Free Ampersand Papers by Michael Innes Page B

another lethally disposed character long ago. For some seconds he stays put. There may be another instalment of the collapsed staircase to come. Then he risks it, advances, kneels down by the body. It doesn’t take him long to confirm that the man is indeed dead.
    There is another man. Quite suddenly, there is another man – standing beside him and endeavouring to produce articulate speech. He succeeds only in mumbling. He is shocked, terrified. No doubt he is quite unused to this sort of thing. He can’t be merely another casual stroller on the shore, since he is wearing a tin hat, has a large torch strapped to his chest, and carries tucked into a belt a variety of implements appropriate to some pursuit Appleby doesn’t pause to identify.
    ‘Did you see this happen?’ Appleby asks.
    ‘No – no, I didn’t.’ The man has achieved speech. ‘I was in the cave. My name’s Cave.’
    Appleby (like Dr Sutch some weeks previously) may have found this homonymous information odd, but it wasn’t something to pause on. Gently, he turned the body over.
    ‘He’s dead,’ he said. ‘Do you know him?’
    The man called Cave gave a weak cry.
    ‘It’s Dr Sutch,’ he said. ‘From the castle.’
    ‘Certainly from the castle. Are you familiar, sir, with these parts?’
    ‘Slightly. Yes. I’ve been exploring them.’
    ‘Very well. Go and get help. Contact the police, who will know what to do.’
    ‘Is that the right thing?’
    ‘Of course it is. My name is Sir John Appleby, and I’ve been a policeman myself. Tell them so; it may hurry them up. I shall stay here, since the body must not be abandoned. And get rid of all that gear, Mr Cave. It will only impede you. Although there’s nothing to be done, it’s only decent to make haste.’
    ‘Yes, of course. How distressing this is!’ Cave scrambled out of his impedimenta obediently. ‘I’ll have to go back for some way along the beach,’ he said. ‘It will take a little time.’
    ‘Then do so. Tell them there will have to be a stretcher-party.’
    ‘Yes, of course. What a hideous accident!’
    ‘Quite so. And now, sir, be on your way.’
    Thus urged, Mr Cave departed. Appleby produced a clean handkerchief and laid it over the dead man’s face. Then he looked about him.
    Mr Cave had emerged from a cave. Perhaps he had heard the crash, and had hurried out to investigate. He was presumably a habituated prowler in caves and potholes. It was an addictive pursuit. Or perhaps he was a person of some scientific standing in that sort of thing. But where was this particular cave? Appleby found it quite quickly, although its entrance was masked by an outcrop of rock. The sea ran into it through a channel so narrow that one could step over it. It appeared to be of a considerable depth, and on one side there was a broad platform of rock almost as smooth as a flagged pathway. Feeling some curiosity about its extent, Appleby possessed himself of Mr Cave’s torch and made a brief exploration. He didn’t venture far, since he was unwilling to abandon his wake over the unfortunate Dr Sutch’s dead body.
    Even so, he found something. As far as the beam of his torch could penetrate the cave was empty and showed no sign of being put to any use, save for one particular alone. Perhaps fifteen yards from the entrance, there lay a coil of rope. It was a long coil of rope, and extremely neatly disposed, so that at a glance it might have seemed an enormous rubber tyre. And beside it lay a coil of stout cord with a similar effect of precision. Hard-by a seaboard, there was nothing particularly out-of-the-way about these exhibits. Appleby looked at them in some perplexity, all the same. He stooped down and examined them. They were dry, and showed no sign of ever having been otherwise. They might, he told himself, have come straight from the shop.
    He moved on a little farther. The cave took a turn, a second turn, and then bifurcated. It looked as if it might be part of an extensive system