The Nine-Spoked Wheel, page 8
‘Did he have much to leave?’
‘He lived carefully, and he’d always worked in the vacations. He wrote a couple of books in that series of Rucksack Guides – one on Stonehenge and the other on the prehistoric monuments of Brittany. They sell quite well, and I think made a few hundred pounds. And he had some other savings, I don’t know exactly, but probably not much. He’d never had anything but grants and scholarships, and what he managed to earn by doing odd jobs. I think that’s why he didn’t marry Ruth – he didn’t feel that he had enough for marriage. He had a good chance of a college Fellowship next year, and the idea was that he and Ruth would get married after that, at least, I think so, but there was nothing formal about it.’
‘Do you know who benefits from his will?’
‘Yes. He left some books and a few odds and ends to me, and everything else to Ruth. There can’t be very much, though.’ Marryat paused. ‘But can you tell me how Paul died? I understand that the inquest has only been opened, and adjourned.’
Revers took a decision. ‘Until there is a verdict at the inquest,’ he said, ‘there is much that must remain in doubt. I can tell you how your friend died; I cannot yet say why he died. Physically, he was killed by a falling stone, one of the megalithic boulders at Avebury. It may be of some small comfort to you to know that he must have died instantly. Apparently the accident happened in the middle of the night, and why Mr Clayton was there at all at such a time we do not yet know. There are some other puzzling features about the case. You are his executor, and as far as I know he had no relatives. It is possible that you can help us to get at the facts behind his death. There is no evidence of any crime, but there is much that is as yet unexplained. If I take you into my confidence, Dr Marryat, are you willing to help us?’
‘Of course. But what on earth can I do?’
‘You are an archaeologist, working in much the same field as Mr Clayton was – indeed, in much the same field as everybody connected with this case. I feel that the explanation of Mr Clayton’s death can be found only by a reconstruction of precisely what he was doing in the Wansdyke and Avebury excavations. As a policeman, I can only go a little way to find out: apart from the fact that I lack specialised knowledge of archaeology, people are inevitably on their guard when talking to a police officer, and I feel that I just would not be told many little things that may be of the first importance. It is asking a lot, Dr Marryat, but would it be possible for you to join Dr Arbolent’s team for the rest of this summer?’
Marryat did not answer at once. Then he said, ‘I know Arbolent, of course, though I can’t say that I like him very much. But I think nobody likes him very much – he has an unfortunate arrogance of manner that gets other scholars’ backs up. I’m sure that’s why he didn’t get the chair at Oxford – on paper he was well qualified, almost entitled to it, when Sir Charles Torridon retired, but he didn’t get it. I’m certainly a ranking scholar as far as he’s concerned, but he’s an Oxford man, and I’m Cambridge. Whether he’d let me join his team, I don’t know – he might be flattered, he might be supercilious and enjoy turning me down. I can try, anyway.’
‘Good. In spite of what happens in some detective stories, we don’t employ amateur detectives. I can’t offer you any money, or official support. I don’t want you to do any cloak and dagger work. I do want you to work with Dr Arbolent’s team – which may be useful to you, anyway – and to tell me anything that you can find out about the last weeks of Mr Clayton’s life. All this is highly irregular, and most improper. I’m trusting you, Dr Marryat, and I hope you feel that you can trust me.’
‘I not only trust you, Inspector – do you know, I never even got your name properly – but I respect you, and appreciate very much what you are trying to do for Paul. Arbolent should be around somewhere this afternoon, and I’ll try to see him, and get taken on the strength. Where can I get in touch with you?’
‘Here. But have you had any lunch? If you don’t mind taking pot-luck, I’d be delighted if you’d come home and have lunch with me.’
