Martin Vale was not pleased to see them. He was even less pleased when Eleanor explained what she wanted.
"Nobody goes up there without me," Martin said.
"Then come with us," Eleanor replied.
He looked at Relf. "And you'll both do exactly as I say."
They were standing in the ringing chamber. Daylight came reluctantly through the narrow windows, leaving the upper reaches of the room in shadow. The eight ropes hung around them. This time all eight were tied.
Eleanor looked at the tenor.
"That's the one?"
Martin nodded.
"And it's down?"
"Yes."
"How can you tell?"
"Because I put it down."
"I mean if you hadn't."
Martin looked at her.
"You'd know from the rope’s knot. Or you could test it."
"Which is what you did that evening."
"Yes."
"You pulled it."
"Gently."
"And felt resistance."
"I felt the bell."
Eleanor smiled slightly.
"That sounds rather mystical."
"It isn't. When you've rung for long enough you know what's happening at the other end."
Relf had been studying the ropes.
"How heavy is it?"
Martin told him. Relf looked upwards.
"And a man could move that by hand?"
"We've been through this."
"Humour me."
Martin sighed.
"If the bell is down, yes, you could move it at the wheel or headstock if you had access and knew what you were doing. You're overcoming a lot of inertia. Once you've started it moving a little, it'll continue swinging for a short time."
"Enough to knock somebody over?"
Martin's expression changed.
"I didn't say that."
"No."
"If Adrian was standing somewhere stupid, movement might have made him lose his balance. But the bell wouldn't suddenly leap at him. That's not how it works."
Eleanor said, "What if somebody pulled the rope?"
Martin looked at her.
"From here?"
"Yes."
"Same thing. The first pull starts the movement."
"However, one pull wouldn't send it flying round," Martin said. "But if Bull was leaning into the frame, a small movement might have made him lose his footing."
"Could someone below have caused that?" Relf asked.
The answer was immediate. Eleanor waited. Martin continued.
"That's a big bell. Momentum matters. You're not going to give one tremendous yank and have the thing fly round. But if it was already moving slightly—"
He stopped.
"What?" said Relf.
Martin looked towards the ceiling.
"If somebody was up there and badly placed, they wouldn't need much."
Eleanor felt the hairs rise on her arms.
"Much what?"
"Movement."
Relf frowned. Martin pointed upwards.
"If Adrian was leaning into the frame to read something and wasn't expecting the bell to move quite as far as it did, it could be enough. He shifts his weight, reaches for something, misses his footing."
"And falls between the wheel and the frame," Eleanor said.
Martin stared at her.
"Yes."
Nobody spoke. Then Relf said:
"That still doesn't tell us somebody pulled it."
"No," Eleanor replied. She looked at the tenor rope. "But it tells us somebody could have."
Martin eventually agreed to take them upstairs. His conditions were numerous. They would touch nothing unless he said they could touch it. They would put their feet only where he told them to put them. They would not attempt to move any bell. And Detective Inspector Relf would stop referring to the bells collectively as machinery.
"I said it once."
"You've said it three times."
"Have I?"
"Yes."
"I'll try to control myself."
The climb was awkward enough to make Eleanor reconsider the wisdom of what she was doing. Then they were among the bells: they were enormous. The tenor dominated its part of the frame, bronze darkened with age, its wheel residing beside it. Timbers crossed one another in arrangements Eleanor could not immediately comprehend. Martin moved through them with the familiarity of someone walking around his own kitchen.
"Stay there."
Eleanor stayed. He pointed.
"That's where we found Adrian."
The place seemed absurdly confined. She tried to imagine Bull there. Alive. Torch perhaps. Notebook. Trying to see lettering that had never been intended to be read conveniently by somebody standing beside the bell.
"Where's the inscription?"
Martin showed her. Eleanor leaned as far as she safely could. She could see part of it. Not all.
"That was his problem."
"Yes."
"How would he have got a better view?"
"Changed position."
"Could he?"
"Yes."
"Safely?"
"If he knew what he was doing."
"And if he didn't?"
