VII

In the Dark

REVERS COULDN’T DO much more with the Clayton case for the moment, because Jan Korsky’s murder meant an immense amount of work. The Press, particularly the local Press, were far more concerned with the Korsky case than they were about Clayton. There had been no public hint that Paul Clayton’s death was anything other than an accident, and it had been swallowed up in the vast publicity attracted by Dr Arbolent’s sensational discoveries. The Korsky case was different – it was obviously a brutal murder. The Press wanted to know what the police were doing, whether they had found a motive, whether there was anyone they particularly wanted to interview. Revers was realistic about the Press. It could be an unmitigated nuisance, but it could also give valuable help, and he was sufficiently sensitive to the climate of modern society to accept that the police were not a private army but a public authority. He had always got on well with reporters, combining a slightly official manner with a genuine readiness to help where he could. For their part, reporters generally respected him, and he seldom felt let down. But it all made for a great deal of work.

He compiled a careful statement about the Korsky case, which omitted mention of the box found under the floor-boards of the hut, but which suggested that robbery was probably the motive. The old man was known to sell an occasional painting, and he had apparently been in funds for the past few weeks: he had been drunk most nights, and although he was tolerated in the local pubs because he never became argumentative or quarrelsome, two publicans had recently refused to serve him. He would take such rebuffs philosophically and stagger off home, usually with a bottle of gin that he had bought earlier in the evening. Without actually saying so, Revers’s statement implied that he might have been helped home in such a state by a stranger who concluded that he must have money hidden in his hut, and proceeded to hit him on the head. The police were anxious to get in touch with anyone who might have helped to take the old man home. Revers also provided copy for some good headlines by saying that the police were looking for a blood-stained hammer. He invited the public to help by reporting at once any such heavy instrument they might come across in a hedge or by a roadside.

He himself remained very much puzzled. The old man’s box contained nearly £800 in £5 and £1 notes, all used notes, which made them next to impossible to trace. They could not have been a lifetime’s savings, because, although used notes, they were all of relatively recent issue. It was true that the old man occasionally sold a painting – Sergeant Grey had found three people who had bought paintings from him. One had paid £3, the others £1.50 apiece, which was nothing like enough to account for the considerable sum of money in his box.

The other contents of the box cast little light on Korsky’s life. There were two bundles of letters, all in Polish, and all dating back to the war. Korsky had apparently risen to the rank of Corporal in General Anders’ army, and he seemed to have fought in most of its campaigns. One lot of letters were moving love-letters, written to him when he was in the army by a Polish girl in London. There was none dated after the summer of 1944. Revers asked the Metropolitan Police to find out anything they could about the girl, but it was not a hopeful quest: the house where she had lived had been hit by a flying bomb, and the whole terrace rebuilt as office-blocks after the war. The other bundle was smaller. It held a few letters from army friends, and a personal document or two – his discharge papers from the army, a faded sepia photograph of an old woman in Polish costume, apparently his mother, and a page torn from an exercise book which turned out to contain a list of churches. The latest letter in this bundle was dated 1949. There were no envelopes, so there was no indication of where he had been living when he got the letters.

Most of the rolls of canvas were blank, but two were covered with drawings, wild, whirling lines and circles that might have been done when he was drunk, but were somehow strangely beautiful. Mixed with them were other little pictures more like sober work – firm, clean outlines of houses, trees and boats. There were several lines of lettering, but they did not seem to make words: they seemed more practice-letters in Roman, Gothic and various decorated fonts. Revers looked particularly closely at one group, which seemed to have some resemblance to the lettering he had seen on the urn at Avebury.

*

Revers telephoned the police-surgeon and learned that Mrs Kranz had had a fairly good night, and that she was fit to be interviewed. He went to the hospital, where the doctor had succeeded in doing very well for the Kranzes: they had been put in little single rooms, adjoining one another. Mrs Kranz was sitting up in bed, her eyes still very bright, and obviously worried at having anything to do with the police. A nurse tried to comfort her, explaining that she had done nothing wrong, and that the inspector just wanted to talk to her about her neighbour. ‘I promise he won’t hurt you,’ she said. Mrs Kranz did not appear much happier, but agreed to answer Revers’s questions. ‘But you must not tell Karl; he must not know that the police have come for us,’ she said.

