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Authors: Edwin Thomas
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me.
Our
host seemed unworried by our identities, and waved us over to sit at
the table with him. I took a stool, and was surprised it did not feel
damp. 'I should have thought, in a position so close to the sea,
you'd have been very wet in here,' I remarked.
'Aye,
a wet soul, that's me,' he chuckled. 'So where are my manners, ye'll
be askin' me next.'
Before
I could protest, he had risen from his chair and was rummaging in a
locker by the wall. I heard the chinking of glass within, and saw him
return with a bottle and three mismatched though indisputably
well-crafted crystal glasses. He poured us each a measure of the
spirit.
'Your
health.' I raised my glass apprehensively, fearing that it would make
the gin of the morning seem wholesome by comparison, but, mirabile
dictu, it seemed to be a rather fine French brandy.
I
drained it, and looked hopefully at what remained in the bottle.
'I
finds it on the beach, sometimes,' the fisherman explained. He pushed
the bottle across the table. 'Help yourselves.'
I
needed no encouragement, and a stern look from Ducker could not deter
me from a second, even a third draught.
'Who
did you say you was again?' asked the fisherman, wonderfully tolerant
of my extravagance.
'L ieutenant
Jerrold,' I repeated. 'But I do not think I have the pleasure, Mr...'
'Strange,'
said the man, cocking his head, 'I thought I heard ye call it
earlier. Simon John, I am.'
He
showed a perfect indifference to whatever our business might be; so,
without a prompt, I was forced to make the start myself. 'Mr John,' I
began, the brandy raising my voice perhaps a little louder than it
might have been, 'did you witness anything unusual early yesterday
morning, shortly before dawn?'
'Unusual?'
He twisted the woollen jersey in his fingers. 'The gulls was quiet.'
He thought a little more. 'I was out in the boat then. Fishin'.'
This
was more promising. 'Fishing. Off the coast here?'
'Aye.
I doesn't go far.'
'And
did you see any other craft? A lugger, perhaps, or something smaller,
somewhere round the next bay?'
The
fisherman gave a small smile. 'No, sir. I doesn't see much, ye know.'
Perhaps
it was something in his voice that caught me, or Ducker's fierce
scowl, or maybe at last I saw that those staring blue eyes were in
fact staring at nothing at all, but suddenly it struck me with all
the force of my father's strap: the man was blind. My cheeks flushed
red, and my only consolation was that he could not see my shame -
until I realized how churlish a thought that was too, and banished
it.
'Mr
John,' I said miserably. 'My apologies for disturbing you, and my
thanks for your hospitality. I think we had better be making our way
back.'
I
had embarrassed myself and learned nothing; my sole consolation was
the brandy. And, as I slithered down the swaying ladder and stumbled
back across the rocks, even that seemed an intemperate indulgence.
5
'STILL,'
I SAID ,
ONCE WE WERE ATOP THE CLIFF AGAIN HEADING BACK to Dover, 'it's not
been a complete waste of a day.' With thirteen left to save my neck,
I could hardly countenance lost time.
'No,
sir?' Ducker's tone suggested he might be humouring me.
'No.'
I held my ground. 'If nothing else, we've discovered that the locals
possess a curious, which is to say downright suspicious, immunity to
strange events on their doorstep. I find that very significant.'
'If
you'd wanted to know the locals'd be no use,' said Ducker wearily, 'I
could o' saved us a journey.'
'Did
you know the fisherman would be blind?'
"E
could've 'ad a pair o' telescopes for eyes an' I'll wager 'e'd still
not 'ave seen a thing. No-one sees nothin' round 'ere. Look at that
farmer.'
'Are
you saying that he's involved in the business?' It seemed unlikely,
but a desperate need for a culprit spurred my hopes.
