it?’
‘No. He wasn’t planning on getting killed last time I saw him.’
‘And you weren’t aware of any enemies he might have had?’
‘No. He would drive a hard bargain, but that’s no reason to kill a man.’
‘No, indeed.’
‘When he first showed me the bit of bone, I asked him if I could copy down the markings on it, and he could tell I was interested, so he refused, and said he would sell it to me.’
‘But you didn’t buy it then?’
‘No. I was, you see, temporarily out of funds. But he agreed to keep it until I could pay him. I have the money now, but, of course …’–he spreads his hands helplessly–‘I don’t know where it is.’
‘I will talk to Mr Knox about it. We haven’t found a will. If Mr Knox is agreeable, I dare say he could sell it to you. That is, assuming we find it.’
It suddenly occurs to Donald to wonder if Sturrock has already looked for this piece of bone. He remembers the footprints by the cabin. Three sets. Three people who came to look at the cabin last night.
‘That’s generous of you, Mr Moody. I appreciate that.’
‘What sort of thing is it? Is it something from Rome or Egypt?’
‘I’m not altogether sure what it is. It doesn’t seem to be anything like that, but that’s why I need it–I intend to take it to some museum men who know about such things.’
Donald nods, still unsure as to why Sturrock is so interested in this thing. One thing he is certain of, though, is that if someone is keenly interested in a thing, it is as well to tread warily. Could it be that Sturrock had arrived earlier and Jammet had refused to sell him the bone, so Sturrock killed him? Or had Jammet already sold it to someone else? Whichever way he adds it up, Sturrock doesn’t seem a likely killer. But it is also true that there has been no sign of this object, which clearly has a value. In which case, who has it now?
Donald leaves the store with Sturrock’s assurance that he will stay in Caulfield for the next few days. He wonders whyit did not occur to him to ask about the Seton girls–perhaps because he finds it impossible to believe this gracious-mannered man is the grasping fraud portrayed by the Knoxes. He wonders–not for the first time–whether his inexperience leads him to form favourable impressions too easily. Should he be more suspicious, like Mackinley, who takes against people on principle, assuming that sooner or later they will disappoint him–and is usually proved right?
On his way down the road he sees Maria carrying a basket. He raises his hat and she smiles slightly. She seems decidedly less hostile since this morning, but he still wouldn’t have risked speaking to her had she not spoken first.
‘Mr Moody. How is the investigation proceeding?’
‘Er, slowly, thank you.’
She pauses, as if waiting for him to say something, so he finds himself saying, ‘I have just been talking to Mr Sturrock.’
She doesn’t betray surprise, nodding as if she expected it. ‘And?’
‘I thought he was charming. Educated, sensitive … not at all what I expected.’
‘I suppose he had to be charming to swindle my uncle out of all his money–there was quite a lot, I believe.’
Donald must have frowned, because she goes on: ‘I know my uncle was desperate enough to do anything, but a man of honour would have told him it was pointless to keep looking for the girls and refused his money. It would have been kinder in the long run. In the end he had neither his daughters nor anything to live on, and he … well, as good as destroyed himself. This was after my aunt died. I know it sounds terrible to say this but … I’ve always supposed they must have been eaten by wolves. Other people say so and I think they are right. Aunt and Uncle could never accept that, though.’
‘How could anyone?’
‘Is that so much worse than what they did think?’
‘I would have thought life, at any cost … is better than death.’
Maria looks at him with those
‘No. He wasn’t planning on getting killed last time I saw him.’
‘And you weren’t aware of any enemies he might have had?’
‘No. He would drive a hard bargain, but that’s no reason to kill a man.’
‘No, indeed.’
‘When he first showed me the bit of bone, I asked him if I could copy down the markings on it, and he could tell I was interested, so he refused, and said he would sell it to me.’
‘But you didn’t buy it then?’
‘No. I was, you see, temporarily out of funds. But he agreed to keep it until I could pay him. I have the money now, but, of course …’–he spreads his hands helplessly–‘I don’t know where it is.’
‘I will talk to Mr Knox about it. We haven’t found a will. If Mr Knox is agreeable, I dare say he could sell it to you. That is, assuming we find it.’
It suddenly occurs to Donald to wonder if Sturrock has already looked for this piece of bone. He remembers the footprints by the cabin. Three sets. Three people who came to look at the cabin last night.
‘That’s generous of you, Mr Moody. I appreciate that.’
‘What sort of thing is it? Is it something from Rome or Egypt?’
‘I’m not altogether sure what it is. It doesn’t seem to be anything like that, but that’s why I need it–I intend to take it to some museum men who know about such things.’
Donald nods, still unsure as to why Sturrock is so interested in this thing. One thing he is certain of, though, is that if someone is keenly interested in a thing, it is as well to tread warily. Could it be that Sturrock had arrived earlier and Jammet had refused to sell him the bone, so Sturrock killed him? Or had Jammet already sold it to someone else? Whichever way he adds it up, Sturrock doesn’t seem a likely killer. But it is also true that there has been no sign of this object, which clearly has a value. In which case, who has it now?
Donald leaves the store with Sturrock’s assurance that he will stay in Caulfield for the next few days. He wonders whyit did not occur to him to ask about the Seton girls–perhaps because he finds it impossible to believe this gracious-mannered man is the grasping fraud portrayed by the Knoxes. He wonders–not for the first time–whether his inexperience leads him to form favourable impressions too easily. Should he be more suspicious, like Mackinley, who takes against people on principle, assuming that sooner or later they will disappoint him–and is usually proved right?
On his way down the road he sees Maria carrying a basket. He raises his hat and she smiles slightly. She seems decidedly less hostile since this morning, but he still wouldn’t have risked speaking to her had she not spoken first.
‘Mr Moody. How is the investigation proceeding?’
‘Er, slowly, thank you.’
She pauses, as if waiting for him to say something, so he finds himself saying, ‘I have just been talking to Mr Sturrock.’
She doesn’t betray surprise, nodding as if she expected it. ‘And?’
‘I thought he was charming. Educated, sensitive … not at all what I expected.’
‘I suppose he had to be charming to swindle my uncle out of all his money–there was quite a lot, I believe.’
Donald must have frowned, because she goes on: ‘I know my uncle was desperate enough to do anything, but a man of honour would have told him it was pointless to keep looking for the girls and refused his money. It would have been kinder in the long run. In the end he had neither his daughters nor anything to live on, and he … well, as good as destroyed himself. This was after my aunt died. I know it sounds terrible to say this but … I’ve always supposed they must have been eaten by wolves. Other people say so and I think they are right. Aunt and Uncle could never accept that, though.’
‘How could anyone?’
‘Is that so much worse than what they did think?’
‘I would have thought life, at any cost … is better than death.’
Maria looks at him with those
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