Revers was gentle and patient. Gradually the old woman became less ill at ease, and gradually, too, she became interested in talking about Jan Korsky. She had a high opinion of him, he had been good to her and her husband. ‘Before, he would take Karl for little walks,’ she said. ‘But not this year – Karl cannot walk much now.’ From time to time Korsky had given them money. ‘We have so little. Jan did not have much, but he would work sometimes for a farmer, and sometimes he would sell a picture, and then he always gave us money,’ she said. Yes, his trouble was drink – ‘But he had no home, no family, everybody killed. He had much to forget.’ He had come to the huts, she thought, about ten years ago, but she did not know from where. She and her husband were already living there – Karl could work in those days, and he, too, had worked for farmers. Jan had been working at a church.

‘At a church?’ Revers said in some surprise. Yes, the old woman explained, Jan was very good at churches, and if he had not drunk so much – well, what could you do? Churches could not have drunk men sleeping in the pews. But he had not always been drunk quite so much, and then he had been famous for his carving. The Inspector could see some of his work even in a cathedral, she thought it might be Salisbury Cathedral, or perhaps Winchester. It was clear that neither place was more than a name to her.

No, Jan did not have enemies: who would want to hurt him? He had a friend, who had come for him in a car a few times, and taken him to work somewhere – she could not say where. He had not come lately – the last time was in the winter, she thought. Yes, it must have been in the winter, because Jan had come to borrow a coat of her Karl’s, because he felt so cold. She had never seen Jan’s friend, and apart from the fact that he had a car, she knew nothing about him. She had no idea what sort of car.

Revers did not want to tire her, and he felt that he had probably learned all he could. Deliberately, he had asked her nothing about the finding of Jan Korsky’s body – it did not seem to matter, somehow. On his way back to the office he called at a florist’s and sent her a bunch of flowers. ‘From your policeman’, he wrote on the card.

*

That afternoon was a notable occasion at the Wansdyke dig, because Dr Arbolent was there himself. The papers were still full of his projected voyage, and several photographers accompanied him to the barrow, to take pictures of him directing his students. Excavation of the bank beyond the most easterly tomb chamber yet found had made considerable progress, and it was clear that the diggers were breaking through into yet another tomb. They were extending the lighting into the new chamber, when there was a slight fall of roof. Dr Arbolent ordered the little room to be evacuated. ‘We must have some props,’ he said to Armitage. ‘There must be no more work here until that roof is supported.’

Armitage turned to Juliet. ‘There’s no one in the workshop this afternoon because Bill is having a day off. You’ve been working there a bit, and know your way around. Can you slip up and get some timbers? Take the Land Rover. The chaps on Mess duty can give you a hand with the loading.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ said Marryat. ‘I know just what’s wanted.’ He measured the roof height with a steel tape, and they went off.

Work at the dig had been a little disorganised by Dr Arbolent’s trips to London, and by the inevitable absenteeism that is liable to inflict a student party: one girl had gone off to be a bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding, one of the men had to visit his father in hospital, and another had to go to London for an interview about a job. Thus no timbers had been pre-cut for use in the new chamber. It didn’t matter much, because there was plenty of timber, in a variety of shapes and sizes, but it meant that Marryat and Juliet had to hunt round a bit. They found four pieces that Marryat reckoned would do the job all right, and took them back to the dig.

There wasn’t room yet to erect four roof-supports – until the work had gone farther, there was really only room for one, at the end of the passage entering the new tomb. Dr Arbolent supervised the operation. Three of the timbers from the workshop turned out to be a little long, but the fourth would just about fit, with a little packing at the foot. Two of the men worked the timber into place, when Marryat noticed that it was already numbered with the figure 29. ‘Wait a moment,’ he said. ‘Will you be wanting that piece for somewhere else, Arbolent?’

Dr Arbolent looked at him sharply. ‘No,’ he said.

*

When the work party knocked off for the day, Dr Arbolent asked Marryat to stay behind for a moment. Juliet, who had been working with him all the afternoon, stayed too. ‘I won’t keep you long, Marryat,’ Dr Arbolent said, ‘but I’d like your advice on one of the characters in the inscription in Tomb Three.’ They went into the narrow chamber, and Dr Arbolent pointed to a symbol rather like the letter ‘K’. ‘Now this puzzles me,’ he said. ‘If, as I think, this is a proto-Phoenician script, one would expect something similar to the Phoenician kaph which, as you know, is a reversed form of the later letter.’ He picked up a piece of chalk from the chalk rubble in one corner, and drew a symbol on the wall –

‘Like this.’

