the cliff top and had come to investigate. Certain that they had seen two bodies, one of the party had gone to get help.

   It was not yet the end of the nightmare, but David's relief was indescribable when, an hour later, an assorted group of walkers, firemen, medics and policemen, witnessed the two 'bodies' being lifted to the top, and whisked off to the little hospital in St.Asham’s.

   Perhaps it was the end of one kind of nightmare, but David instinctively knew that there were more to come. As soon as he could, he phoned Inspector Brindell to tell him where they were, and to apologize for running off without letting him know.

   "You know I can have you on at least seventeen charges don't you?"

   But there was something in the voice that suggested that Brindell was wearing that certain grimace which masqueraded as a smile.

   "I'm sorry, I just had to drop everything."

   "We'll worry about that later, right now I want to ask you some questions; for example, what the hell have you been up to?"

   David spent the next ten minutes bringing the Chief Inspector up to date. "I don’t know the extent of her injuries, but I hope that Miss Carr can be transferred to a hospital much nearer to home very soon. I expect that you will want to ask her some questions as well."

   After that he went to find Becky, only to discover that she was still being examined. With time to kill, David was reading an old magazine in the waiting room, when a uniformed policeman came in.

   "Mr Bomally?", he said, showing his badge "I'm Sergeant Harris of Pembrokeshire Police. Need to as you a few questions."

   "Of course," David replied, but I've just been on the phone to Chief Inspector Brindell, to put him in the picture."

   "Brindell? Got no Brindell in our station. No, never heard of anyone called Brindell."

   "He's from the Oxfordshire force." David explained.

   "Is he now, well never mind him; we are investigating the suspicious death of a body found on the rocks near to where you were picked up.

   "Richard ? You've found Richard?, where is he?"

   "You're asking a lot of questions for one in your position; don't you think. I should be asking the questions ... so to start with, who's Richard?"

   "Sorry," said David, uncertain about his visitor, " I came here to find him."

   "And did you find him?"

   "No, I'm afraid I did not, I found Miss Carr instead."

   "Were they together then?"

   "Yes; but not in the sense you mean."

   "Oh yes, and what 'sense' do you think I was meaning, then?"

   It was a bit like the opening moves in a game of chess; each player establishing a position before the real game started. "Well ... she wasn't with him willingly ... I think she was being abducted."

   "Don't you think its an odd place for an abduction?"

   "Yes of course I do, and I can't make any more sense of it than you at the moment."

   David was getting cross now. He had just come through a traumatic experience, he was very worried and very tired. It was not a good time to be playing mind games. "I can’t tell you anything else. Until Miss Carr recovers, and I can speak to her, I don't know any more." And then he stopped, as though he had just remembered what the policeman had said.

   "You say you are investigating a suspicious death. Is it Richard?, Are you telling me that Richard is dead?"

   "Again I ask, who is Richard? You don't seem to be very surprised, or concerned." the policeman observed rather coolly.

   "Richard is my brother, but If you are expecting wailing and weeping, you'll be disappointed ... I am far too emotionally drained already to put on a display for you."

   David was feeling very tired, and almost didn't care, but just in time he managed to shake of this careless mood. "Nothing can surprise me any more." He said; a few words spoken without emotion, but with a weariness that was compelling.

   Sergeant Harris had seen it all in his time, and was pretty good at sorting the wheat from the chaff. He generally knew if a man was telling the truth. But then again, he had been taken in a few times as well, so nothing was taken for granted.

   "Yes, it does sounds as though you've had a few surprises. But look at it my way; how do I know that you didn't kill them all, or at least try too, ... your father, your brother, and your girlfriend?"

   David couldn't think of anything for the moment, but then he jumped up. "So you do know about Richard, and my father"

   "Ok, yes; I have had a word with your inspector Brindell; he's told me pretty much what's going on."

   "Well you know that Becky is alive, she will tell you."

   "Don't worry, I expect she will, as soon as she recovers, but what I find a bit of a puzzle is why you were down there as well."

   David was feeling very weak, and was not at his best. The policeman on the other hand was fresh and untroubled. There was no doubt which of the two men was mentally the stronger at this moment, and David felt that it was an unequal contest.

   "It's only a puzzle because you don't seem to want to believe me. I saw her from the top of the cliff and climbed down hoping that I would find her alive. Is that really so hard to believe?"

   David was feeling quite angry now, and had to be careful not to go too far.

   "Now please will you tell me about my brother."

   "We think we have found him."

   "You told me he was dead."

   "He is."

   "Oh' for God's sake man, can't you stop playing games?" He looked across at Harris with a look of weary resignation on his face. "I'm all in and I can't play your silly little game any more. Either tell me or arrest me or go away."