Martin gave her a look. She nodded.
"Point taken."
Relf had remained behind them.
"What if the bell moved?"
Martin turned.
"Then you wouldn't want to be where Adrian was."
"Would he know that?"
"He should."
"Yet that's where you found him."
"Yes."
Eleanor examined the frame. Something was beginning to trouble her.
"Martin."
"Yes?"
"If Adrian wanted to see the other part of the inscription, could he move the bell himself?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Martin explained. Not easily. Not conveniently. But it could be done.
"And once he'd started it?"
"It might swing a little."
"So Arthur's accident still works."
Relf smiled.
"Thank you."
"I didn't say I liked it."
"You don't have to."
Eleanor looked again at the space where Bull had died. The accident explanation was irritatingly good. Bull needed to see the inscription. Bull moved the bell. Bull leaned into a dangerous position. The bell continued moving. Bull lost his balance. End of story.
Except for the rope downstairs. And the marks beside it.
She closed her eyes.
"What are you doing?" Relf asked.
"Thinking."
"Dangerous."
"Quiet."
She imagined the scene without seeing it. Bull upstairs. Another person below. They could not see one another. That was important. How could the person below know when to pull?
Eleanor opened her eyes.
"Could you hear somebody in the ringing chamber from here?"
Martin considered.
"If they shouted."
"And they could hear us?"
"Yes."
"Show me the inscription."
"I already have."
"All of it."
"That isn't easy with the bell down."
"Exactly."
Martin stared at her. Then he understood.
"Oh."
Relf said, "What?"
Eleanor looked at him.
"Suppose Adrian wasn't moving the bell."
"Who was?"
"Someone downstairs."
"The mystery foot marks?"
"Perhaps."
"And how does your mystery man know when to move it?"
"He doesn't."
Relf waited.
"Adrian tells him."
Martin looked towards the bell. Eleanor could almost hear it now. Little more. Movement. Stop. Bull changes position. Reads another word. Calls it down. Perhaps the other man writes it. Then—
Can you give me a bit more?
A stronger pull. Not enough to make the bell perform some impossible violent movement. Just enough. Bull's balance changes. A foot slips. His hand reaches for support. And there is none.
Relf's voice interrupted her.
"You're assuming a great deal."
"Yes."
"Including another person."
"Yes."
"Who conveniently leaves no evidence except two questionable marks on a dirty floor."
"Yes."
"And then walks out."
"Yes."
Relf considered it.
"Still prefer the accident."
Martin was staring at the tenor.
"No."
Both turned towards him.
"No what?" said Relf.
Martin spoke slowly.
"If Adrian was moving the bell himself, why untie the rope?"
Relf frowned.
"To move it?"
"He's upstairs."
"So?"
"The rope's down there."
Eleanor understood first.
"He doesn't need it."
"Exactly."
Martin pointed towards the floor beneath them.
"If you're going upstairs to look at the bell and you're going to move it from up here, why go into the ringing chamber, untie the tenor rope and leave it lying on the floor?"
Relf said nothing. Martin continued.
"But if somebody stays downstairs to move the bell for you—"
"He needs the rope loose," Eleanor said.
"Yes."
Relf looked down through the frame towards the ringing chamber.
"So he may have had help," Eleanor said.
"Possibly," Relf replied. "That doesn't tell us why he fell."
She laughed.
"You're impossible."
"I'm cautious."
"There was someone downstairs."
"There may have been someone downstairs."
"Pulling the tenor."
"Possibly."
"While Adrian was beside it."
"Possibly."
"And Adrian died when it moved."
"We don't know that."
Eleanor folded her arms.
"What would you need?"
Relf looked at the bell.
"Evidence."
The inscription took Martin twenty minutes to obtain safely. Eleanor did not ask precisely how. She followed instructions, stayed where she was put, and wrote down what he called to her. Founder. Date. Words. Spacing. Every letter.
When they returned to the ringing chamber, Eleanor compared it with Bull's notebook. Relf had brought the original in an evidence wallet. The first line matched. So did the second. Then came the blank Bull had left.
