Part 7 (1/2)

What should she do now? It was quite clear that Ross was not here as Roger's friend, whatever he had claimed. And he had called that creature of his a burglar! It was obvious to her that Ross was here to steal something from the house. She felt angry and betrayed, but she didn't know how to handle this. If she told her father what she'd heard, Papa would probably have Ross horsewhipped. The only thing Alice could think of was to tell Roger and let him handle his so-called friend. She hurried off to find her fiance.

Doyle had breakfasted and shaved by the time that the one-armed ex-sailor, Brackley, turned up on the Hope Hope to say that Constable Faversham would like him to come along. Doyle had already cleared this with Captain Gray, so he scooped up his medical bag and followed Brackley with antic.i.p.ation of an interesting day. to say that Constable Faversham would like him to come along. Doyle had already cleared this with Captain Gray, so he scooped up his medical bag and followed Brackley with antic.i.p.ation of an interesting day.

He'd had a good nights sleep, and had risen early to check through the few medical volumes he'd brought with him on the voyage. There had been references to shark attacks in one of these but, as Doyle had already felt certain, the patterns didn't match the case of the previous evening. Nothing more had really occurred to him, but the conviction had grown that this was no shark attack, and that there was a definite mystery behind the corpse.

'Whatever happened to the poor man's boat?' he asked Brackley, as they hurried along the quay toward the Pig and Thistle.

'The men brought it in, sir,' the retired sailor answered. 'It's berthed behind the tavern. Will you be wanting to see it later?'

'I believe so,' Doyle replied. 'There may be evidence or clues aboard it that will aid in the investigation of this matter.'

Taking one of his few remaining half-crowns from his pocket, he slipped it to the one-armed man. This would be a good investment if a story came out of this mystery. 'See that it remains undisturbed, will you?'

Brackley gave him a broken-toothed grin. 'You can count on me, sir.'

'I'm sure I can.' Doyle felt that he'd done all that he could for the moment. There was a real sense of excitement growing within him. It was a shame that the old man had died and perished so brutally but it might be the opportunity he'd been praying for.

The Pig and Thistle was a smallish building, a typical country pub. There was a tap bar and a smoking lounge, plus a couple of rooms upstairs for the landlord and his wife, and one for the barmaid. There were two other rooms that were rented out if they were needed, but Doyle knew they were currently empty. There weren't a lot of travellers that pa.s.sed through Bodham. If the Hope Hope sailed on before he was done, Doyle was certain he could take one of the rooms for a modest price to enable him to see this through to the end. sailed on before he was done, Doyle was certain he could take one of the rooms for a modest price to enable him to see this through to the end.

The body of old Ben Tolliver was laid out in the stables behind the tavern. Constable Faversham was seated outside the small building, dozing slightly in the morning suns.h.i.+ne. Doyle wondered if the man had stood or sat on guard all night.

He had mentioned something about being the only law officer in the area. He was probably glad to have Brackley around to carry messages for him.

Faversham snapped awake with a jerk as Doyle hurried over. 'Good morning, sir,' the constable said, rising uncomfortably to his feet and straightening his tie. 'I was just catching a few nods, waiting for you all to arrive.'

Doyle pulled out his watch. 'Almost eight thirty,' he observed. 'Do you think that Sir Edward will be here soon?'

'I'm expecting him any time, sir,' Faversham answered. 'Ah, this is Doctor Martinson now.'

Doyle glanced around to see an elderly man walking carefully across the tavern's cobbled yard. Some of the stones were rather slippery from ale spilled the previous night. Martinson was clearly into his sixties, but a spry old bird for all that. He had an aquiline nose and a shock of white hair that gave him more than a pa.s.sing resemblance to an eagle. Doyle stuck out his hand as the older man approached.

's.h.i.+p's Surgeon Doyle,' he introduced himself.

'Martinson,' the other replied, shaking his hand firmly. 'I gather from Faversham here that you made a preliminary examination of the body last night?'

'Purely a cursory one, I'm afraid,' Doyle answered. 'The light was very poor, but I feel certain that Tolliver was not attacked by a shark. What did kill him is a mystery thus far.'

'Ah.' Martinson chuckled. 'I, too, am sure he wasn't killed by a shark,' he commented. 'I didn't need to examine the body to tell you that. There have been no such attacks around here for decades, to my knowledge, and certainly not in Bodham Bay.' He winked. 'So we'll have our work cut out for us today, I imagine.'