   With that he sat down, having apparently ended the interview.

   A moment later the policeman sat down next to him. "A body was found in the water at the foot of the cliff not far from where you were found. It was somehow wedged between the rocks which prevented it being carried out to sea. It may be your brother's body and we will need you to identify it."

   For the moment at least the confrontation was over, and the sergeant got up to leave.

    "Please come to the station in the morning and we can get that out of the way."

   As he reached the door he stopped and turned. "I think you should get some sleep!"

   Ten minutes later a nurse came into the waiting room to tell David that Miss Carr had opened her eyes, only to find that he had taken the police sergeant's advice. She thought it might be better to leave him. When he awakened he was stiff and cold; and very uncomfortable. It was very quiet and dark outside. What time was it?, how long had he slept?, he didn't know. He looked at his watch, but his mind wasn't switched on. He couldn't quite get his head round recent events, or even remember where he was. Everything seemed to be blurred. Opening the door, he found himself on a long corridor, and somewhere near he could hear voices. He walk in their direction until he came to an open office area, beyond which were two darkened wards.

   Three faces turned to him as he approached, the nearest one, a smart young lady smiled.  "Mr Bomally, how do you feel now, you've been in such a deep sleep."

   It was at least a friendly greeting, and now his head was beginning to clear, and mental pictures of events were returning, he remembered that he had been short of friends.

   "Thank you." he answered "I feel like death warmed up to be honest; how long have I been here?"

   "About six hours."

   He looked at the clock behind her. “Four thirty,” he said out loud, still trying to get his brain into gear. "Miss Carr, where is she; is she alright; can I see her?"

   "Miss Carr is in a private room, and she'll be alright, but I'm sorry you can't see her just yet."

   "But I must see her, I don't know what has happened to her, or how it came about; why can't I see her?"

   "To start with she is under sedation, and is still in shock. Secondly, we are instructed by the police that she must have no visitors until they arrive at eight o'clock."

   "But I must ..."

   "Please Mr Bomally, don't make a fuss, go and have a wash and get something to eat; the time will soon go."

   David returned to the little room he had been using, and found a toilet and wash facility in a room next door.

   Suitably refreshed he sat down again in the little easy chair to sit it out. How he had managed to sleep in it he could not imagine, as it was far from 'easy'. He heard a knock and the door opened to reveal the nurse carrying a tray with a cup of tea and two slices of toast.

   "Hear you are Mr Bomally, this might help."

   The time ticked on slowly, but gradually he noticed the light outside increasing almost imperceptibly as a new day dragged itself out of the night, and at five to eight there was a single sharp rap on the door, and in walked Inspector Brindell.

   "Why, inspector, I never expected to be pleased to see you."

   "Yes ... well let's say that you meant that as a compliment, and leave it there, shall we."

   "Oh' I'm sorry, it didn't sound too good, did it?"

   "Never mind about that now. I've been driving all night because of you, and we've a full day ahead, so shall we?" The inspector gestured as he spoke, indicating that they should make a start.

   "Where too?" David asked, as he tried to match the inspectors long strides.

   "The mortuary first. I've had another long chat on the phone to your Sergeant Harris, and he tells me that you are going to identify your brother's body. OK?"

   "Yes, OK, but he's not 'my' Sergeant Harris; and I want to see Becky."

   "You will soon enough, and until you do she's in good hands."

   The inspector was very positive, which pleased David, and unlike at their previous meetings, he did not feel threatened by him. But he did wish that he would walk a little slower!

   Everything had prepared him to be confronted by the dead body of his brother, catalogued and filed away in a mortuary drawer, but despite having had a day to get used to the idea, he was still not ready mentally, and didn't know how he was going to react.

   The drawer was pulled open by an attendant, and the face uncovered. David was stunned. Something was turning him upside down; a feeling he had never experienced before. Worse than nausea, more disturbing than dizziness. A feeling of unease so acute that it was hard to bear. He was looking at the body before him, and yet he felt as though he was not there. Not a word was spoken for a minute or more as David stared at the dead man.

   Two things were evident at once.

   First; that this man’s death had not been without pain and anguish, for his injuries were substantial.

   "Well?" asked the detective, when he felt that there had been sufficient time for some kind of response.

   David did not quite know what to say, or how he was supposed to feel, sadness or joy; but it was neither.

   "Well?" Brindell asked again, a touch of impatience evident.

   And second; that it was not his brother.

   David started to speak, but he had no voice. He coughed, and tried again.

   "I do not know this man inspector." he managed at last, the words spluttering as though he had forced them out.