‘Possibly,’ said Marryat. ‘But it could be an early form of the Phoenician aleph, which was a bit like an “A” lying on its side.’ He took the chalk from Dr Arbolent, and drew the outline. ‘I’ve seen alephs much like that in various places in the Lebanon,’ he said.

‘That’s remarkably interesting. I hadn’t thought of that – I was obsessed with the apparent kaph. Yes, it could be an aleph. Lord, what a lot of work there is to do on these inscriptions! Thank you very much, Marryat. How useful it is to have you around.’

The rest of the party had got back to the camp. ‘I’ll run you up in my car,’ Dr Arbolent said. ‘Jump in.’ Halfway to the camp he stopped, put his hand in his pocket, and said ‘Damn!’

‘What’s the trouble?’ asked Marryat.

‘It is exceedingly awkward. I must have dropped a small black notebook in which I was writing measurements during the fixing of the roof supports. I do not need it tonight, but I do not wish it to remain lying around. And I am already late for an appointment I have at the Caponets. Could you be very kind and recover it for me?’

‘Of course,’ said Marryat. ‘Come on Juliet – you’ll enjoy the walk after being cooped up in the barrow.’

‘I am much indebted to you both. Please do not trouble to return the notebook to the Hall. You can give it to me tomorrow.’

He drove off, and Marryat and Juliet walked back to the barrow. The electricity had been switched off, so they had to re-start the generator to get light. Then they went back to where they had been working during the afternoon. ‘It doesn’t seem to be here,’ said Juliet.

‘He was standing at one time inside the new chamber,’ Marryat observed. ‘I suppose we had better go in. Bending nearly double, they went through the narrow passage into the tomb. ‘There it is,’ said Juliet, ‘just beyond the roof-support.’ Marryat walked over to pick it up. Suddenly, all the lights went out. Then there was a low rumble, and it seemed as if the whole world had fallen in.

*

Instinctively, Marryat threw his arms round Juliet, pressed her against the wall of the tomb, and stood close to the wall himself, his greater height protecting her to some extent from the fall of roof. A heavy piece of rock hit his left shoulder and knocked him to the floor, crushing his left side as it rolled over him. It hurt savagely, but he managed to struggle to his knees. After the first fall there was absolute silence, more frightening somehow than the crash of rubble. Knowing how unstable an ancient mound-structure can be once it has started to cave in, Marryat did not move, and held Juliet closely to the wall with his good arm. He was right, for a minute or so later there was another rumble, and another great mass of earth, chalk and stones came down.

The roof seemed to have fallen mainly from the middle, and pressed against the wall as they were, they were out of the main line of collapse. But after the second fall, what was left of the tomb was filled with a dreadful, choking dust. Marryat managed to get out his handkerchief and held it over Juliet’s nose, preserving his own breathing as well as he could by pressing his nose into the sleeve of his jacket. He could not move his left arm properly, though he found that he could use the hand a little.

Gradually, the worst of the dust subsided. ‘Are you all right, Juliet?’ he asked.

‘I – I think so,’ she said. ‘What do we do now?’

‘See if my torch works.’ Long experience had taught Marryat to have a fountain pen torch in his pocket whenever he went on any dig. He felt for it now, and it did work. They were standing in what seemed a small hole in a mountain of rubble. The roof-fall had completely blocked the entrance to the tomb, and there seemed no way of getting out. Marryat wondered how long the air was likely to last, but did not mention this problem. ‘I’m going to turn off the torch, so stand by for darkness again,’ he said. ‘It’s only a small battery, and we must try not to use it up.’

In the darkness, Juliet said, ‘How long will it be before people come to look for us?’

‘I don’t know. There’s the watchman outside at the perimeter fence, but I think he was having his tea when we came back, and I’m not sure that he noticed us go in. I doubt if he can have heard anything – we’re deep inside the barrow, and there can’t have been much sound outside. I suppose people in the camp will notice that we’re missing some time or other, but whether anyone will think of coming back here to look for us, I can’t say. Arbolent seems to have gone off for the evening. I wouldn’t rate our chance of quick rescue as very high.’

