The Treasure at Poldarrow Point (An Angela Marchmont Mystery) (9 page)

They stared at the envelope for a moment.

‘Go on, open it,’ said Barbara.

Angela did so. It contained a single sheet of paper, and they read it together. It said:

‘Dere Mrs. Marchmont,

Stay away from Poldarrow Point if you value yor life. Ther is nuthing for you there.’

‘Is that the best they can do?’ said Barbara in disgust. ‘I must say, if I were to take to writing threatening letters I should jolly well make a much better fist of it than that.’

‘All the same,’ said Angela, ‘it is not pleasant to think that somebody wishes one harm. Perhaps that is the purpose of the letters: to unsettle rather than to frighten. After all, one does not like to have one’s holiday spoilt. Perhaps whoever sent it counted on my leaving in disgust rather than fear.’

‘Yes, but that theory doesn’t work in the case of Miss Trout, who has nowhere to go even if she did want to leave.’

‘True,’ said Angela. ‘Well, then, I don’t know the answer. Marthe,’ she called.

Marthe emerged from the sitting-room, an inquiring look on her face.

‘Yes,
madame
?’ she said.

‘Here is another one of those letters, this time sent to me,’ said Angela. ‘What do you think?’

Marthe took the letter.

‘Yes, it is the same person,’ she said. ‘The same writing, you see, and the same scent. What does she mean by it?’

‘She?’ said Barbara. ‘Were they sent by a woman?’

‘It appears so,’ said Angela.

‘Then who could it have been?’

‘Well, we can draw at least one conclusion from it: that it must have been sent by somebody who knows of our connection with Miss Trout.’

‘Someone we know, then?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Angela. ‘Tregarrion is a small place, and anybody might
have overheard me talking about it to Mrs. Walters, for example, or even have seen me walking from Kittiwake Cottage to Poldarrow Point. The cliff path is very exposed to view. Thank you, Marthe.’

‘Hmph,’ said Barbara. ‘There would be no need for whoever it was to eavesdrop on your conversation, at any rate. Mrs. Walters is a frightful old gossip and will cheerfully broadcast any secret one might care to tell her to everyone in Tregarrion—probably within the hour, in fact. She’s bound to have told at least twenty people that we were going to tea with Miss Trout.’

‘That is true,’ admitted Angela. ‘Well, then, that probably doesn’t help us to narrow down our search much.’

‘I shall pump her when I see her,’ said Barbara. ‘I’ll find out who knew.’

‘You’d better not,’ said Angela. ‘You’ll give the game away and everybody will know our business. Let me do it. I don’t suppose it will come to much, though.’

Barbara ran to look out of the window.

‘There they are, in the back garden,’ she said. ‘Do let’s have them round now. We can all have cocktails.’

‘
We
can have cocktails,’ said Angela severely. ‘
You
may have a glass of lemonade if you like.’

Barbara made a face and Angela went outside to speak to the Walters’ over the fence and ask them round for drinks. Mrs. Walters was only too happy to oblige.

‘They are coming round in ten minutes,’ said Angela. ‘Now, listen: I am going to tell them about my anonymous note, but I shan’t mention the other ones, and you must keep quiet about them too. We don’t want everybody finding out about them.’

‘All right,’ said Barbara. A thought struck her. ‘I say,’ she said. ‘I wonder if Mrs. Walters sent them herself.’

‘Why should she do that? What could she have to gain?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Barbara. ‘But she seems the type—you know, an old woman with nothing to do but stir things up among her neighbours. Perhaps I shall ask her.’

‘You shall do no such thing,’ said Angela in alarm.

‘Of course I was joking,’ said Barbara. ‘What do you take me for? No—don’t answer that.’

‘Just be on your best behaviour,’ said Angela.

Their visitors duly arrived, Mrs. Walters as garrulous and Helen as subdued in her mother’s presence as ever. A sea fret had begun to descend and the air was growing chilly, so they decided to stay indoors.

