“To dream of Brittany, hein?”
“I never dream,” said Reggie, with indignation… .
But he was waked in the night. He rubbed his eyes and looked up to see Dubois’s large face above him. “Oh, my hat,” he moaned. “What is it? Why won’t it wait?”
“Courage, my friend. They have found him. At least, they think so. Some fishermen, going out yesterday evening, they found a body on the rocks at what they call Granny’s Cove. Come. The brave Bell wants you to see.”
“Bless him,” Reggie groaned, and rolled out of bed. “What is life that one should seek it? I ask you.” And, slipping clothes on him, swiftly he crooned, “‘Three fishers went sailin’ out into the west, out into the west, as the sun went down’ - and incredibly caught the incredible Farquhar.”
“You are right,” Dubois nodded. “Nothing clear, nothing sure. The more it changes, the more it is the same, this accursed case. It has no shape; there is no reason in it.”
“Structure not yet determined. No,” Reggie mumbled, parting his hair, for he will always be neat. “We’re not bein’ very clever. Ought to be able to describe the whole thing from available evidence of its existence. Same like inferrin’ the age of reptiles from a fossil or two - ‘ dragons of the prime, tearin’ each other in the slime, were mellow music unto him.’ Yes. The struggle for life of the reptiles might be mellow music compared to the diversions of Mr. Farquhar and friends. Progressive world, Dubois.”
“Name of a dog!” Dubois exclaimed. “When you are philosophic, my stomach turns over. What is in your mind?”
“Feelin’ of impotence. Very uncomfortable,” Reggie moaned, and muffled himself to the chin and made haste out.
In the mortuary Bell introduced them to a body covered by a sheet. “Here you are, sir.” He stepped aside. “The clothes seem to be Farquhar’s clothes all right. Sort of orange tweed and green flannel trousers. But I don’t know about the man.”
Reggie drew back the sheet from what was left of a face.
“Saprelotte!” Dubois rumbled. “The fish have bitten.”
“Well, I leave it to you,” said Bell thickly…
Under a sunlit breeze the sea was dancing bright, the mists flying inland from the valleys to the dim bank of the moor, when Reggie came out again.
He drove back to his hotel, and shaved and bathed and rang up the police station. Bell and Dubois arrived to find him in his room, eating with appetite grilled ham and buttered eggs.
“My envy; all my envy,” Dubois pulled a face. “This is greatness. The English genius at the highest.”
“Oh, no. No,” Reggie protested. “Natural man. Well. The corpse is that of Mr. Farquhar as per invoice. Prominent teeth not impaired by activities of the lobsters. Some other contours still visible. The marmalade - thanks. Yes. Hair, colourin’, size and so forth agree. Mr. Farquhar’s been in the sea three or four days. Correspondin’ with date of disappearance. Cause of death, drowning. Severe contusions on head and body, inflicted before death. Possibly by blows, possibly by fall. Might have fallen from cliff; might have been dashed on rocks by sea. No certainty to be obtained. That’s the medical evidence.”
“You are talking!” Dubois exclaimed. “Flute! There we are again. Whatever arrives, it will mean nothing for us. Here is murder, suicide, accident - what you please.”
“I wonder.” Reggie began to peel an apple. “Anything in his pockets, Bell?”
“A lot of money, sir. Nothing else. The notes are all sodden, but it’s a good wad, and some are fifties. Might be five or six hundred pounds. So he wasn’t robbed.”
“And then?” said Dubois. “It is not enough for all the jewels of Clotilde, but it is something in hand. Will you tell me what the devil he was doing at the door of this paralysed millionaire? It means nothing, none of it.”
“No. Still amassin’ useless knowledge, as you were sayin’.” Reggie gazed at Dubois with dreamy eyes. “I should say that’s what we came here for. Don’t seem the right place, does it? However. As we are here, let’s try and get a little more before departure. Usin’ the local talent. Bell - your fishermen - have they got any ideas where a fellow would tumble into the sea to be washed up into Granny’s Cove?”
“Ah.” Bell was pleased. “I have been asking about that, sir. Supposing he got in from the land, they think it would be somewhere round by Shag Nose. That’s a bit o’ cliff west o’ the town. I’m having men search round and enquire. But the scent’s pretty cold by now.”
“Yes. As you say,” Reggie sighed. His eyes grew large, and melancholy. “Is it far?” he said, in a voice of fear.
“Matter of a mile or two.”
“Oh, my Bell.” Reggie groaned. He pushed back his chair. He rose stiffly. “Come on.”
Shag Nose is a headland from which dark cliffs fall sheer. Below them stretches seaward a ridge of rocks, which stand bare some way out at low tide, and in the flood make a turmoil of eddies and broken water.
The top of the headland is a flat of springy turf, in which are many tufts of thrift and cushions of stunted gorse.
“Err. It is bleak,” Dubois complained. “Will you tell me why Farquhar should come here? He was not - how do you say? - a man for the great open spaces.”
“Know the answer, don’t you?” Reggie mumbled.