   "How do you mean, you don’t know him, he's you're brother isn't he?" this time Brindell made no attempt to hide his irritation.

   "I'm sorry to disappoint you inspector; that's not my brother, and I don't know who he is." David turned and took a few steps away, leaving the inspector staring alone at the cold and inanimate stranger.

   "Well who the bloody hell is he then?" Brindell asked the soulless room, as he turned to join David, who was now moving toward the door. As they left they heard the sound of the drawer being pushed back, consigning it's un-mourned occupant once more to the dark and the cold.

   Conversation was difficult for a time as both men considered this new turn of events. David was very confused. He had expected the worse, but now he was in a quandary. How was he supposed to feel. During the last few months he had discovered the depth of depravity his brother had sunk to, and had learnt how much he hated his father. "Enough to kill him: and probably me as well." he said to the inspector as though he had asked the question. For a while he had seen Richards death as a sort of solution, but he wasn't dead after all, at least as far as he knew, and he just didn't know if he was pleased or sorry.

   "I wonder who he is?" asked the inspector, as they moved between unfamiliar hospital buildings, trying to find their way back to the ward. " I'll have to get in touch with your Sergeant Harris, see if he can find out."

   David didn't respond again to the question of Sergeant Harris's lineage, or to the identity of the body, but went straight to the point that was uppermost in his mind.

   "Is this why Becky... Miss Carr... said she had killed Richard?” he asked. “And why would she tell me she had killed Richard when it was someone else?” The inspector offered no answers. “We must go to her as soon as we can. There must be a reason."

   After a couple of wrong turns they reached the ward, only to be greeted by new faces behind the counter, and a hive of activity in the ward. A discreet display of his inspectors badge, and a quietly spoken request soon brought the ward sister to him, and she took them to a single bed side ward, guarded by a uniformed police constable. They found Becky laying on her back, slightly elevated by the tilting bed. She turned her head a little as the two men came in, but there was no change of expression.

   "Miss Carr," started the inspector "we have to ask ...", but he was stopped in his tracks when David walked to the bed side and kissed her tenderly. It was not a passionate kiss, but it contained his love, and his assurance that he would be there for her, come what may.

   "Becky," he said to her as he held her hand, "this is Inspector Brindell, and he has to ask some questions; things he needs to know." There was a flicker of understanding but David felt that she was not fully with him. "Please tell him whatever you can, and don't be afraid ... nothing that has happened is your fault."

   Becky talked slowly and deliberately, as if she were having to remember each word before she said it. It was a painful process, but gradually, helped by gentle prompting, a picture emerged.

   “What made you go to the cliff on your own?" David asked.

   “Richard said he had to meet someone in the village, and then he would go to the cove, and he asked me to meet him there.”

   “But why?”

   “I don't know, he said that there was something important up there, something to do with his ancestors, near the old fort. I agreed to go, but told him I would walk."

   “But why Becky? Why couldn't he take you in the car?” David was calm, but firm. Brindell stood back listening carefully; wanting to hear, but not interfering.

   "He told me that he would be using it, and I had already decided I was going for a walk. It was a pleasant morning, after constant rain since we arrived, and I needed to get out, so it seemed like a good idea. It was too except for the rain; I was half way to the cove when it started again, so I just carried on. Of course I never got see what it was he wanted to show me, and now I realize that there was nothing there to see. It was just a ruse to lure me to my death, and I had no idea that I was playing into his hands ... I wouldn't be surprised if you were to find a suicide note somewhere, implicating you and your father, and probably signed by me."

   Becky told them that Richard wasn't there when she arrived, "But not long after I arrived I heard something behind me, and when I turned round I saw him running quite fast toward me."

   Becky stopped a moment. What was it she was trying to remember? Something not quite clear?, or was she trying to forget something that was all too clear?

   "He was coming straight at me, wearing an old duffel coat he liked with its big floppy hood. I could see tufts of his red hair sticking out from his hood, even in the gloomy light. The rain was making it difficult for us both, and then, as he got close to me he suddenly seemed to stumble."

   Becky was starting to show signs of distress, and David asked the inspector if they might pause a while, but it was she who wanted to continue; to get it over with.

     "I was very frightened because I didn't know why he was running, and then when he stumbled I thought he might fall over the edge. I reached out and grabbed his arm and tried to pull him round, but instead I ..." she stopped again, and almost screamed.

   David tensed, aware that this was perhaps the crux of the matter. "Go on Becky," he urged, "just spit it out and be done with it."

   She looked at him, as though she was trying to gather strength, forcing herself to say the words. "I tried to swing him round, but he was too heavy. Instead of saving him, I threw him over the edge."

