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Authors: Dorothy L. Sayers
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capable of proof by witnesses. Tarff 8.53. Brig-of-Dee, 9.2 nothing to be done from there, except by car. Castle Douglas 9.7. That was different. Castle Douglas was a junction. From there one might turn back in the direction of Newton-Stewart. Yes. There was a train. This was ridiculous, of course, because Waters had travelled with the two women, but there was no harm in working it out. Castle Douglas 9.14, Newton-Stewart 10.22. Wimsey breathed a sigh of relief. If the murderer had been seen painting at 10 oclock, that let out Waters. He could not have got even so far as Newton Stewart by that time.
But all this depended on the doctors report. If both Wimsey and he had been mistaken about the rigor then it was possible that Campbell himself had been painting at the Minnoch till five minutes past eleven. In which case Wimsey thumbed the time-table again.
In which case a train reaching Newton Stewart at 10.22 might prove very handy to an intending murderer supposing the murderer knew already that Campbell meant to paint that day at the Minnoch. A car from Newton Stewart would bring him to the scene of the crime in twenty minutes time enough and to spare. And though Waters had no car, such things can be hired. There would be a risk, certainly, for in country districts people know one another, and indeed, who would hire out a driverless car to a man he did not know, without making careful inquiries? Yet, if the deposit were big enough, he might take the risk. It would not do to cross Waters off the list too promptly.
At this point Wimsey cursed himself for a fool. It was as certain as anything could be that Waters had travelled peacefully to Glasgow under the eyes of his friends, and would return peacefully with them the next day.
He looked at his watch. It was not possible, of course, that Waters had returned by the 9 oclock train. Still, it would do no harm to go and see.
He walked along the High Street. There was no light either in Waters sitting-room or in his bedroom, both of which faced upon the street. The landlady would think him daft if he made any more inquiries. There was Waters studio a big converted barn up a turning off the Tongland Road. If he had come back, he certainly would not be working there at this hour. Still, when one is restless, any excuse will serve to take a little walk.
Wimsey made his way past the Castle, up the little flight of steps and over the green by the harbour. The tide was dropping, and the long mud-flats of the estuary glimmered faintly in the pale midsummer night. The yacht that had come in that morning still lay close against the harbour wall, her spars and rigging making a bold foreground of interlaced verticals and horizontals against the galumphing curves of the ugly concrete bridge. Wimsey crossed the open space where the buses congregate by day, plunged down the little alley by the gasworks and came out past the station on to the Tongland Road.
Crossing the street, he turned off again to the right and found himself in a happy backwater, with an ancient overshot watermill, a few cottages and a wide open space, grassy and forlorn, surrounded by sheds and derelict out-buildings.
Waters studio was approached by a little winding path among overgrown bushes and lush grass. He pushed open the gate and tried the door. It was locked, and there was no sign of life about the place. The silence was intense. He heard some small animal move in the grass, the plop, plopping from the wooden trough over the paddles of the mill-wheel; far off, somewhere in the town, a dog barked hoarsely.
Wimsey turned to go. As he went, the stony path creaking under his feet, the door of one of the cottages was flung suddenly open, letting a long bar of light stream suddenly across the ground. Framed in the door he saw the silhouette of a woman peering out anxiously into the silvery darkness.
7
----
It occurred to Wimsey suddenly that this was Farrens house, and he paused,
But all this depended on the doctors report. If both Wimsey and he had been mistaken about the rigor then it was possible that Campbell himself had been painting at the Minnoch till five minutes past eleven. In which case Wimsey thumbed the time-table again.
In which case a train reaching Newton Stewart at 10.22 might prove very handy to an intending murderer supposing the murderer knew already that Campbell meant to paint that day at the Minnoch. A car from Newton Stewart would bring him to the scene of the crime in twenty minutes time enough and to spare. And though Waters had no car, such things can be hired. There would be a risk, certainly, for in country districts people know one another, and indeed, who would hire out a driverless car to a man he did not know, without making careful inquiries? Yet, if the deposit were big enough, he might take the risk. It would not do to cross Waters off the list too promptly.
At this point Wimsey cursed himself for a fool. It was as certain as anything could be that Waters had travelled peacefully to Glasgow under the eyes of his friends, and would return peacefully with them the next day.
He looked at his watch. It was not possible, of course, that Waters had returned by the 9 oclock train. Still, it would do no harm to go and see.
He walked along the High Street. There was no light either in Waters sitting-room or in his bedroom, both of which faced upon the street. The landlady would think him daft if he made any more inquiries. There was Waters studio a big converted barn up a turning off the Tongland Road. If he had come back, he certainly would not be working there at this hour. Still, when one is restless, any excuse will serve to take a little walk.
Wimsey made his way past the Castle, up the little flight of steps and over the green by the harbour. The tide was dropping, and the long mud-flats of the estuary glimmered faintly in the pale midsummer night. The yacht that had come in that morning still lay close against the harbour wall, her spars and rigging making a bold foreground of interlaced verticals and horizontals against the galumphing curves of the ugly concrete bridge. Wimsey crossed the open space where the buses congregate by day, plunged down the little alley by the gasworks and came out past the station on to the Tongland Road.
Crossing the street, he turned off again to the right and found himself in a happy backwater, with an ancient overshot watermill, a few cottages and a wide open space, grassy and forlorn, surrounded by sheds and derelict out-buildings.
Waters studio was approached by a little winding path among overgrown bushes and lush grass. He pushed open the gate and tried the door. It was locked, and there was no sign of life about the place. The silence was intense. He heard some small animal move in the grass, the plop, plopping from the wooden trough over the paddles of the mill-wheel; far off, somewhere in the town, a dog barked hoarsely.
Wimsey turned to go. As he went, the stony path creaking under his feet, the door of one of the cottages was flung suddenly open, letting a long bar of light stream suddenly across the ground. Framed in the door he saw the silhouette of a woman peering out anxiously into the silvery darkness.
7
----
It occurred to Wimsey suddenly that this was Farrens house, and he paused,
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