‘Forgive me, Mr Watt,’ he said. ‘But my friend behind me is very clever with his pistol, as you may have noticed, and we’re right in his range now, aren’t we? If I were you I really think I’d take my gun out again.’
Martin stared at him and slowly drew his weapon out of his pocket.
‘That’s right,’ said Whitby. ‘Now we’ll go a little farther away from him, shall we? You were saying – ?’
Martin was bewildered. This was the last attitude he had expected a fugitive to take up in the middle of a saltmarsh at four o’clock in the morning.
Abbershaw spoke quietly behind him.
‘It’s Colonel Coombe’s death we are interested in, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Your position at Black Dudley has been explained to us.’
He watched the man narrowly as he spoke but there was no trace of surprise or fear on the little man’s face.
He seemed relieved.
‘Oh! I see,’ he said. ‘You, Doctor Abbershaw, would naturally be interested in the fate of my patient’s body. As a matter of fact, he was cremated at Eastchester, thirty-six hours after I left Black Dudley. But, of course,’ he went on cheerfully, ‘you will want to know the entire history. After we left the house we went straight over to the registrar’s. He was very sympathetic. Like everybody else in the vicinity he knew of the Colonel’s weak health and was not surprised at my news. In fact, he was most obliging. Your signature and mine were quite enough for him. He signed immediately and we continued our journey. I was on my way back to the house when I received – by the merest chance – the news of the unfortunate incidents which had taken place in my absence. And so,’ he added with charming frankness, ‘we altered our number plates and changed our destination. Are you satisfied?’
‘Not quite,’ said Martin grimly.