*
Diana Revers was used to feeding all sorts and conditions of men at all sorts and conditions of times. Dr Marryat was pleasanter, and more interesting, than most. Revers decided that he both liked, and trusted him. They didn’t discuss Paul Clayton’s death, but Marryat did talk a little about his background. His father had been a doctor, who had died when Paul was about three. A few months later his mother had married again and gone to Australia with her new husband. Apparently regarding the child as just a nuisance, she had simply left him behind in the house. Next day he had been found bewildered, crying and very hungry by a neighbour. There being no other relatives, and the mother having left no address, Paul was taken into care by the County Council and brought up in various orphanages and children’s homes. He had become a voracious reader, escaping from his orphanages into books. One result of his loneliness was that he did exceedingly well at school and had won a major Cambridge scholarship. ‘He once told me that he had turned to ancient history and archaeology when he was a kid because everything had happened long ago and nobody could be hurt any more,’ Marryat said. His mother had never made the slightest effort to get in touch with him, or even, as far as anyone knew, to find out what had happened to him. ‘It seems barely credible,’ Marryat said, ‘but it happened. The result, as far as Paul was concerned, was that he grew up into an absolutely splendid person, self-reliant and reserved, as I suppose he had to be, but about the most unselfish and considerate of men I’ve ever met. He had pretty harsh standards, though, for himself as well as others. He hated any sort of dishonesty.’
*
After lunch Marryat went off to see if he could get hold of Dr Arbolent, and Revers went back to his cigarette end. It seemed an entirely normal stub, about three-quarters of an inch long. It was tobacco, not a filter tip, and had been smoked below any brand name it might once have had. It bore no marks of lipstick, which argued against Revers’s original sentimental theory, but not conclusively, for not all young women necessarily use lipstick, or use it all the time. Since Clayton was apparently in love with Ruth Marryat, who did not smoke, it was unlikely that he was treasuring the cigarette end as a memento of any other woman. The absence of lipstick marks suggested that the smoker was probably a man, again, though, not conclusively. Why on earth had Clayton kept the thing in his wallet? He didn’t smoke himself, so he couldn’t have been collecting cigarette ends for further use. The fact that it had been put carefully in the wallet and not just in a pocket suggested that it had been kept deliberately for some particular reason. Revers asked himself what reasons might prompt the keeping of a cigarette end. He could think of none that seemed obvious. It was possible that an exceptionally tidy minded individual might pick up a cigarette end that he regarded as littering some beauty spot or holy place, but it was not very likely, and if a cigarette end were picked up like that it would be put in a pocket to be thrown away again at the first opportunity. A smoker, feeling guilty about smoking in some place where smoking was prohibited, might pocket a cigarette-end to hide the evidence, but he would not put it away in a wallet. But Paul Clayton wasn’t a smoker. A detective might guard a cigarette-end as evidence that someone had been in a particular spot, but Clayton wasn’t a detective. Or – was he? If so, what was he trying to detect? There was no evidence of any sort of crime at the camp, but it was possible that there had been an outbreak of pilfering and that Clayton, as a senior member of the team, was trying to discover the thief. Mentally, Revers kicked himself for not having asked about this when he was interviewing the team, but then he thought that there had been no reason why he should. Now it was something that would have to be gone into, though what bearing it could have on the fall of the stone at Avebury was hard to imagine.
Revers decided to have the cigarette end photographed, and then to send it to the forensic laboratory for an analysis of the tobacco.
*
Marryat found Dr Arbolent in his office at the South Down Camp. There were five reporters and three photographers also trying to see him. They were far from happy. At first they took Marryat for another reporter, and one of them said, ‘The bastard said he’d see us here this morning, but he’s kept us hanging around all day. He may be the cat’s whiskers at deciphering old stones, but I’ve got a deadline to make.’
Marryat was wondering what he ought to do when a girl came out of the office with a sheet of typescript. ‘Dr Arbolent is very sorry,’ she said, ‘but he’s been far too busy all day to have time to see anyone. Here is today’s statement on the progress of the excavations – I’m going to pin it on the notice-board. Dr Arbolent says that you may quote it as being said by him provided that you use the exact words.’
The reporters gathered round the camp notice-board to copy the statement, and one of the photographers asked, ‘What about pictures?’
‘Dr Arbolent will be available for photographs in about half an hour,’ the girl said.
As she turned to go back into the office, Marryat gave her his card. ‘Dr Arbolent knows me,’ he said. ‘Would you be good enough to ask if he can spare me a few minutes.’
