Unnatural Causes Read Online Free PDF Page B

contributed one’s own mite from time to time. God knows why except that one does get the occasional idea for a new method of murder and it seemed a shame to waste it when poor Seton was so obviously near the end of his resources. But, apart from that predatory gleam in his eye—not a sign of appreciation, my dears! Of course, for reasons you all appreciate, he gets no help from me now. Not after what he did to Arabella.”
    Miss Calthrop said: “Oh, my idea wasn’t for a new method of murder exactly. It was just a situation. I thought it might make rather an effective opening chapter. I kept telling Maurice that you must capture your readers from the verystart. I pictured a body drifting out to sea in a dinghy with its hands chopped off at the wrists.”
    There was a silence, so complete, so sudden that the striking of the carriage clock drew all their eyes towards it as if it were chiming the hour of execution. Dalgliesh was looking at Latham. He had stiffened in his chair and was grasping the stem of his glass with such force that Dalgliesh half-expected it to snap. It was impossible to guess what lay behind that pale, rigid mask. Suddenly Bryce gave his high, nervous laugh and the tension broke. One could almost hear the little gasps of relief.
    “What an extraordinarily morbid imagination you have, Celia! One would never suspect. You must control these impulses, my dear, or the League of Romantic Novelists will hurl you out of the club.”
    Latham spoke, his voice controlled, colourless. He said: “All this doesn’t help with the present problem. Do I take it that we’re agreed to take no action about Seton’s disappearance? Eliza is probably right and it’s just some nonsense Maurice has thought up. If so the sooner we leave Mr. Dalgliesh to enjoy his holiday in peace the better.”
    He was rising to go as if suddenly wearied of the whole subject when there was a loud authoritative knock on the cottage door. Jane Dalgliesh lifted an interrogative eyebrow at her nephew then got up silently and went through the porch to open it. The party fell silent, listening unashamedly. A caller after dusk was rare in their isolated community. Once night fell they were used to seeing only each other and knew by instinct of long experience whose footstep was approaching their door. But this loud summons had been the knock of a stranger. There was the soft, broken mutter of voices from the porch. Then Miss Dalgliesh reappeared in the doorway, two raincoated men in the shadows behind her. She said: “This isDetective Inspector Reckless and Sergeant Courtney from the County CID. They are looking for Digby Seton. His sailing dinghy has come ashore at Cod Head.”
    Justin Bryce said: “That’s odd. It was beached as usual at the bottom of Tanner’s Lane at five o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
    Everyone seemed to realise simultaneously how strange it was that a Detective Inspector and a Sergeant should be calling after dark about a missing dinghy but Latham spoke before the others had formed their questions: “What’s wrong, Inspector?”
    Jane Dalgliesh replied for him. “Something very shocking, I’m afraid. Maurice Seton’s body was in the boat.”
    “Maurice’s body! Maurice? But that’s ridiculous!” Miss Calthrop’s sharp didactic voice cut across the room in futile protest. “It can’t be Maurice. He never takes the boat out. Maurice doesn’t like sailing.”
    The Inspector moved forward into the light and spoke for the first time.
    “He hadn’t been sailing, Madam. Mr. Seton was lying dead in the bottom of the boat. Dead, and with both hands taken off at the wrists.”

6
    Celia Calthrop, as if relishing her own obstinacy, said for the tenth time: “I keep telling you! I didn’t say a word about the plot to anyone except Maurice. Why should I? And it’s no good harping on about the date. It was about six months ago—perhaps longer. I can’t remember just when. But we were walking along the beach to