‘At least we’re together,’ Juliet said practically. Marryat felt like kissing her, but it seemed scarcely appropriate. He thought hard. ‘Given that this really is a third millennium tomb,’ he said at last, ‘and that it was robbed at some time in antiquity, the robbers must have got in somehow. I’m puzzled by the roof-fall, anyway. I’ve known barrows to collapse during excavation, but usually they cave in over a passage where there’s a longish stretch without much longitudinal support. This is not a big tomb chamber, and from what we’ve seen of it, it seems to be well built. I suspect some loosening of the earth directly over the roof. If there was once a way in, there is possibly still a way out.’ He shone the torch again. ‘It seems worth trying, anyway. I wonder if I could climb that mound of rubble? We’ve got to be careful not to bring down still more roof, but after two falls I’d expect most of the loose stuff to have come away already. Hold the torch for me, Juliet.’

He got his knees into the rubble, and tried to dig in his hands to get some sort of purchase for hauling himself up. Then he winced with pain. ‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘The rock that hit my shoulder seems to have knocked out my left arm. Give me the torch. If I bend down, do you think you could get up by climbing on my back?’

‘You’re a brave person, Tony – you didn’t say you’d been hurt. Of course I’ll have a go. But tell me just where the hurt is so that I can keep away from it.’

‘It seems to be my left shoulder mostly. If you can climb on my back and right shoulder, I’ll be all right.’ He knelt against the rubble, and managed to shine the torch more or less upwards with his right hand. Juliet climbed on his back, and then stood on his right shoulder, and reached upwards. Although she had carefully avoided touching his left shoulder, her weight inevitably twisted it. The pain was excruciating, but Marryat just managed not to cry out. She scrabbled overhead and grabbed a ledge of rock that felt firm. A moment later Marryat felt an infinite relief as she hauled herself up, and her weight was lifted from him. She dug her feet into the mound of rubble. Marryat waited in his bent position for a moment in case she slipped, but she seemed to be holding on all right, so he straightened himself up. ‘Hang on, and I’ll try to reach you up the torch,’ he said.

‘I can’t see anything, but I’m not badly placed,’ she called back. ‘There’s a ledge I can hold on to – I can’t feel anything above it – it seems to be a sort of tunnel. And the mound seems fairly firm to stand on.’ That was due to the chalk in the downland soil: it matted with the earth round it, where plain earth would have crumbled.

With his right arm, Marryat held the torch as high as he could, and Juliet could just reach it. She shone it into the opening she had climbed to. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it is a sort of tunnel. It looks fearfully steep, but I think I can manage to wriggle up it. I wonder where it goes? I shall need the torch, though. I’m starting to climb now.’

Marryat was left in total darkness as Juliet wormed her way into the tunnel. In the blackness, and surrounded by rubble from the roof-fall, he had lost all sense of direction, and could not tell whereabouts in the honeycomb of the huge barrow the tunnel ran. He thought that it probably led westwards, over the already excavated tomb chambers, but there was no means of knowing. Juliet had been gone about five minutes when she gave a cry. ‘Sorry – I’m slipping –I’ll have to come down again.’ There was a scuffing, tearing sound, and Juliet slid back from the opening on to the rubble mound. She was still holding the torch, so that he could make out the shape of her as she came down, and with his right arm he managed to catch and hold her as she came within reach. She lay against the rubble, panting. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked anxiously.

‘No, not much – scrapes and bruises, mostly. I’m awfully sorry, Tony. It was my own fault. There was a slippery bit that seemed almost plain chalk. I was holding the torch in one hand, and couldn’t get enough grip with the other. I’m going up again, and next time I’ll manage the slippery bit in the dark.’

‘Well, turn out the torch now. We need every scrap of battery. I’ll get down again, for you to climb up as before. But you must have a rest before trying it again.’

They huddled at the foot of the mound, Juliet’s hand comfortingly slipping into his good hand. Both their watches had been broken, so they had no idea of the time. At last Juliet said, ‘Well, Tony, I’m ready for another go.’

‘OK. I’ll get down.’

‘Mind that poor shoulder. I’m awfully worried about you, Tony.’

‘Oh, that’s all right. Put your feet as you did before, and I can manage.’

Juliet scrambled up again, and again disappeared into the tunnel. ‘Call out as you go along,’ Marryat shouted, ‘so that I can know how you are.’