   Then she closed her eyes and her head moved from side to side. “I heard him scream ...” Her voice broke into a moan. “Such a scream.”

   A few minutes elapsed as she tried to recover her composure, and when she seemed to be settled again, Brindell moved forward.           "That was the day before David found you. What about the next day, very early in the morning, before it was light - you went back again. Why did you go back Becky?"

      Given his usual brusqueness he was surprisingly gentle.

     "I can't tell you much about that, it was like a dream. It felt as though someone was whispering to me." she muttered the words, almost too quiet to hear. But then, in a stronger voice she continued. "After Richard had gone over the edge I stood for ages wondering what to do, but my mind was a blank. There was no sign of him, and I couldn’t get down to see for myself. Eventually I left to go back to the cottage, and I was going to ring the police, but by the time I reached it, all I could think of was sleep, and I just collapsed on to the bed. When I woke up I thought of you David and phoned you. I can’t remember a word of what I said to you, I was in such a daze, and then I fell asleep again; forgetting I had not rung the police.”

   She gave The Inspector a glance before continuing “Maybe it was some kind of a nightmare, but I woke up in the dark knowing that I must go back. Someone was telling me to go back. Perhaps to try to find Richard; maybe to save him; I don't know, I can hardly remember any of it.”

   “Was it Richard do you think, speaking to you in your dream?”

   “No, it wasn’t Richard ... it was a woman, a woman’s voice.”

   "Can’t you tell me anything, why didn't you take the car?" David asked

   "I think I must have been in some kind of a trance, but somehow I felt I could hear that voice. I don't remember seeing the car or leaving the cottage, or walking along the country lanes. I only vaguely remember standing on the top of the cliff, but... " Becky stopped briefly "Yes, I'm sure I remember, that same voice telling me to jump.”

   She went quiet again, and spoke not another word for a full five minutes, and David was content to let her come to it in her own time.

   But she had finished "There’s nothing more after that," she said, after reliving her ordeal "until I woke up in the hospital."

   It was all she could manage; she had told her story and now she was exhausted. Brindell called for the nurse and asked for her to be watched closely in case of reactions, and then he and David left. There didn't seem to be any more they could do.

   They had at least cleared up the matter of how the man came to be on the rocks. But some questions remained.

   Who was he?.

   Why was he there?

   Where was Richard?

   And who was the woman who came to Becky in her nightmare?

   That had been an unexpected twist. The first time another woman had come into the picture; even if only in a dream.

   David thought of his mother seeking retribution for all that had happened to her husband. But that thought was soon dismissed. Even from the grave he did not think she had it in her to extract such terrible revenge

   “Becky doesn’t know that it wasn’t Richard who went over the cliff; shouldn’t we have told her?” David asked, as he hurried after Brindell, trying to match his stride.

   “Do you think it would have helped her; would she have believed you?”

   David conceded ‘probably not’ on both points “but she will have to know fairly soon.”

   "There's something else." Brindell said, moving away from that subject. "If Richard took the car on the first morning, and Becky could not remember seeing it later, how come it was there when you arrived?"

   "Good question," David replied "sorry I don't have a good answer."

   As to the identity of the body in the morgue; at least they got a 'good answer' to that question later in the day.

   Brindell had been allowed to use a desk at the back of the station in St.Isham’s, and Sargent Harris phoned him from the mortuary, where he had gone to look at the body.

   "Wilton, John Wilton !, That's who your dead man is. Recognized him right off." He said in a jaunty kind of way "a right villain if ever there was one; but don't ask me what he was doing up at the cove."

   "What's his form?" Brindell asked

   "Oh' anything that's going really, small time drugs, general thieving; he'll pinch your car if you let him, or a purse from a woman's shopping basket; an opportunist more than anything else I suppose you might say."

   "Any violence?"

   "Oh yes," said Harris "if there's a fight going on he'll be in it, and if you're in it as well, you'd better make sure you're on his side."

   "Murder, any previous in that department?"

   "Well, not that I'm aware of, but you never know with characters like him."

   "What if he was paid, might that make a difference?"

   "Dare say it would, but we've nothing on him there, so I can't say for positive."

   It was something to work on but not much. He was dead anyway, so there wasn't much point wasting time on him. What was more important was finding out why he was on the cliff top, and who sent him. It seemed most likely that it would be Richard, but until he turned up it looked as though they had gone as far as they could go.

   Brindell returned to the station’s front desk where David was waiting, and told him of this latest discovery. He had been in a somber mood, but this positive, though as yet unexplained, news seemed to cheer him up.

   "What next?" David asked the Inspector.

   "The cottage." he replied, "Time I think to turn the place over to see if it’s hiding any secrets."