Simon broke step to tread out his cigarette at the edge of the pavement. The incredible hydrangeas of Cornwall foamed over a garden wall and filled his eyes with blue and rose and violet.

  “Yes, go on. I’m interested.”

  “Every soul in this district knew the tomb was going to be opened, and nobody knew it better than you. So when you put the dead man there, or at least when you elected to leave him there, it was because you wanted him found. Well, that didn’t surprise me very much. Supposing you were responsible for his death in some way, you might well prefer it like that, if you could arrange it in circumstances that wouldn’t point straight at you. You’d want, other things being equal, to be fair to his family, not to leave them on thorns, not knowing whether he was alive or dead. But if you wanted him found, and if, as seemed likely, he’d drowned in the sea and been washed up on the Mortuary, then why not just leave him to be found there? And there was an answer to that, too. All the time we’ve been staying here, the first bather on that beach every morning has been young Paddy.

  “And you wouldn’t want Paddy to be the one to find him. Not even just because of the ugliness. This man had died, in a way, because of Paddy, and you couldn’t bear that there should be any closer link than existed already in your mind. It was shock enough when you heard he’d glimpsed him in the sea, the evening before, wasn’t it? And then, you’d promised Paddy to tell the coastguard, and I know you didn’t, even after Dominic mentioned it in the bar at night, and reminded you. You didn’t forget. You don’t forget promises to Paddy.

  “But there wasn’t a ghost of a motive. Not even when it came out that Trethuan had been trying to threaten or persuade you into leaving the vault alone. What did you care for his threats? He had no hold on you. No, what I was inclined to think, up to then, was that you knew who had killed him, and were covering up for the guilty party because you didn’t think of him as a murderer, but at the same time trying to protect the innocent from suspicion. And then Miss Rachel let it out that he’d been there in the kitchen garden of Treverra Place, just at the time when you were there with her on the lawn, telling her that Paddy is your son. Trethuan had followed you down from the churchyard, after you brushed him off for the last time. He was desperate to stop you, by any means. Whether he would have tried to put you out of the way, too, if everything else had failed, one can’t be sure. But it’s worth considering, isn’t it?”

  He flashed a glance along his shoulder, and saw Simon’s clear profile beside him, fixed as bronze, the lines of jaw and cheekbone pale with tension. “I suppose he might have tried it. I hadn’t thought. He didn’t, though.”

  “No, what happened wasn’t in self-defence, I realise that. All the same, he was dogging your steps, in search of anything, any mortal thing, that could be used to bring you to heel or shut you up for good. And he was in the kitchen garden. Picking plums, maybe, but only because where the plums were he could listen to your conversation, and be ready to continue his pursuit of you.

  “I don’t suppose he heard everything. What he did hear meant just one thing to him, didn’t it? Just one obvious, crude but possibly useful thing.

  “And then you left the Place, and went out along the Dragon’s Head, alone, at an hour when it was deserted. Having a lot of not very happy thinking to do, and plenty of time before you were expected home to tea. And Trethuan made his excuse to Miss Rachel in a great hurry, promised to finish the job next day, and made off after you. He thought he had what he needed, now. He thought he could make you dance to his tune. He came to you, I judge, somewhere near the point, up on the cliff path. He’d want a solitary place. I can guess what he said.

  “Yes—he had a simple sort of mind. Not nice, but simple. It wasn’t Paddy he threatened to tell—was it?”

  They had come down to the southern corner of the harbour, and halted there to lean on the railings shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the smooth brown mud and the stranded boats close to them, and the gleaming quiet water beyond, lipping so softly now at the masonry of the mole. Watery sun gilded the small, scalloped waves. The tide was well out, but not yet at its lowest. Simon clenched his hands on the rail, and stared blindly before him, and the screaming flight of gulls wheeling round them was only a pattern of sound to him for a moment. He shut his eyes hard, and shook his head, and the dizziness passed.

  “I’m sorry!” he said. “I haven’t been sleeping so well.” He passed a hand over his eyes, and in a moment he said: “No, it wasn’t Paddy!” and again was silent.

  “You’d better tell it,” George said reasonably. “You know best.”

  “You know already. It was just as you said. It was the blind, bloody meanness and stupidity of it that got me,” he said, suddenly shivering with detestation. “I blow up, sometimes. One thing Paddy’s got from me, worse luck!—wouldn’t you know it would be something like that I’d give him?—is that temper of his. If you’ve ever seen it in action? No, I suppose not. Tim’s the patient one, Tim’s done wonders with him. But it can still happen, to Paddy and to me. And there was this creature capering and crowing that he’d heard me admit Paddy was my son! You’re so right, to him that meant just one thing, and he thought it was all he needed. If I wouldn’t call the whole thing off, he’d tell Tim!

  “It was ludicrous, it didn’t mean a thing, it was no threat to anyone, how could it be? I burst out laughing in his face. And then he called Phil—the sort of name—Phil! The truest soul alive, and the one I’ve injured most already!

  “And I hit him.