The girl glanced at the card, but it didn’t seem to mean anything to her. ‘I’ll ask, but I don’t suppose it will be much good,’ she said. ‘Anyway, wait here.’
Much to Marryat’s surprise, the girl came out again in a couple of minutes and said, ‘Dr Arbolent will be delighted to see you. Will you please come in?’
Dr Arbolent was sitting in a camp chair at a trestle table that served as a desk. It was littered with papers, some of which had overflowed onto the one chair in front of the desk, and from the chair onto the floor. He did not get up, nor did he invite his visitor to clean the chair to sit down. ‘Well, Marryat,’ he said, ‘this is a surprise. I didn’t think you’d be on my side!’
‘I’ve come to congratulate you,’ Marryat said. ‘Of course, I’ve only seen the newspaper reports of your discoveries, but they seem of the most fundamental importance, putting Layard, Rawlinson, Evans and everybody else in the shade.’
Dr Arbolent was clearly pleased. ‘I suspect things, you see, Marryat, and as I’ve remarked before, my suspicions have a way of being right. But surely you’re a great easterner, like all the rest?’
‘One can be wrong, and it’s the job of scholarship to look for truth.’
‘Indeed yes! Would that there were more people like you! It is good of you to come down to congratulate me. Do you know, you are the only archaeologist of any merit who has so far bothered to do so! The rest are all too jealous, I suppose.’
‘I was wondering, Arbolent, if you’d let me join your team for a few weeks. I could be quite useful, you know – you must have a fearful lot on your plate.’
‘Jumping on the band-wagon, eh?’
‘Well, if that’s how you feel –’ Marryat turned to go.
‘No, no. Come back! I fear I spoke hastily – I have cause for feeling aggrieved at many of my fellow archaeologists. Yes, Marryat, you could certainly be useful, and you may stay in the camp if you wish. But you will understand that this remains my expedition – you must be supernumerary, acting under my instructions.’
‘Of course.’
‘As long as that’s clear, well and good. I have a second-in-command, George Armitage, of the Dennison Museum in Manchester. He’s not a Megalithic man, but he’s a sound archaeologist: you may have come across him. He volunteered for this dig as long ago as last year, and I shall explain to him that you are not to outrank him in any way. The rest are all students and you must fit in as you and Armitage think best. Now I have an appointment with some photographers, and you must please excuse me. Go and see Armitage and get yourself fixed up.’
Marryat felt so angry that he had to walk round the hut twice in order to cool off. The reporters had gone away, and the photographers had been called in to take pictures of the great man seated at his camp desk. For the moment there was nobody else about. Marryat regretted having come, and was in two minds about getting in his car and driving back to Cambridge straightaway. Then he reflected that he had a job to do, at least for Paul Clayton’s memory and, in some sense, for Ruth. He had his kit from Greece in the boot of the car, so if the camp would give him a bed, he could clock in straightaway.
He knew his way about archaeological camps, and decided that the best place to start looking for George Armitage would be in the Mess. He went across to the Mess hut, to find it empty, except for a rather pretty girl who was laying the trestle tables for tea.
‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘Are you looking for somebody?’ She spoke with a rather attractive American accent.
‘Yes, I’m looking for Mr Armitage. Do you know where I can find him?’
‘Well, I’m Juliet Boyce, and I’m new here, so they put me on canteen duty. I don’t know much about what goes on yet, but I expect Mr Armitage will be at the barrow. He’ll be coming back for tea quite soon. You can wait here if you like.’
‘Thanks. Would there be any chance of having a cup of tea?’
The girl laughed. ‘You English and your everlasting tea! Well, I haven’t been able to find any teabags, but there’s some stuff they call tea in the urn.’ She handed him a mug. ‘You can certainly help yourself to that.’
Marryat shuddered slightly, but duly filled the mug from the urn. ‘Shall I fill a cup for you?’ he asked.
‘No, thanks. I’ve got to set out the pork pies before they come. It’s a cold tea today, thank goodness!’
Marryat quite enjoyed watching her. ‘Where do you come from?’ he asked.