'Depends
what business,' said Ducker, unhelpfully. 'In the business o' your
murder, likely not, though you'll never be sure. In the owlin'
business? 'E's probably not landin' kegs o' geneva on the
Our
host seemed unworried by our identities, and waved us over to sit at
the table with him. I took a stool, and was surprised it did not feel
damp. 'I should have thought, in a position so close to the sea,
you'd have been very wet in here,' I remarked.
'Aye,
a wet soul, that's me,' he chuckled. 'So where are my manners, ye'll
be askin' me next.'
Before
I could protest, he had risen from his chair and was rummaging in a
locker by the wall. I heard the chinking of glass within, and saw him
return with a bottle and three mismatched though indisputably
well-crafted crystal glasses. He poured us each a measure of the
spirit.
'Your
health.' I raised my glass apprehensively, fearing that it would make
the gin of the morning seem wholesome by comparison, but, mirabile
dictu, it seemed to be a rather fine French brandy.
I
drained it, and looked hopefully at what remained in the bottle.
'I
finds it on the beach, sometimes,' the fisherman explained. He pushed
the bottle across the table. 'Help yourselves.'
I
needed no encouragement, and a stern look from Ducker could not deter
me from a second, even a third draught.
'Who
did you say you was again?' asked the fisherman, wonderfully tolerant
of my extravagance.
'L ieutenant
Jerrold,' I repeated. 'But I do not think I have the pleasure, Mr...'
'Strange,'
said the man, cocking his head, 'I thought I heard ye call it
earlier. Simon John, I am.'
He
showed a perfect indifference to whatever our business might be; so,
without a prompt, I was forced to make the start myself. 'Mr John,' I
began, the brandy raising my voice perhaps a little louder than it
might have been, 'did you witness anything unusual early yesterday
morning, shortly before dawn?'
'Unusual?'
He twisted the woollen jersey in his fingers. 'The gulls was quiet.'
He thought a little more. 'I was out in the boat then. Fishin'.'
This
was more promising. 'Fishing. Off the coast here?'
'Aye.
I doesn't go far.'
'And
did you see any other craft? A lugger, perhaps, or something smaller,
somewhere round the next bay?'
The
fisherman gave a small smile. 'No, sir. I doesn't see much, ye know.'
Perhaps
it was something in his voice that caught me, or Ducker's fierce
scowl, or maybe at last I saw that those staring blue eyes were in
fact staring at nothing at all, but suddenly it struck me with all
the force of my father's strap: the man was blind. My cheeks flushed
red, and my only consolation was that he could not see my shame -
until I realized how churlish a thought that was too, and banished
it.
'Mr
John,' I said miserably. 'My apologies for disturbing you, and my
thanks for your hospitality. I think we had better be making our way
back.'
I
had embarrassed myself and learned nothing; my sole consolation was
the brandy. And, as I slithered down the swaying ladder and stumbled
back across the rocks, even that seemed an intemperate indulgence.
5
'STILL,'
I SAID ,
ONCE WE WERE ATOP THE CLIFF AGAIN HEADING BACK to Dover, 'it's not
been a complete waste of a day.' With thirteen left to save my neck,
I could hardly countenance lost time.
'No,
sir?' Ducker's tone suggested he might be humouring me.
'No.'
I held my ground. 'If nothing else, we've discovered that the locals
possess a curious, which is to say downright suspicious, immunity to
strange events on their doorstep. I find that very significant.'
'If
you'd wanted to know the locals'd be no use,' said Ducker wearily, 'I
could o' saved us a journey.'
'Did
you know the fisherman would be blind?'
"E
could've 'ad a pair o' telescopes for eyes an' I'll wager 'e'd still
not 'ave seen a thing. No-one sees nothin' round 'ere. Look at that
farmer.'
'Are
you saying that he's involved in the business?' It seemed unlikely,
but a desperate need for a culprit spurred my hopes.
'Depends
what business,' said Ducker, unhelpfully. 'In the business o' your
murder, likely not, though you'll never be sure. In the owlin'
business? 'E's probably not landin' kegs o' geneva on the
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