‘All well,’ she called back. Then, ‘I’m coming to the bad bit. OK this time. Yes, I’m over it. It’s funny, now I’m going downhill.’

Her voice got fainter and fainter. There was what seemed an eternity of waiting, and then he heard her faintly again. He could just make out the words. ‘It’s all right, Tony. I’ve come down in one of the other tombs. I can just walk out, now. I’m going to get help.’

*

At the camp, tea-time came and went, and there was no sign of Marryat and Juliet. Seven o’clock came, and still no sign of them. ‘It’s very odd,’ said Armitage. ‘I know he intended to be here tonight, because of his lecture. He felt that he’d rather let us down last night, so he was particularly keen to give his talk tonight.’

At eight o’clock Armitage telephoned the Caponet’s house and asked for Dr Arbolent. Lady Caponet spoke to him. ‘But he’s not here,’ she said. ‘He came in about two hours ago, but said he had to go out again at once, and that he’d not be here for dinner. I think he said something about having to go to Devizes, but I’m not sure. I’m sorry, but I don’t know when he’ll be back.’

Armitage went back to the Mess hut. ‘I can’t get hold of Dr Arbolent,’ he said. ‘They certainly stayed behind with Dr Arbolent because I distinctly recall his asking Dr Marryat to stay for a minute. But they don’t seem to have come back with Dr Arbolent. He got back to the Hall, and then went off again somewhere.’

‘Well, Tony’s got that little American bird with him,’ said one of the men. ‘Maybe he’s taken her off somewhere.’

Armitage ignored this. ‘We’d better say the lecture is cancelled for tonight,’ he said. ‘Who’s for a game of bridge?’

Armitage and three of the others settled down to cards, and the rest of the party drifted off. Armitage was worried. He kept telling himself that there was no reason to be worried. Marryat’s car was still at the camp, so he could not have gone off anywhere by himself. Also, it seemed extraordinary that he had apparently forgotten his promised lecture. But Armitage didn’t know what Dr Arbolent had wanted to speak to Marryat about – presumably he wanted something important done, which required action at once. And he might, of course, have taken Marryat and Juliet with him – they could have been sitting in the car while Dr Arbolent explained to Lady Caponet that he had to go out. There must be some simple explanation, only he didn’t know it. He could not concentrate on bridge and played so badly that he and his unhappy partner lost three rubbers in succession. At ten o’clock, he said, ‘I expect it’s silly, but I’m going down to the barrow before I turn in. I don’t see what can possibly have happened, but I can’t go to bed until at least I’ve had a look for Dr Marryat.’ The other bridge players said they’d enjoy a stroll, and went with him. At the entrance to the barrow they met a distracted Juliet.

*

Revers was also worried. Marryat had proved utterly reliable so far, and when ten o’clock came with no sign of him, and with no word from him, Revers wondered what on earth could have happened. He was tired and wanted to go to bed, but he felt that he’d have to wait up for Marryat a bit longer. It was as well that he didn’t go to bed, for at about half-past ten the telephone rang. It was the duty sergeant at the police station, to say that there seemed to have been some accident at the Wansdyke Great Barrow, and as the Inspector had been concerned with the people there, he felt that he ought to be informed. ‘Quite right,’ said Revers. ‘I’ll go out there at once. Have a couple of men standing by for me, and I’ll pick them up.’ He had a hurried word with Diana, and went off in his own car.

There was great activity at the barrow. Armitage had organised a digging party, and they were trying to clear the blocked entrance to the new tomb to get to Marryat. ‘We daren’t work too quickly,’ Armitage explained, ‘in case there’s another fall of roof. Dr Marryat is injured, and another fall might be very serious.’

Revers wondered whether he ought to get the Fire Brigade, but it would take time, and these people knew what they were doing. He and the two constables took off their coats and lent a hand. The chief need was for wheelbarrow crews to clear away rubble as it was dug out, for there was not room for more than two men to dig at the face of the roof-fall. Revers did send out a call for the police surgeon and an ambulance.

They came as the digging party were about to reach Marryat. He was conscious, and cheerful, when at last they could see him. ‘Nice work,’ he said. ‘Give me a bit of room and I’ll try to crawl out.’

‘Better not,’ said Revers. ‘Do you know what injuries you have?’

‘Well, I think I’ve got a broken collar-bone or something, but I’m not sure.’