‘What will you have?’ said Barbara brightly.
‘A martini or a fizz?
Or just with
tonic? We always have
gallons
of gin at home, because you know Angela simply can’t bear to be without it morning, noon and night—as a matter of fact, she even keeps a glass of it by her bedside in case she wakes up in the middle of the night with a raging thirst. Her grandmother was Irish, you know, and used to swear by it.’

‘Go and get the glasses, Barbara,’ said Angela in flinty tones.

‘Such a queer sense of humour the young people have these days, don’t they?’ said Mrs. Walters. ‘I confess that I can’t keep up with half of what they say.’

Helen looked as though she were trying not to smile as she sat down gingerly on the most uncomfortable seat in the room. Barbara flashed her a wicked grin as she returned with the glasses and politely announced that Marthe would bring the drinks shortly.

‘Oh,’ she said as she happened to glance out of the window. ‘It’s that funny Swiss man. He must have been prospecting again.’

Everyone looked up. Mr. Donati was walking past the house, carrying his odd assortment of baggage and equipment as usual. He turned his head and saw them all watching, and bowed politely before passing on his way.

‘He is certainly dedicated to his task,’ said Mrs. Walters.

‘Oh yes,’ said Barbara. ‘I met him down on the beach yesterday and he said he was looking for metal ore. What was it now? Copper, tin and something else, he said.’

‘Tungsten?’ suggested Angela.

‘Something like that,’ said Barbara. ‘There are lots of mines in Cornwall, aren’t there? He said that any metal he found might be worth many thousands of pounds. Of course, he didn’t expect to find it on the beach. He was just taking a breather, he said. Didn’t you see him yesterday, Helen? He was there at the same time as you.’

‘No,’ said Helen, ‘I didn’t. I must have been too absorbed in my bathe.’

Marthe brought in the drinks and poured them out. Barbara gave a
moue
of disgust at her lemonade. Mrs. Walters took a doubtful sip of her martini.

‘I rarely take cocktails,’ she said, ‘but one must be open to new experiences, mustn’t one? Especially in such a gay place as this.’

‘Mother has even been dancing,’ said Helen.

‘Indeed?’ said Angela, trying unsuccessfully to picture the staid Mrs. Walters doing the Charleston or the Foxtrot.

Mrs. Walters laughed archly.

‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘We were at the hotel yesterday evening, and Mr. Dorsey was so kind as to ask me to dance—and then, if you’ll believe it, Mr. Simpson did too! I
was quite fluttered. Such handsome young men! I have not done such a thing for many years. Helen, of course, never dances.’

Helen looked as though she would have liked to dance, but said nothing.

‘As a matter of fact, I’m surprised that Mr. Dorsey has enough energy to dance, he stays up so late,’ went on Mrs. Walters, ‘but of course the young can do anything without suffering for it later. Don’t drink too much of that, dear,’ she said to her daughter. ‘You know it will give you a headache and I shall almost certainly need you tonight. I feel one of my turns beginning.’

‘Perhaps you should stop drinking too, then,’ said Barbara. Mrs. Walters pretended not to hear.

‘How do you know that Mr. Dorsey stays up late?’ said Angela.

‘Not just Mr. Dorsey, his wife too,’ said Mrs. Walters. ‘They are quite the pair of night-owls. I have seen them returning to the hotel at four or five o’clock in the morning. I sleep badly, you know, and so often get up in the night. Who knows what they find to do in the early hours? I dare say they frequent night-clubs and suchlike. Are you an
habituée
yourself?’

‘Of nightclubs?’ said Angela. ‘Not at present. I am under doctor’s orders and this last week have been going to bed at nine prompt. The sea air is very health-giving, but spending the day outside does tire one out.’

‘Have you been getting out and about?’ said Mrs. Walters. ‘Mr. Simpson said he met you in the village yesterday.’

‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘He found me looking at some of the paintings down by the harbour.’

‘Oh yes! Aren’t they simply delightful? I have bought two already and I shouldn’t be surprised if I were tempted to buy another before we return home. Such a mastery of light and shade! The blues and the reds! I have never seen anything quite like it.’

Angela, who had been about to comment disparagingly on the glaring over-abundance of primary colours, closed her mouth with a snap and merely nodded politely.