  “I don’t know if it makes sense to you. It was somehow the one thing I couldn’t stand. After all I’d done to them, making use of them for my own ends when it suited me, and then wanting to steal Paddy back—because I did want to, very badly. And then on top of everything, this futile, meaningless, humiliating bit of dirt. You can’t imagine how horribly it offended.”

  “I think,” said George mildly, “I can. You’re sure he didn’t lose his head and hit out at you first? Or shape towards it? When you laughed at him, for instance?”

  “Don’t tempt me, George. I’m a dodger but not a liar. He never raised a hand.”

  “Did you ever, even for an instant, mean to kill him?”

  “Good lord, no! Well,—I don’t think so. I don’t know that I meant anything. I just blew up. I hit him with everything I’d got, but I give you my word I only hit him once. I even woke up in time to make one wild grab at him as he dropped, but he slipped through my fingers. I’d turned, you see, when he came up to me, there was the rise of the Dragon’s Head on my right, and the drop to the deep water outside the haven on my left. If I lash out, it’s always with the right. I hadn’t thought how it would swing him round. I hadn’t thought at all, it was too quick for thought. It wasn’t quite a sheer fall, we weren’t that near the edge. He went lurching two or three strides downward, and then lost his footing and rolled. Before I could slither after him he was over the edge. He dropped into the deep water. I think he must have been stunned, because he never came up.”

  The lines of strain had eased a little, blood was coming back to his face. He drew breath deeply, and let go of the rail.

  “We’d better be moving along, hadn’t we?”

  “When you’re ready.”

  “You’re not in any hurry to turn me in, are you?” said Simon, with the first reviving smile.

  “I’m not turning you in. And there never was any hurry. We hadn’t got a murderer at large to worry about. Go on, if you care to. You went in after him, didn’t you?”

  “How did you know that?” He was capable of feeling surprise again.

  “Because you went in again with Dominic afterwards, so long afterwards that it couldn’t have been with any hope of finding him alive. It must have been full tide when he fell, if there was deep water off the haven. It was at least half an hour past when you showed up on the beach with the boys. So either it was just for the look of the thing generally—which isn’t entirely convincing where you’re concerned—or because you wanted to account satisfactorily for wet hair and wet underclothes. The boys wouldn’t be noticing that you were wet already, before you went in, they were much too preoccupied then.”

  “That’s pretty good, but I can tell you one more reason. I’d skinned my knuckles on the right hand, when I hit him. Diving and swimming round those rocks, I made the other hand match. I hadn’t thought about that the first time. You can get cut about quite extensively if you’re not careful. Paddy was quite concerned, when we were cleaning up afterwards, and he saw them.” He looked down with a dark, remembering smile at the backs of his hands, the points of the knuckles still marked with small, healed lesions.

  “Yes, I went in after him. I scrambled down the rock path, and shed my top clothes, and dived and dived for him until I was worn out, and by then it would have been no good, anyhow. It was pretty rough going, but I’m a strong swimmer. And after that, I suppose, it came over me what I’d done, and I knew I had to get away from there, fast. I couldn’t get through the Dragon’s Hole, or I’d have beat it through there and let myself be seen along the harbour. But it was deep under water at that time. All I could do was put on my clothes and bolt back up the cliff path, and work round by the Maymouth side on to the road. And when I came up over the neck on my way home I saw your boy hauling Paddy out of the rough water. I ran down to them, and you know the rest. I went in and worked hard for the complete answer to why my hair was wet and my knuckles skinned. Praying we wouldn’t find him. Praying he’d never be found.

  “And that’s all. Except that Sam said, that night, he’d probably come in on the Mortuary with the next high tide. That gave me a shock. I’m not a native, that was something I didn’t know.”

  “And the first thing you thought of was Paddy running down to the beach about seven o’clock in the morning and finding him.”

  “Wouldn’t it be the first thing that would have occurred to you? If the body was going to be cast up here, I wanted to be the one to find it, not Paddy. I was awake all night, brooding about it, and before it was light I got up and dressed, and sneaked out while everybody else was asleep. High tide was about a quarter past four that morning. I bet I was down on the shore before five.

  “And he was there! I hadn’t really believed in it till then, but he was there. Miles of sand every way, and he was a big fellow, and dead weight. And the sea was no good, the sea wouldn’t have him. There was only the church anywhere near for a hiding-place. And the key of the vault was in my pocket. So I put him in there. We had crowbars and wedges down there, already, waiting for the big job. I suppose I thought I could move him again the next night. Maybe I didn’t think at all, just huddled him out of sight. It was getting light, and all the time I had Paddy on my mind. It was quite a job, single-handed, but it can be done if you’re pushed.”

  “So you very honestly explained to me,” said George, “when I asked you, yesterday.”

  “Well, by instinct I am honest. I’ve never had any reason to be anything else, before. It gets everything snarled up, though, when you do get into a jam. Well, I got him into the coffin. I thought I was putting him in with Treverra. And all the time I was shutting him in with the man he’d killed two years before. Who says providence hasn’t got a sense of humour?