‘Well, I come from Iowa. My dad’s a professor at Milman – that’s a university there. I’m doing archaeology, and Dr Arbolent let me join the team here. I reckon it’s just about the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.’
‘I’m joining the team, too,’ said Marryat.
‘Oh, that’s nice. Are you an archaeologist?’
‘Yes, from Cambridge, England.’
*
George Armitage walked in. ‘I came down a bit ahead of the others,’ he said to Juliet, ‘to see if you needed a hand.’
‘That’s nice of you, but I think everything’s all right. And you’ve got a visitor.’ To Marryat she said, ‘Here’s Mr Armitage.’
Marryat introduced himself. ‘Tony Marryat,’ he said. ‘Dr Arbolent has invited me to join the work here for a bit, and he told me to report to you.’
‘Are you Anthony Marryat, the Cambridge man?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s an honour to meet you. I’ve read and re-read Circles of Stone and Prehistoric Man in Spain, and I think all your papers in Antiquity.’
Marryat laughed. ‘It’s good to be flattered, but really, I don’t deserve it. And you’re the boss – Dr Arbolent made it clear that I’m here only as a supernumerary observer. I’ll do whatever work you want me to, of course, but I’m not trying to gate-crash your team. I’m just very, very interested.’
‘Are you staying tonight?’
‘Yes, if you’ve got a bed for me.’
‘We certainly have. Look, Juliet. I’d better take Dr Marryat across to the sleeping hut. If the others come before I get back don’t wait for me. Dr Marryat, will you come with me?’
*
The men’s sleeping hut was empty. Armitage seemed suddenly rather ill-at-ease. ‘You ought to have the bed in the corner, because it has a scrap of privacy,’ he said. ‘It’s vacant, but I don’t know whether you’d like it.’
‘Whyever not?’
‘Well, it was Paul Clayton’s bed. You must have heard about Paul Clayton!’
‘Yes, indeed: a dreadfully sad business. He was at my college – that’s partly why I’m here. I don’t at all mind taking over his bed.’
‘Well, that’s all right then. You knew Paul quite well, I suppose.’
‘Very well. And liked him enormously. He was a very able chap, and his death is a pitiful loss. But I’m afraid I know very little about it – I’ve only just got back from Greece.’
‘None of us knows much about it, and it’s upset the camp a great deal. We had the police here making inquiries, but there wasn’t much we could tell them. I went to the inquest last week, but it was just opened and adjourned. So we’re none the wiser for it. Paul was killed by one of the monoliths at Avebury falling on him. Apparently it happened during the night. He’d begun some excavation work at the foot of the stone, and I suppose that must have disturbed the thing in some way, though Paul knew what he was doing, and I can’t imagine him taking any silly risks. But the worst thing is that nobody knows what on earth he was doing there at night. We just speculate endlessly, but no one can suggest any reason that seems even remotely sensible. Some people think that he must have had some sudden anxiety about the stone, and gone there to inspect the digging. But if so, why did he go off alone? He couldn’t have done anything by himself. And it just wasn’t like Paul to try to cover up a mistake, or something like that.’
The two men were silent for a bit. Then Marryat put his hand on Armitage’s shoulder in a quick gesture of sympathy. ‘Poor Paul,’ he said. ‘And poor you, and poor all the others . . . It’s a horrible thing to have happened, but it has happened, and it’s hard to see that it could have been anybody’s fault. It’s not the kind of thing that anyone can forget, but the work must go on. Paul would have wanted that.’
‘Thank you,’ said Armitage. ‘Let’s go across to tea.’
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll cut tea for this evening. I’ve got some friends in Marlborough, and I promised to look them up. I’ll sleep here tonight, if I may, and clock on for work in the morning. Will that be OK?’
‘Fine, if it suits you. See you either late tonight or in the morning, then. That’s my bed, over in the other corner. Just wake me up if you’re late, and want anything.’
‘I won’t, but thanks all the same.’
*
In Marlborough, Marryat found a telephone box and rang the police station, to be told that Inspector Revers had gone home. Revers had given him his home number, so he rang that. Revers answered almost at once.
