place would fall
as straight as the cliff behind him. The tide was in well past where
it had been the previous morning, yet I doubted whether even now a
falling object could reach the water's edge. So aho broke his neck?
However much I puzzled at it, I could think of no answer save the
smugglers.
I
looked back over my shoulder at the Hambles' farmhouse: it was no
distance at all. I could see the buildings perfectly, see where
Hamble had left his pitchfork leaning against the front door, even
make out a hen clucking its way across the yard.
'Hamble
must have heard the shot,' I mumbled to myself. 'And there was at
least one of their lookouts up here.'
'Whose
lookouts, sir?' Ducker was in with his question before I'd realized I
had spoken aloud. 'An' what was the shot you was tellin' the farmer
about?'
Damn!
I'd completely forgotten that I had not yet mentioned my encounter
with the smugglers to Ducker, nor to Crawley nor to anyone, in fact.
I cursed myself for an idiot and tried to invent a plausible lie, but
Ducker's unyielding stare confounded me and I could think of nothing
that would do. Besides, I rationalized, the truth, inglorious though
it was, might as well come out. I could hardly afford to be seen
acting suspiciously, nor to have been concealing facts pertinent to
the murder. And I was sure that whatever Ducker saw would be relayed
immediately to Crawley.
As
best I remembered it, and as briefly as possible, I told the story.
Ducker listened without comment, though he must have inferred most of
it from what I had let slip already. Only after I had finished with a
lame explanation for my reticence did he offer any comment.
'So
the owlers was about that night.'
'Owlers?'
'Smugglers.
We'd been given the nod that they was makin' a landin' - that's why
we was there where we found you. Spent all night runnin' about in the
dark, an' all we caught was shadows. Though it sounds like we'd 'ave
'ad 'em clinked if it wasn't for your body.'
'M y
body? Why, if you had arrived in time there might never have been a
body.' We glared angrily at each other, but he knew he could go no
further without risking charges of insubordination, and I had little
stomach for the quarrel. 'It would appear,' I offered by way of
conciliation, 'that we were both dislocated that night.'
'That
we was,' he agreed.
There
was nothing more to be learned from the cliff, and I did not like the
look of the heavy clouds massing behind us, so we pressed on along
the path, following where it swung sharply inland and descended
rapidly towards the shore. The noise of the surf grew as we clambered
down the thickly wooded hillside, until we emerged on the shoreline
to see rollers breaking over a shallow bay. It must have been a
well-protected spot, for the cliffs that cupped it were thick with
green vegetation, and a coarse sand was mixed in with the stones on
the beach. But apart from one tumbledown stone cottage, which could
not have been inhabited for fifty years at least, there were no signs
of life.
'He'll
be a wet man if he lives in that,' I observed, looking at the
roofless building and cursing Hamble for sending us on a fool's
errand.
I
was just steeling myself for the unhappy prospect of climbing back up
the slope when something caught Ducker's eye.
'There,
sir.'
For
several seconds I could not see what he was pointing at, but then it
became clearer: a tiny, slanted shack perched against the cliff face,
right in the crook of the bay, almost invisible from the main beach.
A small rowing boat was moored near it.
'He'll
be a wet man if he lives there, too.'
The
sea reached to within a few yards of the hut, and it would not take
much of an onshore wind to send the waves crashing about it. Even
now, with the great headland behind providing shelter from the
blowing westerly, spray spattered it, and the narrow path that led
there looked dangerous going. In bad weather it would be completely
impassable.
I
began to doubt Ducker's wisdom ever more as
as straight as the cliff behind him. The tide was in well past where
it had been the previous morning, yet I doubted whether even now a
falling object could reach the water's edge. So aho broke his neck?
However much I puzzled at it, I could think of no answer save the
smugglers.
I
looked back over my shoulder at the Hambles' farmhouse: it was no
distance at all. I could see the buildings perfectly, see where
Hamble had left his pitchfork leaning against the front door, even
make out a hen clucking its way across the yard.
'Hamble
must have heard the shot,' I mumbled to myself. 'And there was at
least one of their lookouts up here.'
'Whose
lookouts, sir?' Ducker was in with his question before I'd realized I
had spoken aloud. 'An' what was the shot you was tellin' the farmer
about?'
Damn!
I'd completely forgotten that I had not yet mentioned my encounter
with the smugglers to Ducker, nor to Crawley nor to anyone, in fact.
I cursed myself for an idiot and tried to invent a plausible lie, but
Ducker's unyielding stare confounded me and I could think of nothing
that would do. Besides, I rationalized, the truth, inglorious though
it was, might as well come out. I could hardly afford to be seen
acting suspiciously, nor to have been concealing facts pertinent to
the murder. And I was sure that whatever Ducker saw would be relayed
immediately to Crawley.
As
best I remembered it, and as briefly as possible, I told the story.
Ducker listened without comment, though he must have inferred most of
it from what I had let slip already. Only after I had finished with a
lame explanation for my reticence did he offer any comment.
'So
the owlers was about that night.'
'Owlers?'
'Smugglers.
We'd been given the nod that they was makin' a landin' - that's why
we was there where we found you. Spent all night runnin' about in the
dark, an' all we caught was shadows. Though it sounds like we'd 'ave
'ad 'em clinked if it wasn't for your body.'
'M y
body? Why, if you had arrived in time there might never have been a
body.' We glared angrily at each other, but he knew he could go no
further without risking charges of insubordination, and I had little
stomach for the quarrel. 'It would appear,' I offered by way of
conciliation, 'that we were both dislocated that night.'
'That
we was,' he agreed.
There
was nothing more to be learned from the cliff, and I did not like the
look of the heavy clouds massing behind us, so we pressed on along
the path, following where it swung sharply inland and descended
rapidly towards the shore. The noise of the surf grew as we clambered
down the thickly wooded hillside, until we emerged on the shoreline
to see rollers breaking over a shallow bay. It must have been a
well-protected spot, for the cliffs that cupped it were thick with
green vegetation, and a coarse sand was mixed in with the stones on
the beach. But apart from one tumbledown stone cottage, which could
not have been inhabited for fifty years at least, there were no signs
of life.
'He'll
be a wet man if he lives in that,' I observed, looking at the
roofless building and cursing Hamble for sending us on a fool's
errand.
I
was just steeling myself for the unhappy prospect of climbing back up
the slope when something caught Ducker's eye.
'There,
sir.'
For
several seconds I could not see what he was pointing at, but then it
became clearer: a tiny, slanted shack perched against the cliff face,
right in the crook of the bay, almost invisible from the main beach.
A small rowing boat was moored near it.
'He'll
be a wet man if he lives there, too.'
The
sea reached to within a few yards of the hut, and it would not take
much of an onshore wind to send the waves crashing about it. Even
now, with the great headland behind providing shelter from the
blowing westerly, spray spattered it, and the narrow path that led
there looked dangerous going. In bad weather it would be completely
impassable.
I
began to doubt Ducker's wisdom ever more as
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