had breakfasted early and well. Unless the college domestic staff were putting on a special performance for his benefit, they did themselves rather well here, he thought. As he was still segregated from the communal breakfasters in the dining-hall, he had no chance to make comparisons. And, a cause of relief, no need to make conversations.
Perhaps this was the reason why his wife had left him. Often breakfast was the only waking period they spent together during the whole day, and try as he might (which hadn't been very hard) he could not force himself to be sociable.
Unwilling to cause offence by leaving anything (there was another school of working class gentility which believed that something always should be left, but not in his family, thank Heaven!) he took the last slice of toast from the rack, spread the remaining butter on it to a thickness of about a quarter-inch, scraped his knife round the sides of the cut-glass marmalade dish, and took two thirds of the resulting confection into his mouth at one bite.
The door opened and the pretty young girl in the blue nylon overall entered. She seemed to have been told by the powers that were in the kitchen to look after his needs. Dalziel approved. Paternally, of course, he assured himself, dismissing a mental image of himself slowly unbuttoning the overall which in the height of summer was probably over very little. His fingers compensated by unbuttoning his waistcoat, leaving dabs of butter on the charcoal grey cloth.
"Are you finished, sir?' she asked.
He swallowed mightily.
"I think I am, my dear. My compliments to whoever prepared it."
She began to gather together the dishes.
"Tell me,' he said, ''s your name?" "Elizabeth,' she said. ' Andrews."
"Well, Elizabeth, have you been here long?" "Over a year,' she said.
"Do you like it?" "It's all right,' she said.
"It'll fill in the time till you find a lad and get married, eh?' said Dalziel jovially. If they're going to regard you as a bloody uncle, you might as well act like a bloody uncle, he thought.
The girl didn't reply. Slightly flushed, she swiftly piled the remaining dishes on her tray and moved gracefully out of the room.
Even in his faint surprise, Dalziel was able to admire her figure in retreat, which was more than he could do for the advancing form of Detective-Inspector Kent which appeared through the door before the girl could close it.
"Lovely morning, sir,' said Kent happily, peering through the window at the sun-drenched garden, whose border and rockeries were ablaze with colour. The winds of the previous day had quite abated and only the canvas cover over the hole left by the base of Miss. Girling's statue obtruded into the pastoral idyll which lay without.
Had things gone according to Landor's plans, the garden would by now have been trenched and torn by foundations for the new laboratory.
Dalziel had asked for the work to be postponed. He was almost certain now that nothing new could be learned from an examination of the earth.
But you never knew - and in any case it was much pleasanter to sit here undisturbed by the unbeautiful cacophony of the building trade.
"Sergeant Pascoe not here?' asked Kent.
"No,' said Dalziel. ''s off doing some work."
There was little subtlety in his stresses, but Kent took it in his stride.
"Just thought I'd call in before going up to the clubhouse,' he said.
"I've brought in the medical report on the girl.1
"Stick it on the desk,' said Dalziel. ' it confirm what the doctor said on the spot?"
"Yes. Not nice. Suffocated in the sand,' said Kent. ' throat and nostrils were absolutely blocked up with it."
"Anything strike you?"
"Not really. Just the obvious. Between 10 p.m. and 3 a.m. And no sexual assault. That's a bit odd."
"Why?"
"Well, in the circumstances. I mean, why take off her clothes?"
"Why, indeed? Well, you'd better get on with it. Though I doubt you'll find anything more up there. How's the questioning?"
The difficulty is finding anyone to
Perhaps this was the reason why his wife had left him. Often breakfast was the only waking period they spent together during the whole day, and try as he might (which hadn't been very hard) he could not force himself to be sociable.
Unwilling to cause offence by leaving anything (there was another school of working class gentility which believed that something always should be left, but not in his family, thank Heaven!) he took the last slice of toast from the rack, spread the remaining butter on it to a thickness of about a quarter-inch, scraped his knife round the sides of the cut-glass marmalade dish, and took two thirds of the resulting confection into his mouth at one bite.
The door opened and the pretty young girl in the blue nylon overall entered. She seemed to have been told by the powers that were in the kitchen to look after his needs. Dalziel approved. Paternally, of course, he assured himself, dismissing a mental image of himself slowly unbuttoning the overall which in the height of summer was probably over very little. His fingers compensated by unbuttoning his waistcoat, leaving dabs of butter on the charcoal grey cloth.
"Are you finished, sir?' she asked.
He swallowed mightily.
"I think I am, my dear. My compliments to whoever prepared it."
She began to gather together the dishes.
"Tell me,' he said, ''s your name?" "Elizabeth,' she said. ' Andrews."
"Well, Elizabeth, have you been here long?" "Over a year,' she said.
"Do you like it?" "It's all right,' she said.
"It'll fill in the time till you find a lad and get married, eh?' said Dalziel jovially. If they're going to regard you as a bloody uncle, you might as well act like a bloody uncle, he thought.
The girl didn't reply. Slightly flushed, she swiftly piled the remaining dishes on her tray and moved gracefully out of the room.
Even in his faint surprise, Dalziel was able to admire her figure in retreat, which was more than he could do for the advancing form of Detective-Inspector Kent which appeared through the door before the girl could close it.
"Lovely morning, sir,' said Kent happily, peering through the window at the sun-drenched garden, whose border and rockeries were ablaze with colour. The winds of the previous day had quite abated and only the canvas cover over the hole left by the base of Miss. Girling's statue obtruded into the pastoral idyll which lay without.
Had things gone according to Landor's plans, the garden would by now have been trenched and torn by foundations for the new laboratory.
Dalziel had asked for the work to be postponed. He was almost certain now that nothing new could be learned from an examination of the earth.
But you never knew - and in any case it was much pleasanter to sit here undisturbed by the unbeautiful cacophony of the building trade.
"Sergeant Pascoe not here?' asked Kent.
"No,' said Dalziel. ''s off doing some work."
There was little subtlety in his stresses, but Kent took it in his stride.
"Just thought I'd call in before going up to the clubhouse,' he said.
"I've brought in the medical report on the girl.1
"Stick it on the desk,' said Dalziel. ' it confirm what the doctor said on the spot?"
"Yes. Not nice. Suffocated in the sand,' said Kent. ' throat and nostrils were absolutely blocked up with it."
"Anything strike you?"
"Not really. Just the obvious. Between 10 p.m. and 3 a.m. And no sexual assault. That's a bit odd."
"Why?"
"Well, in the circumstances. I mean, why take off her clothes?"
"Why, indeed? Well, you'd better get on with it. Though I doubt you'll find anything more up there. How's the questioning?"
The difficulty is finding anyone to
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