Cornish Castle Mystery Collection: Tales of murder and mystery from Cornwall. Vivian Conroy

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      LeFevre hitched a brow. ‘Sort of?’ He repeated the cryptic reply.

      Oliver said, ‘Kensa inherited the B&B on the island from her husband’s parents. She runs it in the summertime when the tourists pour in. In the winter she lives on the mainland. Her daughter Tegen has to go to school of course, so she’s on the mainland most of the time. She can only be here in the holidays.’

      LeFevre said, ‘So Kensa also has a house on the mainland?’

      Oliver nodded. ‘Her husband left her quite a bit of money when he died.’

      ‘Widow,’ LeFevre said pensively. ‘And Tegen is her only child?’

      ‘No, she also has a son: Lance. Six years older than Tegen. He’s just finished university. I don’t know exactly what he plans to do now.’

      ‘I see. But this Lance wasn’t here tonight, right? And you also said that one of the locals who was supposed to be here wasn’t here this evening?’

      ‘The judge in the play: Jago the boatman.’

      ‘Jago who?’ LeFevre asked.

      ‘His official name is Jago Trevelyan. But nobody ever calls him that. He’s Jago the boatman and we all know who’s meant. He’s run a fishing business for decades and provides services for people to cross to the island. His sons have the fishing business now but Jago still comes to Cornisea most every day. He’s a famous figure in these parts, with a beard like a hermit, so it seemed fitting to make him the judge in the re-enactment. He only has to stop smoking his ever-present pipe for the duration of the play, which according to him is pure torture. He seems to have been born with that thing in his hand.’

      LeFevre had listened with a keen interest. ‘A pipe, you say? And you’re sure that this Jago Trevelyan really wasn’t here on the island tonight? He didn’t pop up later? Or you didn’t notice a shadowy figure outside?’

      Oliver hitched a brow. ‘You think Jago might have been watching us? Waiting for a chance to stab Haydock?’

      ‘I’m just looking at all possibilities. And I did find some tobacco near a path. Fresh. And probably coming from a pipe.’

      Oliver pursed his lips. ‘Interesting. But you’ll have to ask him yourself where he was.’

      ‘Of course.’ LeFevre rubbed his hands together. ‘Oh, and when I called at the castle’s front door, a sort of butler type opened the door.’

      Guinevere perked up. She had forgotten all about him. The quiet little man, in dark clothes. Someone you just didn’t notice. Used to moving around noiselessly, almost invisibly. That came with his work.

      Oliver looked sceptical. ‘Cador has been with my father for all of his life. Surely you don’t think that he –’

      LeFevre cut across him. ‘He was here at the castle at the time of the murder. That’s all I’m taking into account right now. Whether he had a motive … But as you say he was with your father for all of his life, I assume he didn’t like Mr Haydock bargaining to get the castle away from the Bolingbrooke family. That’s all for tonight. I’ll find my own way out. Oh, and I want that plant material in the cage analysed. I’ll send Eal in to get it. Please leave the lanterns on for him.’

      He stalked off, disappearing up the steps.

      ‘What an arrogant chap,’ Oliver said.

      ‘I think he’s pretty good at what he does. And he listened to our suggestions. That’s more than Eal did, you know.’

      Guinevere suddenly felt the draught in this chill place and hugged Dolly closer. The dog had kept very quiet during the inspector’s investigation, as if she sensed it was serious.

      Or maybe she was just tired and had been dozing off.

      Guinevere herself longed for her bed in the tower. And a peek at the letter Mr Betts had given her to read when she was all settled in. The first night was a little early maybe, but under the strange circumstances she itched to know what he had written.

      She said to Oliver, ‘I’d better turn in. Will you stay here to see to Eal coming to collect that plant material from the cage?’

      Oliver nodded. ‘Sure. But I don’t see what it has to do with the murder.’

      ‘Maybe we’ll find out later.’ Guinevere turned away.

      Oliver caught up with her at the bottom of the steps, arresting her arm. ‘If you think LeFevre is so capable and he’ll handle the case like a pro, we need not continue sleuthing. We can just let my father await the verdict of the police.’

      Guinevere looked up into his eyes. They seemed to flicker in the light of the lanterns. Was he already tired of working with her?

      Or was he actually daring her to continue?

      Guinevere said, ‘LeFevre is good but he doesn’t know too much about local sentiments and he doesn’t have the time to dig in deep. Eal is a native, but he won’t help LeFevre. So we can be LeFevre’s eyes and ears. Just gather some information that might help. If we think we’re close to the right solution, we can just deliver our findings to LeFevre and let him deal with it. We need not … run any risk of confrontation with the killer.’

      Oliver nodded. ‘My thoughts exactly. Well, sleep tight then, and I’ll see you in the morning.’

      Guinevere went up the steps. In the dimly lit corridor she held Dolly tighter against her. She had no idea who had killed Haydock. Whether that person was with her in the castle right now or somewhere else on the island or on the mainland nearby.

      Could his or her guilt be proven?

      The tower steps seemed even steeper than they had been this afternoon, and Guinevere was glad when she was at her room’s door. She went in and stood a few moments to steady her breathing.

      Dolly wriggled to be released, and Guinevere put her down. The dog ran straight to the bed and hid under it.

      ‘I know how you feel, girl,’ Guinevere said. ‘I wish I could crawl under there as well.’

      Guinevere put a chair in front of the door and put her empty suitcase on it. If anybody tried to get in during the night, the suitcase would fall off and create a racket.

      Then she went to her handbag and got out the letter Mr Betts had given her to read when she was all settled in. She slipped her finger under the flap and ripped it open, then extracted a sheet full of Betts’s dense handwriting.

      ‘Dear Gwen and Dolly,’ she read aloud.

      At hearing her name, Dolly’s head appeared from under the bed, listening to what came next.

      Guinevere continued, ‘You’re reading this, so you must have arrived. I hope you find Cornisea every bit as appealing as I did as a lad. I grew up there, and my sister Meraud still lives there. Hers is the bookshop you have no doubt noticed in the harbour area.’

      Guinevere looked at Dolly. ‘Do you hear that? The Cowled Sleuth belongs to Mr Betts’s sister. It looked like a great СКАЧАТЬ