The Saltmarsh Murders by Gladys Mitchell Page B

thought, to be quite honest, that Daphne was suffering from nerves. Nobody had come into the church unless they had come in from the vestry, and that was always kept locked. We ourselves had come in by the west door so as not to bother old Coutts for the keys.
    â€œI shrieked your name as soon as I felt the hands on me,” said Daphne, when the meeting was over and we were on our way home. Old Coutts had stayed behind to talk to some of the congregation, of course. Although the incident had given me quite a jolt, I would not discuss the subject with Daphne. I was certain really she had been imagining things. But I promised to stand by more closely than ever, and advised her to lock her door at night as an antidote to nerves. We were all suffering from nerves, more or less, that week, I think.
    I told Mrs. Bradley about it, of course. She looked more grave than I expected.
    â€œDon’t let her go about alone, Noel,” she said. “After all, no arrest has been made yet for the murder of Meg Tosstick. It may take place to-day. But keep close to little Daphne. They may not arrest the right person, you know!”
    She gave her ghoulish chuckle and patted me on the shoulder.

CHAPTER VII

EDWY DAVID BURT—HIS MAGGOT
    T he police arrested Bob Candy, of course. It seems that in these murder cases the police are always looking out for two things; motive and opportunity. Well, it appeared that poor Bob headed the list of possible suspects very easily on both counts. In fact, I mean, if one didn’t know Bob Candy, it looked a clear thing. Nobody denied that he had walked out with the girl; everybody denied that it was his baby. If it had been, he would have married Meg Tosstick, according to the local custom, and there would have been an end of the matter, except for the nine or ten children that the two of them would produce, and the two or three out of those nine or ten that would eventually live to become adult, and, in their turn, to procreate others. Bob denied paternity of the baby, and everybody, even the police, believed him, because the police took the view that jealousy was the motive for the murder. As for opportunity, well, the two of them were living under the same roof and it would have been the simplest thing in the world for Candy to have sneaked into Meg’s room at night and strangled her as she lay in bed. As far as the method of doing the girl to death was concerned, there was no doubt at all but that she had been strangled with the man’s knitted silk tie which was still round her neck when her dead body was discovered byMrs. Lowry next morning. The tie was proved to have been given to Bob on his birthday by the dead girl, who had knitted it, as her weeping old devil of a father bore witness, “with her own hands for him.” In reply to this, Bob was understood to state that the tie was his, but that, thoroughly upset by the birth of the baby, he had cast it aside and had sworn never to wear it any more. Pressed, he said that he could not remember exactly where he had put it. He thought he had thrown it away, and then again, he might have thrust it into a drawer, carelessly, but, on the other hand, he had a vague recollection of having used it as a lead for a lurcher he had had to bring to the public-house from the railway station the Saturday before Bank Holiday. He admitted, sadly, that it was a wonderfully strong tie. It was, of course.
    Sir William undertook to pay for the man’s defence, and he took some trouble to broadcast his belief in Candy’s innocence. Curiously enough, our own Constable Brown also refused to credit Candy with the murder. It was the inspector from Wyemouth who ordered the arrest after the adjourned inquest. Poor old Brown was quite upset about it.
    â€œIt’s like this, Mr. Wells,” he said to me. “These town chaps is all right in their way, but it isn’t like
knowing
a chap. Now, I’ve knowed Bob Candy since he were