'Rather,' agreed Doyle. He was quite warming up to the old man. 'I trust you have no objection to my a.s.sisting you?'

'My dear chap, of course not! Many hands make light work, as they say, and at my age you appreciate the lightest possible work.' He spun around to face the street. 'Ah, this must be Sir Alexander! Capital, we can soon commence!'

A landau drew to a halt outside the tavern entrance and the footman jumped down to offer his hand to the first pa.s.senger that descended. To Doyle's surprise and pleasure, it was a young woman. And a pretty one, too! She was followed by an older man, richly dressed, and clearly the Justice himself. The final figure who emerged from the carriage caught Doyle's eye. He was almost as interesting as the young woman. In his cape coat and deerstalker hat, with a prominent nose and a steely eye, he was clearly a man to be reckoned with.

The trio came through the gateway and into the courtyard. Doctor Martinson waved as they approached. 'Glad you could make it, Sir Alexander,' he called. 'Who are your friends?'

Sir Alexander shook the medical man's hand. 'Glad you're here, Walter. Allow me to introduce Miss Sarah Jane Smith and the Doctor.'

'Doctor, eh?' asked Martinson. 'Of what?'

'Everything but medicine,' the Doctor replied, his gaze resting on Doyle. 'Haven't we met somewhere before?'

'I don't believe so,' Doyle replied. 'You don't look like the sort of man I'd forget in a hurry.' He held out his hand.

's.h.i.+p's Surgeon Doyle.'

Sarah's eyes lit up at this. 'Off the Hope Hope?' she asked eagerly.

Doyle was taken somewhat aback at her knowledge. 'Why, yes. But how the blazes did you know that?'

Sarah laughed in delight. 'I've read your stories,' she told him. To his surprise, she shook his hand as a man would have done. 'You're one of my favourite authors, you know. Arthur Conan Doyle.'

Doyle felt himself blus.h.i.+ng. 'Actually you flatter me too much, Miss Smith,' he replied. 'I've had only one story published so far, but it's most gratifying to know that you enjoyed it so much.'

'I'm sure we'll be reading much more by you in the future,' Sarah told him. 'You're a natural.'

'Well,' broke in Sir Alexander, 'I hate to stop all this cheeriness, but we do have work to do, gentlemen and lady.'

Faversham stepped forward. 'Ah, begging your pardon, sir, but . . .' He shuffled somewhat uncomfortably. 'I don't think that the body is a fit sight for a lady.'

'Oh. Quite.' The Justice turned to Sarah. 'Perhaps you had better wait for us here, young lady.'

'What?' Sarah's face fell. 'Come off it! I'm not squeamish, I'll have you know.'

The Doctor patted her shoulder. 'I think it would be better if you waited, Sarah,' he said. 'I'll fill you in later.'

'Well, thanks a lot!' said Sarah huffily. She threw her hands in the air and stalked off. Typical! Going off to have all the fun and leaving her to her own devices. As if she hadn't seen plenty of dead bodies in her travels with the Doctor. 'What a start to the day,' she grumbled. 'I'll bet it just gets worse.'

There was a low whistle from outside the gateway. Sarah hurried over and peered around the corner straight into three familiar faces.

'Morning!' said Rudyard Kipling breezily.

'It just got worse,' sighed Sarah.

The stable had clearly been neglected for a number of years. There were small holes in the walls that allowed light in, and windows that were so encrusted with dirt that they didn't. Cobwebs laced the whole structure possibly helping to hold it together, Doyle mused and the only evidence of any recent use was the empty ale barrels stacked for collection. There was a musty smell, mixed with the sickly stench of decay permeating from the direction of the body. Faversham had been thoughtful enough to provide nosegays for them, which offset this a trifle.

Half a dozen barrels had been pressed into service to act as a table to bear Tolliver's corpse. It was still covered over with the tarpaulin, presumably to keep off the rats that Doyle had heard scurrying for cover when they had entered the stable.

Faversham started to unlace the covering, and glanced up at the Doctor. 'Would you happen to be the gentleman that Scotland Yard promised to send out, sir?'

The Doctor frowned. 'You couldn't possibly have contacted the Yard yet about this matter,' he observed.

'No, sir, not about this. About the children.'

'Ah!' The Doctor shook his head slightly. 'I have on occasion worked with Scotland Yard, constable, but I remain for the most part an independent observer. I am here only to offer my expertise if Sir Alexander or either of these medical gentlemen wish to avail themselves of it.'