The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(50)

‘My idea, sir,’ Graves put in quietly. Obviously he was used to working on his own initiative, and was encouraged to do so, for Rycroft merely nodded.

‘Well, sir, we’ve found a chap — a fisherman — who says he saw the Swan going by, and noticed some man climbing down from the top balcony of the boat onto the bottom deck.’ The youngster paused, looking as pleased as punch to be able to deliver his next bit of news. ‘And he swears the figure was climbing down from the top at the rear end of the boat, sir. That would make it the victim’s room!’





CHAPTER ELEVEN

For a moment, Inspector Rycroft merely stared at the triumphant constable, his peculiar face splendidly inscrutable. You could almost hear his brain working, so obviously was he mulling the information over. Then he grunted.

‘This fisherman,’ he began. ‘I hope you checked that he had the proper licences and permits?’

The constable’s jaw dropped. Whatever he’d expected, it most certainly hadn’t been that. Come to that, it wasn’t the first thing that had leapt to Jenny Starling’s mind either. But then, she wasn’t as pedantic as the inspector.

‘Well, no, sir. I mean, sir, it slipped my mind, sir,’ he mumbled. ‘I thought you should have his information urgently, sir,’ he rallied. For it had suddenly occurred to the youth that there was a distinct possibility that his superior officer was having a little joke at his expense. Jenny wasn’t so sure.

Whether he was a secret leg-puller or not, Rycroft merely grunted again at this explanation. But behind the somewhat laconic facade, Jenny could sense that his astute mind was still rapidly working away at this new information and what it could mean.

She herself was feeling just a bit distracted. The mere possibility that Rycroft might have a sense of humour was enough to boggle the cook’s mind.

‘You have this witness at the station?’ Rycroft asked, to which the constable nodded so energetically his helmet nearly fell off.

‘He’s made a full statement?’

The constable very ceremoniously withdrew a sheet of paper. Rycroft read it, his eyebrow going up.

When he spoke, however, it was to Tobias Lester. ‘I take it that there is only one man on board who fits the description of a male, between the ages of twenty to thirty, with thick black hair, and dressed in white work trousers and a white shirt?’

Tobias met the policeman’s eyes for a scant second, and then looked swiftly away again. He looked, Jenny thought, almost angry. ‘You know the answer to that as well as I do, Inspector,’ he finally said, somewhat grimly. ‘Brian O’Keefe is the only young and black-haired man aboard this boat.’

As he spoke he looked at David Leigh. But David, although brown-haired, wore neither white trousers nor a white shirt. Only an engineer traditionally wore white.

Rycroft nodded. He too had noticed the captain’s reaction, but was less surprised by it than Jenny. As a man who had charge of subordinates himself, he knew how easy it was to feel protective of them.

The crew and guests of the Stillwater Swan had gathered in the main salon/dining room ostensibly for dinner, but the inspector knew that it was really curiosity that had gathered them together so rapidly. From their various positions on the boat they must have heard the motorcycle and looked out to see the excited entrance of the constable. One and all, they’d come down quickly and congregated to see what all the fuss was about, and had been richly rewarded for their efforts.

Only Jenny, alone among them, looked not so much relieved as thoughtful at this latest news.

Nobody liked to have the charge of murder hanging over their heads, and if it had to be somebody, then everyone was secretly relieved that it should be Brian O’Keefe. Brian O’Keefe, after all, was the outsider. The hired help. Brian O’Keefe, it had to be said, was not one of them.

The inspector looked once again at Tobias who, to give him credit, was looking exceedingly unhappy, and said quietly, ‘I take it that the engineer is in the boiler room?’

The captain nodded reluctantly.

Sergeant Graves led the way to the door, then, as an afterthought, turned to wave one meaty paw at the assembly, silently indicating that he would like them to remain seated. This time, the policeman didn’t want an audience.

Jenny, though, had other ideas, and nodded at Francis. ‘The dinner is prepared and ready in the galley, Mr Grey,’ she said briskly, then turned on her heel and firmly followed the two officers out onto the deck.

Francis Grey thinned his lips at being spoken to like a servant by what he deemed to be nothing more than another servant, then glanced at his employer to see if he too had noticed the outrage. But Lucas, who had his own views on the enigmatic cook — which didn’t include getting on her bad side! — merely shrugged and said quietly, ‘Well I for one am hungry,’ and like the good host that he was, ushered his guests to the table.

Francis took the hint with apparent magnanimity and quickly disappeared into the galley.

Out on the deck Jenny softly called Rycroft’s name. Since he was by now at the rear deck he had to pause and wait for her to catch up. The sun was just setting, casting a lovely red-orange glow over the river. The solid bulk of the sergeant cast a great shadow over the tiny man, but he appeared not to notice it.

‘Can I ask at what time this witness saw Mr O’Keefe climbing down onto the lower deck?’ she asked, as soon as she’d drawn level with them.