Eleanor read Martin's transcription.
"There."
Relf leaned over.
"What?"
"He never got this far."
The final portion of the inscription contained seven words Bull had not recorded. Beneath his unfinished transcription were four pairs of numbers. Eleanor copied them onto a clean sheet. Martin watched.
"What are those?"
"We don't know."
"Then why are we looking at them?"
"Because Dr Bull thought they mattered."
She began counting. The first attempt produced nonsense. So did the second. Relf became increasingly cheerful.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely."
"Go away."
Martin took Bull's notebook.
"What's this?"
Eleanor looked. He was pointing to a small mark beside one of the number pairs.
"A letter?"
"Looks like a T."
"No," Martin said. "Tenor."
"How do you know?"
"Because that's how he's labelled the others."
Eleanor turned back several pages. He was right. Bull had abbreviated the bells. T. 7. 6. 5. And beside some entries, church names or abbreviations. It wasn't merely a sequence of letter positions. The bell itself formed part of the key.
"Arthur."
"Yes?"
"Get the other inscriptions."
"Which?"
"All the ones Bull copied."
Relf stared at her.
"That could take days."
"Then we'd better start."
It took three hours. Not days. Bull had already done most of the work. His notebook contained enough complete inscriptions for Eleanor to reconstruct the principle, although not yet the entire system. The first number identified the bell. The second selected something within its inscription. Sometimes a letter. Sometimes a word. The eighteenth-century document contained an additional element they still didn't understand, probably identifying the church.
By six o'clock the table at Marsh View House was covered with photocopies, Eleanor's notes, Bull's transcriptions and two plates which had once contained sandwiches. Mrs Fenner had stopped asking questions. She merely brought tea. Martin had gone home. Relf had removed his jacket. That, Eleanor thought, represented progress.
She tried another group. Nothing. Then another. Nothing.
"You're sure about the tenor?"
"Yes."
"Spelling?"
"Exactly as cast."
"Try the other interpretation."
"I have."
Relf looked at his watch.
"I have a wife."
"So you've mentioned."
"She occasionally likes to see me."
"Go home."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because if this turns into something while I'm not here, you'll be unbearable."
Eleanor returned to the numbers. Then stopped. Bull had made a correction. A tiny one. The fourth bell at the church she had visited wasn't numbered four in his system. It was three.
"Why?"
Relf looked over.
"What?"
"He's changed the number."
She examined the page. Then another. The numbering wasn't based upon the order of the bells. It was based upon something else. Age? Founder? Weight?
She arranged Bull's entries chronologically. Nothing. Then Martin telephoned. Eleanor answered.
"Have you solved it?"
"No."
"Good."
"Why good?"
"Would've annoyed me."
"What do the numbers beside Bull's bells mean?"
"What numbers?"
"He doesn't number them in normal order."
Silence.
"Martin?"
"Could be ringing order."
"What does that mean?"
He explained. Eleanor wrote quickly. When he finished she looked at Relf.
"Try again."
They did. The first group produced a letter. The second produced another. The third—
Eleanor stopped. Relf leaned closer.
"What?"
"It's working."
The fourth produced a space. Then another word. Slowly, with several mistakes and one false start, something appeared across Eleanor's notebook. Not a sentence. An instruction.
WED 2315
Then:
4
Then:
WREN
Relf stared at it.
"Wednesday."
"Yes."
"Eleven fifteen at night."
"Yes."
"Four what?"
"No idea."
"Who's Wren?"
"No idea."
They looked at one another. Relf reached for his coat. Eleanor said:
"Where are you going?"
"To find out."
"You don't believe in the cipher."
"It gives us a time and something called Wren," Relf said. "We still don't know whether it concerns Bull."
"Arthur."
"What?"
"What day is it?"
He stopped. Neither had noticed. Eleanor looked at the date on her phone. Wednesday. Relf checked his watch. Seven eighteen.
"That's tonight."
He reached for his coat.
For the first time since Adrian Bull's death, Detective Inspector Arthur Relf stopped behaving as though time were on his side.