were none, either, visible in the room.
With mounting excitement which neither betrayed they moved over to the desk and peered intently at the blotter. .It, too, must have been there for years. The pink blotting paper tattered at the edges was marked with a criss-cross
of different inks blodged with faded blots. It wasn't, thought Dalgliesh, surprising; most people now .used ballpoints rather than ink. But peering more closely he could see that someone had recently been writing with a fountain pen. Superimposed on the older markings were more recent blottings, a pattern of broken lines and half curves in black ink extending over some six inches of the blotter. Their newness was obvious. He went over to Berowne's jacket, and brought out the fountain pen. It was elegantly slim, one of the newest models, and filled, he saw, with black ink. It should be possible for the lab to match the ink even if the letters couldn't be deciphered. But ifBerowne had been writing and had blotted the paper at the desk, where was it now? Had he himself disposed of it, torn it up, flushed it down the lavatory, burnt it among the debris of the diary pages? Or had someone else found it, perhaps even come specifically to find it, and either destroyed it or taken it away?
Lastly, he and Massingham passed through the open door to the right of the fireplace, careful not to brush against Harry's body, .and explored the kitchen. There was a gas boiler, comparatively modern, mounted above a deep square porcelain sink much stained and with a clean but crumpled tea towel hanging on a hook beside it. Dalgliesh peeled off his gloves and felt the towel. It was slightly damp not in patches but all over as if it had been soaked in water then wrung out and left to dry through the night. He handed it to Massingham who took off his own gloves and ran it through his hand. He said:
'Even if the murderer were naked, or half-naked he would have needed to wash his hands and arms. He could have used this. Berowne's towel is presumably the one hanging on the chair and that looked dry enough.'
He went out to check while Dalgliesh continued his exploration. On the right was a cupboard with a Formica top, brown with tea stains, on which stood one large kettle, one smaller more modern kettle and two teapots. There was also a chipped enamel mug stained almost black inside and smelling of spirits. Opening the cupboard he saw that
41
it contained a collection of unmatched crockery and two folded clean tea towels, both dry, and on the bottom shelf an assortment of flower vases and a battered cane basket containing folded dusters, and tins of metal and furniture polish. Here presumably Miss Wharton and her fellow helpers would arrange the flowers, wash out their dusters, refresh themselves with tea.
Attached to the pipe of the gas boiler by a brass chain was a box of safety matches in a brass holder, similar to the one chained to the candlestand; hinged at the top to allow the insertion of a fresh box. There had been a similar holder and brass chain in the parish room of his father's Norfolk church but he couldn't remember seeing one since. They were clumsy to use, the striking surface barely adequate. It was difficult to believe that the boxes had been removed, then replaced and even more difficult to credit that a match from either of the chained boxes had been struck, then carried lit and precariously flickering
into the Little Vestry and used to burn the diary. Massingham was back beside him. He said:
'The towel next door is perfectly dry and only slightly dirtied. It looks as ifBerowne could have washed his hands when he arrived and that's all. It's odd that he didn't leave it in here, except that there's nowhere convenient to hang it. Odder, though, that the killer, assuming there is a killer, didn't use it to dry himself rather than the smaller tea towel.'
Dalgliesh said:
'If he remembered to take it out with him to the kitchen. If he didn't, he'd hardly want to go
With mounting excitement which neither betrayed they moved over to the desk and peered intently at the blotter. .It, too, must have been there for years. The pink blotting paper tattered at the edges was marked with a criss-cross
of different inks blodged with faded blots. It wasn't, thought Dalgliesh, surprising; most people now .used ballpoints rather than ink. But peering more closely he could see that someone had recently been writing with a fountain pen. Superimposed on the older markings were more recent blottings, a pattern of broken lines and half curves in black ink extending over some six inches of the blotter. Their newness was obvious. He went over to Berowne's jacket, and brought out the fountain pen. It was elegantly slim, one of the newest models, and filled, he saw, with black ink. It should be possible for the lab to match the ink even if the letters couldn't be deciphered. But ifBerowne had been writing and had blotted the paper at the desk, where was it now? Had he himself disposed of it, torn it up, flushed it down the lavatory, burnt it among the debris of the diary pages? Or had someone else found it, perhaps even come specifically to find it, and either destroyed it or taken it away?
Lastly, he and Massingham passed through the open door to the right of the fireplace, careful not to brush against Harry's body, .and explored the kitchen. There was a gas boiler, comparatively modern, mounted above a deep square porcelain sink much stained and with a clean but crumpled tea towel hanging on a hook beside it. Dalgliesh peeled off his gloves and felt the towel. It was slightly damp not in patches but all over as if it had been soaked in water then wrung out and left to dry through the night. He handed it to Massingham who took off his own gloves and ran it through his hand. He said:
'Even if the murderer were naked, or half-naked he would have needed to wash his hands and arms. He could have used this. Berowne's towel is presumably the one hanging on the chair and that looked dry enough.'
He went out to check while Dalgliesh continued his exploration. On the right was a cupboard with a Formica top, brown with tea stains, on which stood one large kettle, one smaller more modern kettle and two teapots. There was also a chipped enamel mug stained almost black inside and smelling of spirits. Opening the cupboard he saw that
41
it contained a collection of unmatched crockery and two folded clean tea towels, both dry, and on the bottom shelf an assortment of flower vases and a battered cane basket containing folded dusters, and tins of metal and furniture polish. Here presumably Miss Wharton and her fellow helpers would arrange the flowers, wash out their dusters, refresh themselves with tea.
Attached to the pipe of the gas boiler by a brass chain was a box of safety matches in a brass holder, similar to the one chained to the candlestand; hinged at the top to allow the insertion of a fresh box. There had been a similar holder and brass chain in the parish room of his father's Norfolk church but he couldn't remember seeing one since. They were clumsy to use, the striking surface barely adequate. It was difficult to believe that the boxes had been removed, then replaced and even more difficult to credit that a match from either of the chained boxes had been struck, then carried lit and precariously flickering
into the Little Vestry and used to burn the diary. Massingham was back beside him. He said:
'The towel next door is perfectly dry and only slightly dirtied. It looks as ifBerowne could have washed his hands when he arrived and that's all. It's odd that he didn't leave it in here, except that there's nowhere convenient to hang it. Odder, though, that the killer, assuming there is a killer, didn't use it to dry himself rather than the smaller tea towel.'
Dalgliesh said:
'If he remembered to take it out with him to the kitchen. If he didn't, he'd hardly want to go
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