ought to pass it along to the police. Alan, she was on that canal boat.â
âBut she said she didnât even get to England until that night!â
We were on our way back to Tower. We were all exhausted. The police had questioned everyone at length, though they had not, to my relief and Sergeant Blimpâs apparent consternation, questioned Nigel any more closely than anyone else. Apparently the inspector in charge, whose name was Owen, was aware of Blimpâs bias against the Welsh and discounted it automatically.
The fate of the festival had still not been decided. The next day, Sunday, had always been scheduled as a day of rest for most of the participants before the gruelling week ahead. But Nigel was more interested, just now, in my insistence that Graciosa had been on board the canal boat when the unfortunate baritone fell overboard.
âYouâre sure?â he said for the fourth or fifth time.
âNigel, Iâm sure.â I tried to be patient. We were all upset. âI didnât recognize her for certain this morning, but when she fell and I got a good look at her, something clicked, and I remembered. Iâm terrible with names, as you probably know, but I remember faces. She was on board that boat.â
âThen why did she lie about it?â Nigel said, running his fingers through his hair so it stood up on end. âWhen do you think she really did come into the country? Did she miss the early rehearsals on purpose? Itâs an extremely unprofessional thing to do.â
âYouâre not a professional singer,â I reminded him. âMaybe she wasnât either.â
âBut weâre all being paid for this gig,â Nigel retorted. âNot a lot, but we are receiving payment. That makes it a professional engagement. But she wasnât behaving like a professional, even after she turned up. I canât make any sense of it at all.â
âThe police would like to know the answers to those questions, too,â said Alan soberly. âIt should be easy enough to find her passport and check the date of entry. After that, though, the waters become murkier. She was the only one who could have answered most of your questions.â
âAnd what Iâd like to know, most of all,â I said, âis the reason for her sudden reversal of personality. Fire-breathing dragon one moment, angel of sweet reason the next. Frankly, at the moment I can think of only one explanation for such a dramatic change.â
âDrugs,â said the other three in near-unison.
Alan smacked his knee. âDorothy, you may have hit on it! A drug reaction might also explain that odd sort of fit she went into just before she fell. It looked to me almost like a severe allergic reaction. I need to mention this to the inspector.â He looked for a place to pull off the road, and found none.
âI did tell Sergeant Blimp about her peculiar behaviour,â I said. âIt actually looked to me more like an attack of hysteria, but I suppose drugs could cause that. Maybe a hallucinogenic? Anyway, he wasnât impressed. He barely listened, in fact, because heâd decided you pushed her, Nigel.â
He chuckled. âYes, I picked up on that. I tried hard to summon up a Welsh accent to make him even happier with me, but as Iâve never lived in Wales nor learned the language, I couldnât do it. Iâm not worried about him. That type is all froth and no beer.â
âAnd Inspector Owen has the measure of him, I think,â said Alan. âIâd like to phone him, but there doesnât seem to be a pullout. It will just have to wait until we get back to Tower.â
We were only a few minutes away, but we drove on into Mold to pick up some provisions for supper. None of us felt like going out. While Inga and Nigel and I did a little quick shopping, Alan made his phone call.
âHe was polite about it, but I rather got the impression