Brough Island sat off the south coast of Devon in the south West of England. It had recently been bought by the US tech billionaire, Bryan Hedge. Bryan Hedge had become rich by the sheer hard work of having very rich parents and very good advisors.
The tiny island could only be reached by boat and only when the tides and weather allowed. It was one of Mr Hedge's eccentricities that it had no telephone connection to the mainland and mobile phones were confiscated from any guests while they stayed there. He claimed it gave him a peaceful sanctuary in a world he had done so much to make noisy.
There were just four buildings on the island. There was a large mansion where Hedge would entertain his guests and three smaller, much smaller, cottages. Two of these were occupied by Hedge's housekeeper and chef, while the third was currently empty.
On that fateful weekend, Hedge had invited three men to stay whom he thought might be useful to him: Colonel Colman, a retired British Army officer keen to root out any communist threat; Reverend Day, an American tele-evangelist who had, surprisingly, not yet been found to have committed massive fraud or been caught in a brothel in the way of many of his colleagues; and Professor Peach, a researcher into life-extending drugs at the University of St Andrews.
Hedge was particularly interested in the Professor's work. Hedge had more money than he could possibly spend in one lifetime and so he was hoping Peach could get him two or three more.
Each man had brought a companion with them.
Colman had brought Mrs Bright, a large, matronly woman who had, in fact, been a matron at Colman's local hospital during his last bout of treatment. She was there partly to ensure he took his medicine but also because she understood his sexual needs in a way that no sane woman had done before.
Rev Day had brought Mrs Swallow, his accountant and spiritual advisor. She had worked for Rev Day for around ten years as he had moved from selling used cars, via a pyramid scheme involving cyber currency, until he had found his true calling as a Man of God.
Professor Peach had had a number of candidates to bring on the weekend among his PhD students. He had finally chosen Miss Rose because of her outstanding qualifications, which could clearly be seen poking against the tight red dress she had worn to dinner on the Friday evening.
On Friday evening, Hedge had welcomed them all to dinner in the massive dining room. The food had been cooked by Hedge's personal chef and was served by the chef and the housekeeper. The housekeeper and chef cleared up after dinner and went back to their cottages.
The talk at dinner had centred on how clever Mr Hedge was and how wise he had been in making his fortune. They talked about Hedge's thoughts about entering politics. Not as a candidate, obviously. That would involve meeting the ordinaries. He was above that. He would simply back some uncultured, rich arsehole who wanted to compensate for being bullied by bullying the whole country.
It must be said that most of the talk about Mr Hedge was by Mr Hedge.
After dinner, they had moved to the library where Hedge had poured them Cognac so expensive that the thought of the cost completely drained any enjoyment they might have derived from it.
And then they all retired to their separate bedrooms.
The next morning, I came in.
I gathered all of the guests in the library at ten o'clock.
"I'm Detective Inspector Bartleby of Scotland Yard. Mr Hedge has been found dead, floating by the jetty where the boats from the mainland dock."
"Did he drown?" asked Professor Peach.
"Possibly. But he had been shot through the head and stabbed through the heart. We're working on the theory that foul play may have been involved" I replied.
"Can any of you think of a reason why somebody might have wanted to harm him?" I asked.
It took me some time to quieten the resulting clamour as so many reasons were given I had difficulty recording them all in my official, police-issue notebook.
I went on "Mr Hedge's ludicrously expensive wrist watch stopped at 12:15 this morning. It does not appear to have been waterproof, after all. This gives an indication of when he entered the water. I need you all to account for where you were just after midnight. I will interview you each separately in the drawing room and then we will meet back here in the library. "
Here follows the account given by the six guests, as recorded in my official Police notebook.
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Colonel Colman
We all left the table just before midnight after drinking Hedge's ridiculous Cognac. Honestly, he knows nothing about fine wine. It's all a matter of the cost to him. Anyway, I went up to bed. I got changed into my nightshirt and Mrs Bright came in to give me my medication. I don't think I need it but she says I keep claiming to be Napoleon if I miss too many doses.
But I was feeling frisky and decided to be awkward about it. Mrs Bright was having none of it. With a swift movement of her left arm she'd got me over her lap. She pulled up my nightshirt and gave me a sound spanking on my bare buttocks. She really laid it on until I was crying out for her to stop.
Anyway, I found the spanking quite exciting, if you know what I mean, and something had come up between us. Mrs Bright called me a very naughty boy but dealt with the interloper quite efficiently into one of the tissues she always carries with her.
I then took my medicine like a good boy and slept soundly until this morning.
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Mrs Bright
I'd sat at the dinner bored to tears by the conversation. I didn't drink because I knew I'd need a clear head to deal with the Colonel. He always gets uppity when he's been drinking.
We came up to bed around midnight and I went to the Colonel's room to give him his meds. I found him on his knees literally searching for reds under the bed. It was definitely time for his pills. But he was, as I'd predicted, in a defiant mood.
There's only one way to deal with naughty boys, no matter what age they are. So I put him across my knee, raised his nightshirt and gave him a sound spanking on his more than adequate bottom.
Like all naughty boys, he got excited and Matron had to deal with the unwelcome intrusion by jerking his wicked instrument until it was spent. I then gave him his tablets and he went to bed. I returned to my own room and went to bed. I certainly did not play with myself when I got there and you can't prove I did.
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It seemed to me that, either these two were in it together, or their alibis backed each other up. I called in the next suspect, Reverend Day.
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Reverend Day
I was invited by Mr Hedge to give him some spiritual advice. He could have called in a local vicar but I think he thought I'd understand the problems faced by a very rich man more than a penniless parson might. He's hoping Peach will come up with some elixir to keep him alive but he's using me as some sort of insurance in case he ends up in front of St Peter. And I offer very reasonable rates for one-to-one guidance.