  “And yet it doesn’t make me feel a bit better about it, that he turned out to be a murderer. It doesn’t alter anything.

  “And then afterwards, when I began thinking where I’d move him to, I thought, well, why? Why move him at all? For all I knew then, he had a loving family. I don’t think I’d ever wanted to deprive them of him, and I didn’t really like the thought of them waiting and worrying, and looking for him, not even knowing whether he was alive or dead. Never knowing. I’d killed him, and that was bad enough. But I found my conscience was going to give me double hell if I tried to sneak out and leave them to fret, and justice to fumble around without any hold on me. But most of all, I suspect, I simply hated and dreaded the thought of touching him again, and going on with this awful game of hide-and-seek. Oh, I wanted to get off scot-free, if I could. Half of me did, anyhow. But not quite on those terms. So I thought, all right, let it just happen. We’re going to open the tomb, right, we’ll open it. Murder will out, let it at least out in a decent, orderly fashion, with no kids and no women to happen on it unawares, and nobody to give emotional and misleading evidence that can land some innocent person in trouble. That’s why I asked you to make one.”

  They had walked the length of one little shopping street from the end of the harbour, and emerged into the square. Without consultation, but quite naturally, they crossed the cobbled space of parked cars towards the door of the police station.

  “I’m glad I did,” said Simon, producing suddenly, even out of his profound depression, the smile that drew people after him.

  “You didn’t need me,” said George. “This has been your show throughout.”

  They reached the apron of paving before the steps, and halted there by consent to take breath before entering. Neither of them noticed the light flurry of steps on the cobbles, heading for them at a confident run from the newsagent’s shop at the corner of the square.

  “Well, that was exactly how it happened. Pointless and needless. Nobody even wanted it. But it happened, and I was the one who made it happen.” Simon filled his lungs deeply, as though there was going to be less to breathe inside. Very soberly he asked: “What do you think I shall get?”

  The running feet broke rhythm, suddenly and very close to them. A breath caught on a half-sound, as if someone had been about to speak quite loudly and gaily, and then swallowed the word unspoken. George swung round, and found himself staring into the wide, wary, golden-hazel eyes of his son.

  “Dad, I—I was only—” His voice wavered away into uncertainty and silence. He looked from one face to the other with that bright, uneasy, intelligent glance, and drew back a step. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in. I’ll see you later. It wasn’t anything.”

  “That’s all right, Dom,” said George calmly. “But not now, we’re occupied. Run off and take care of your mother, I’ll be with you at lunch.”

  “Yes, of course. I didn’t realise you were busy. Sorry!”

  He drew back at once, gladly, quickly, but the stunned look in his eyes had begun to change before he turned his back on them and walked away rapidly out of the square, and the imagination behind the eyes was at work frantically with what he must certainly have heard. “It happened, and I was the one who made it happen. What do you think I shall get?” His innocent approach couldn’t have been better timed to tell him everything in two sentences. And he was exceedingly quick in the uptake.

  “I’m sorry about that,” said Simon with compunction, looking after the slender figure as it walked too steadily, too thoughtfully, away from them. “But he’d have had to know pretty soon, I suppose. What do you think I shall get?”

  “With luck,” said George, “a discharge. At the worst, up to three years for manslaughter. If you tell it as you’ve told it to me.”

  “Ah, but I shan’t be doing that. And neither will you, George, not quite. If they reduce the charge to manslaughter, or unlawful killing, or anything less than murder, I’m going to plead guilty. Then they won’t have to call evidence at all—will they? So everyone will be spared.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said George with equal firmness. “You’ll employ a good lawyer, and be guided by him how to plead. You just tell the truth and leave the law to him. With any luck he’ll get you off.”

  Simon’s tawny face had recovered something of its spirit and audacity, and all of its obstinacy. “I’ll tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, but not quite the whole truth. I’ll say he came following and threatening me, I’ll say he was abusive. And with what’s going to come out about Ruiz, that won’t be at all hard for them to believe and understand. But I won’t bring Paddy and Tim and Phil into it. They’re back safely on the rails, and running like a train, and I’m not going to do anything to shake them again, and neither are you. I’d rather plead guilty ten times over. I’m not what I’d call a good man, George, but that’s one thing I won’t do, and won’t let you do, either. And unless you promise me here and now to keep them out of it, it’s your word against mine for all this. I won’t co-operate. I’ll turn back here and deny everything, and make you sweat your case up as best you can. I don’t believe you could ever make it stick.”

  “You wouldn’t be happy,” said George, smiling.

  “No, I wouldn’t. I’d much rather go in there and get it off my chest. But not at that price.”

  “I told you,” said George, “I’m not turning you in. You brought yourself here. It’s your show.”

  “Good, then they’re out of it. For keeps. I look upon that as a promise, George. But—would you mind coming in with me? And will you be kind enough to let Tim know, afterwards? Don’t let them worry. They’ll know best how to tell Paddy. It isn’t that I wanted to keep him from knowing,” he said, as they climbed the steps side by side. “I just wanted him safely off the scene until I’d got the worst over.”