Chapter Ten

After Savage had gone George Palmer-Jones went back to his room. He still did not feel ready to sleep. There were muffled sounds in the corridor, voices. Eventually everything went quiet. Presumably the policemen had finished. He undressed and got into bed, but still he did not sleep. Previously his commitment to the investigation had been limited. His involvement had been selfish. It had been a personal challenge. He had wanted to find out who had killed Charlie Todd, but there had been no urgency. It was not really his responsibility. It had not mattered because the police would succeed even if he failed. Now it mattered a great deal. He did not believe that Nicholas Mardle had killed Charlie Todd, and he was quite certain that the boy had not killed Pamela Marshall. In many ways Savage was a good policeman. He was determined, energetic and honest. But he had too much faith in his own judgement. He believed that Nicholas Mardle was a murderer. Unless he was faced with an obvious, a very obvious fact which contradicted the theory, he would interpret all the evidence to strengthen his belief. Now George Palmer-Jones did feel responsible. Savage was stubborn. George had no faith that he would be able to persuade the policeman that Nick might be innocent. So he had to find a fact, a very obvious fact, with which to confront him. Or the murderer.

The next day was horrible, muddled. Savage did not appear. Connibear arrived very early, before the tide, took desultory statements. At breakfast John and Elizabeth bickered spitefully and incessantly. Jasmine Carson was furious that she had not been wakened in the night.

“I should have been told,” she stormed. “I am one of the original trustees. I should have been consulted.”

“So you should, my dear lady. So you should.” The doctor’s easy agreement only increased her anger. He seemed to be taking a delight in her discomfort. “ But really,” he continued, “this isn’t the time to cause a fuss, now is it?”

He tried to talk to everyone. Later, when George Palmer-Jones looked back on that day he remembered everything against a background of the doctor’s words, meaningless and intrusive. And he remembered the sharp, spiky rain, painful as sleet, which clattered against the windows and jangled the nerves.

No one was willing to listen to Paul Derbyshire. Jerry Packham, usually invariably gentle and polite, had been horrified into rudeness. Although he sat next to the doctor at breakfast he ignored the older man. He might have been sitting there alone. Jasmine Carson, after the first outburst, expressed her disapproval, her feeling of having been left out, in silence. Mark’s soft and funny face was expressionless. There was no movement in it. He too seemed very frightened and lonely.

George did not have much time to talk to the other residents. They were planning to leave immediately after lunch and the police had agreed to this arrangement. After breakfast he looked for Jerry and found him in his bedroom, packing.