‘And how was Miss Trout when you saw her today?’ went on Mrs. Walters.

‘Very well,’ replied Angela, ‘but I had rather a disturbing experience when I arrived home.’

‘Oh?’ said Mrs. Walters, sensing that she was about to be thrown a choice tidbit of gossip.

‘Yes. I received an anonymous letter.’

‘What? An anonymous letter? From whom?’

‘Well, that’s just it—I don’t know,’ said Angela.

‘Of course, how silly of me. But what did it say?’

‘Have a look for yourself,’ said Angela. She brought out the letter and handed it to Mrs. Walters, who applied her glasses to the end of her nose and peered at it eagerly. Helen came and read it over her mother’s shoulder. They both looked up at the same time with equally blank expressions.

‘But what does it mean?’ said Helen. ‘Who wants you to keep away from Poldarrow Point, and why?’

‘Does Miss Trout know about this?’ asked Mrs. Walters.

‘Not yet,’ said Angela. ‘I only received the letter a few minutes ago, when I got home.’

‘But you must report it to the police. Whoever wrote it has made a threat against your life.’

‘Oh, do you think so?’ said Helen. ‘I didn’t read it like that. I thought it was a warning.’

‘Of course it’s a warning, you silly girl,’ said her mother. ‘The writer is saying that if Mrs. Marchmont persists in visiting Poldarrow Point, then he will kill her.’

Helen went pink.

‘Helen is right,’ said Angela, taking pity on the girl. ‘It might mean one of several things. As you say, it might be a direct threat by the writer to cause me harm, or it could be a genuine warning from a well-wisher to tell me that my life is in danger for some unknown reason.’

‘But that’s just silly,’ said Barbara, who was not the most tactful of people. ‘Nobody could possibly imagine that Miss Trout or Mr. Maynard were capable of causing harm to anyone. Why, it’s perfectly obvious that the letter is a threat, not a warning.’

‘You must find out who sent it,’ said Mrs. Walters. ‘Go to the police. They will investigate.’

‘It may be possible to solve the mystery without bringing in the police,’ said Angela, ‘but for that I will need your help.’

‘
My
help?’ said Mrs. Walters, surprised.

‘Yes. Whoever sent the letter knew that I have visited Poldarrow Point. Now, I am a visitor to this place and therefore a relative stranger, and yet
somebody
knew of my acquaintance with Miss Trout. You, for example.’

‘I? Are you suggesting that
I
sent the letter?’ said Mrs. Walters, preparing to be
outraged.

‘Of course not,’ said Angela hurriedly. ‘You misunderstand me. I merely meant that as you have a large number of friends in Tregarrion, it is possible that you may have mentioned it in passing to someone. I have no friends in the area myself, but you know everyone here, and they all come to you as they know that you are always the first to hear any news of importance.’

Mrs. Walters looked slightly mollified and Angela went on artfully, ‘Naturally, your elevated position in society here also means that people are more likely to tell you things. It is possible, therefore, that you hold in your hands the clue to the identity of the sender of this letter—perhaps even without realizing it.’

‘I assure you, nobody has confessed any such thing to me,’ said Mrs. Walters.

‘No, I didn’t mean that, exactly. I merely meant that someone may have unwittingly given himself away. Let us say, for example, that you happen to mention in passing to Mr. A that your neighbour, Mrs. Marchmont, has become friendly with Miss Trout and Mr. Maynard of Poldarrow Point. If Mr. A is interested in this fact for secret purposes of his own, then you might be struck by the undue interest he seems to be taking in what you are telling him.’

‘Ah, I see what you mean,’ said Mrs. Walters, pleased at Angela’s subtle flattery. ‘Now, let me think. Whom have I been talking to lately? I know I mentioned it to Mr. Simpson, as he was talking about having first seen you on the cliff path near Poldarrow Point. And Mrs. Adams knows, because she was there at the time. And the Dorseys, of course. Did I speak about it to Colonel Renton? I know he recognized you from the newspapers and was asking me about you, so I may well have done. And—’