‘Then stay put. There’ll be some ambulance-men along in a minute, and they’ll put you on a stretcher. You’ll only add to the damage if you move about yourself.’

By the time the ambulance-men came there was room for one of them to crawl forward with a stretcher. Very gently he eased Marryat onto it, and there was plenty of manpower to pull the stretcher clear. The doctor made a quick examination. ‘Yes, I’m afraid the collar-bone is broken, and perhaps a rib as well. We’ll get him off to hospital for an X-ray, and tidy him up there.’

Revers went with Marryat in the ambulance. ‘By the way, I’ve got your samples,’ Marryat said. ‘They’re in the left hand pocket of my jacket, in three little containers.’ Then he passed out.

*

Revers had two patients to visit in the hospital next morning. Mrs Kranz had been delighted with his flowers and greeted him as a friend, and no longer as a policeman. He chatted with her for a few minutes, and then came to the two questions he wanted to ask.

‘Can you remember hearing a car at any time during the night before you found Jan Korsky lying dead?’

‘How can I know? I sleep – thanks to God, in spite of all, still I can sleep. I heard no car, Mr Policeman, but I cannot say there was no car.’

‘Can you recall any time when the clothes you washed for Jan were especially dirty?’

This was more difficult. ‘Jan, he has so few clothes, always they are dirty.’ He had only two shirts, and unless she stood over him and made him change, he would go on wearing the same shirt until it was almost stiff with dirt. ‘So I go every week and make him change his shirt. All men are babies. My Karl would be just like Jan if I did not make him do things. But Jan had no woman. I could look after him sometimes, but not always.’ What about trousers and socks? He was wearing very tattered khaki drill trousers when he died, and ancient plimsolls over bare feet. There seemed no other trousers in the hut, but there were some old socks in the table drawer. ‘In summer, he had no need of socks. In winter, sometimes. Yes, I wash, and I mend and mend for him.’ His trousers? ‘I think he had only the one trousers. You will see the knees – I put big patches on them. I think I wash them not, but once in the winter – yes, they are so bad, I made him stay in bed while I wash them, and he has to stay in bed two days because it rains and I cannot get them dry.’ What were they dirty with? ‘I know not – just earth and mud. But much mud, so much I cannot let him wear them.’

*

Marryat was glad to see him. ‘I’ve had Arbolent already,’ he said. ‘Effusively distressed. I said I wasn’t feeling very well, but he stayed and talked and talked. He wanted to know how I’d thought of the tunnel Juliet escaped by. I told him I’d come across a rather similar cutting in a barrow in Spain. He was full of my brilliance. Mercifully a nurse came in, and she almost sent him away.’

‘It was a good effort, all the same,’ said Revers. ‘How are you really feeling?’

‘Not at all bad. Fed up with being here already, but they say I’ll have to stay for a few days yet. I’ve got two broken ribs, as well as a damaged collar-bone. But I’m well strapped up, and with luck I’ll mend pretty quickly.’

‘Can you tell me exactly what happened? I got a brief statement from Miss Boyce last night, but all she wanted was to talk about you.’

‘She’s a good kid.’ Marryat laughed, then he winced. ‘Mustn’t do any laughing for a bit,’ he said. ‘It hurts all down my side.’

‘Can you talk all right?’

‘Oh, yes, that’s no problem. I want to talk to you very much.’ He gave Revers a detailed account of the events of the evening before, starting with Dr Arbolent’s request that he should stay behind.

Revers listened in silence. ‘So it was entirely due to Dr Arbolent that you went back into the tomb chamber at all?’ he said when Marryat had finished.

‘Yes.’

‘Have you any idea why the roof fell?’

‘No. There was a good strong post supporting it. Dr Arbolent supervised the work of putting it in, but I was there myself and saw it done. The post was a little short, but it was well packed at the foot with chalk rubble. It was perfectly vertical, and I don’t see why it should have broken.’

‘It didn’t break. It was found just lying on its side when the place was dug out. Could either you or Miss Boyce have knocked against it?’

‘I’m quite certain neither of us did.’

‘Look,’ said Revers, ‘I’ve been frank with you before, and I’ll be frank with you again. I don’t like this accident. Think back very carefully, and tell me exactly what happened when you went into the tomb.’

‘Juliet spotted the notebook. I walked over to get it, and I think she took a step or two to follow me: anyway she was close by me when the lights went out. Then the roof fell in.’

