through the hotel's letter-box.)
But on the morning of the 5th of March Newth did not get as far as the front door. The sprawled debris of Mrs Selsby stopped him in his tracks.
Showing no visible emotion, he went forward to check that she was dead. Even without his army training, he would have been left in no doubt. The old lady was cold and still.
He paused for a moment, but his decision was quickly made. Loxton was unlikely to emerge from the kitchen, so he need not worry about her. Stepping over the inert form of Mrs Selsby, he went quickly but silently up the stairs to the top of the hotel and tapped on Miss Naismith's door.
She was still asleep, but woke quickly, threw a housecoat over her surprisingly flimsy nightdress and came to the door. Newth explained the situation in few words and Miss Naismith instantly followed him downstairs.
She looked at the body in the Entrance Hall, then checked her watch.
'Put her in the Television Room, Newth. We don't want the other residents upset. I'll ring Dr Ashington.'
She went into the Office while Newth unquestioningly obeyed her orders. If he felt any distaste or perturbation at handling the corpse, he did not show it. Mrs Selsby's body was still limp, though a slight stiffening around the jaw accentuated the strange angle at which her neck hung. With one arm cradling her back and another under her knees, Newth was surprised at how light she was. The skin had faded down to the bone, and now that too felt as if it might slowly dwindle and disappear.
Perhaps that was why Newth was so little moved. For a long time Mrs Selsby had been like an old poster pasted to the sea wall, slowly washed colourless and transparent by the elements. Her death, the moment when the last outline could no longer be traced, had been part of a long, almost imperceptible process.
Dr Ashington was not best pleased at being woken before seven, but when he heard that his caller was Miss Naismith, he became all charm. The proprietress of the Devereux unfailingly recommended him to her residents, and, since snobbery (if not wealth) dictated that most of them should be private patients, he benefited from the connection. Some, when they arrived, swore by distant doctors (like Mrs Pargeter's 'chap in Harley Street'), but most soon came to realise the advantages of a local service. And, since Miss Naismith's ground-rules for the Devereux excluded the chronically sick, Dr Ashington's part of the bargain was not too onerous.
When he heard of Mrs Selsby's death, he said he would be round straight away. 'Is she still lying where she was?' he asked.
'Good heavens, no. I have the other residents to think of.'
'Hmm. She shouldn't really have been moved. In the case of a violent death . . .'
'Oh, really, Doctor. What harm could it possibly do? She was definitely dead.'
'It's not that. It's the kind of question that might be asked at the inquest.'
'Inquest? Will there have to be an inquest?'
'Oh, I would imagine so.'
Miss Naismith was very put out. She had not considered the possibility of an inquest.
But through the gloom cast by that thought glowed a little spark of excitement. Mrs Selsby's sea-front room was one of the most coveted in the hotel. Miss Wardstone was top of the list to take it over, and Miss Naismith thought that the necessary changeover would be a good opportunity to raise the room's price.
And of course a new resident would have to be chosen to go into Miss Wardstone's room. Miss Naismith determined to make her selection with rather more care than she had shown in admitting Mrs Pargeter.
And she also determined to charge rather more than hitherto for Miss Wardstone's vacant room.
Which was one of the reasons for the smile of satisfaction with which she replaced the receiver on the telephone.
CHAPTER 8
By the time the residents of the Devereux descended for breakfast at about eight o'clock, Dr Ashington had arrived, examined the corpse, and left.
Death, he had quickly concluded, had