‘Was there much of an interval between the lights going out and the roof-fall?’

‘Now you come to mention it, I think there was – quite an appreciable interval. It couldn’t have been more than seconds, but it might have been several seconds. I didn’t think about it at the time – I suppose I just accepted that the roof-fall had broken the wiring, but it couldn’t have happened like that, because the lights definitely went out before the roof fell.’

‘So it would have been possible for someone to have slipped a rope round the foot of the post and pulled it away? Someone who’d switched out the lights?’

Marryat thought for some time before replying. ‘It would have been possible, yes. But is there any evidence that the lights were switched off? What was the position of the main switch when Armitage got down?’

‘I’ve asked him that, and I’m afraid he can’t remember. The generator was certainly stopped, because he had to start it. But he was so anxious to get into the barrow after meeting Miss Boyce that all he can recall is getting the thing going and rushing in. The lights certainly came on, but whether he switched them on as he went in, or whether they just came on when the generator started, he can’t remember. But why did the generator stop after you had started it?’

‘It could simply have failed, or maybe there was a short-circuit, and it cut out. I haven’t studied the wiring, but there’s bound to be a cut-out for dealing with a short-circuit.’

‘And did it often fail?’

‘Not while I’ve been there, anyway – and I’ve not heard anyone complain about it. It seemed reliable enough.’

‘There couldn’t have been a short-circuit, or any other damage, because it started immediately for Mr Armitage.’

‘Perhaps the watchman turned it off. I don’t think he saw us go in, because he was having his tea. He may have thought the working party had forgotten it.’

‘He didn’t. I asked him about it.’ Marryat said nothing, and Revers went on, ‘I took the soil samples from your pocket and I sent them to Oxford during the night, with a note asking that they should be looked at first thing this morning, as a matter of urgency. I had a preliminary report on the phone just before I came here this morning. They say it will be a day or two before they can let me have a quantitative analysis, but all three samples contain pollen grains similar to those on Paul Clayton’s cigarette end.’

Marryat drew his good hand rather wearily across his forehead. ‘How horrible!’ he said. Then, ‘That gives a new importance to the tunnel.’

‘How?’

‘Well, assuming that someone faked those inscriptions, he’d have to get in. There doesn’t seem any doubt about the excavations: the tomb chambers, as far as I can see, are genuine, and they came on them quite genuinely during the dig – there was no sign of any previous excavation. But someone could have got in before the excavation through the old tomb-robbers’ tunnel from the top. Then the inscriptions could be found, as they were, with the tomb chambers.’

Revers was impressed. ‘That’s a very good point – it may be absolutely vital. But it makes the accident to you even more puzzling. It should have happened after you had discovered the tunnel. Can you think of anything – anything at all – which might make someone want you to have that accident?’

‘There is one very far-fetched possibility, which is flattering to me, and I don’t in fact, believe it. I told you what happened when I asked Arbolent if I could join his team, of how he began by being offensive, then suddenly changed his mind. I thought then that he’d had an idea of using me for something. Suppose I’d studied his inscriptions and died before I could publish anything about them? He could claim that I’d accepted them. I don’t say that that would have made other archaeologists believe in the inscriptions, but it would have some weight in the academic world, and leave an element of doubt about them – for a time, anyway. But that makes the whole thing seem insane.’

‘Perhaps it is insanity.’

‘God knows. But there’s one other thing that happened yesterday. I thought nothing of it at the time, but looking back on it now after all you’ve told me, I’m not so sure.’ Marryat described the incident of his noticing the number 29 on the roof support.

Revers was deeply interested. ‘You couldn’t have known,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think there should have been any timbers numbered 29 in the workshop. They belonged to the stone that fell at Avebury, and the pair of them was lying in the wreckage. One had fractured in a quite inexplicable way. Suppose that had been substituted for the sound timber left in the workshop? Who else might have noticed it?’

‘Juliet saw the figures, but they wouldn’t have meant anything to her. I daresay one or two others saw them as well, but again, they wouldn’t have meant anything. I knew they belonged to Avebury because I’d looked up the number of the stone on the archaeological map before going out to meet you. That’s why I asked. When he said it didn’t matter I thought no more about it. I don’t suppose anybody else thought about it at all.’

‘I wonder,’ Revers said slowly, ‘I wonder.’