As for mistaking Salter for Yeldham, that had been done by Patricia alone, and as Salter had at once explained, none of the other three had had to say anything. Patricia, too, seemed to have been the principal sustainer of the rather uncomfortable conversation which had ensued. On the other hand, she had clearly been doing it partly out of good manners and partly because anything was better than silence.
When Reeves had arrived, Lansley had been astute enough to perceive from what the constable said that he had been listening at the door, but the fact had not apparently worried him much. At this period, too, all the accounts of the conversation were less definite than at all other times, because, as Scoresby now knew, they were suppressing Reeves’s glass of champagne. Still, whether the reactions were to his arrival or to his unexpected action in taking the wine, they were tolerably clear. Patricia had wanted to laugh hysterically, Barbara was blankly surprised, as was Martin. But Lansley seemed at first to have been angry. Why? Scoresby asked himself and failed to find an answer, unless it was that Lansley, who had already taken two glasses with pleasure, might perhaps be wanting the rest.
That brought up two more points, both of which concerned Martin alone. In the first place, he alone refused to eat or drink, or even take a cigarette, and though he did offer an excuse as to the drink, namely that he was driving the car, it would not apply to the way in which he tried to prevent Yeldham’s cigarettes being smoked. Secondly, it was Martin who resented the questions which Reeves asked, and tried to parry them. In fact, he had been definitely and rather unnecessarily rude to Reeves. Not that Scoresby intended to set too great a score by that. Patricia’s reputation for bursts of temper was well known and was believed to run in the family, though not to so violent a degree as in her case.
As regards their attitude to the woman who remained so perversely absent, Scoresby noticed first of all that Patricia alone seemed to have considered trying to talk to her. In fact, all through she seemed to have been the only one to preserve her manners. On the other hand, Barbara was the first to realise that the woman had bolted, and to suggest that something should be done. Perhaps it would have been if Salter had not unfortunately chosen that moment to waste valuable time by talking in a most maddeningly irrelevant way, assisted on this occasion by Lansley, who very stupidly had opposed the suggestion that Reeves should be told at once.
With the woman’s departure the attitude of all four diverged, for while Barbara had talked of the place being dangerous, Patricia had pooh-poohed the idea. On the other hand, Martin had talked of tripping over the corpse, and Lansley had at once wondered if the corpse were that of Yeldham. Finally, their reactions on hearing that in fact Yeldham was dead had not been very clearly noted, except that Lansley had asked if it was an accident.
Having got so far, Scoresby began to examine his table of notes downwards instead of across. The first column had been Patricia’s, and here, as he would have expected, there was nothing very unusual. She seemed to have kept her head best and to have tried to be natural in rather peculiar circumstances. Martin had been unwilling to come, bad tempered and difficult. He had refused food and drink and talked of corpses. In the column headed “Barbara Carmichael” there were remarkably few entries, but beneath her name Scoresby had written: “Knew the house best.” As to Lansley, he had most faithfully carried out their ostensible object—that of accepting Yeldham’s hospitality—and Scoresby noted to his credit that he had quite voluntarily pointed out that they could not give each other an alibi. Finally, there was the significant fact that it was Salter who had made it easy for the woman in purple to escape. On the other hand, Salter alone had heard from Yeldham that a police constable was likely to come in during the evening.
For some time Scoresby sat looking at his own neat writing and then turned to an answer from Dr Vesey that was on the contrary very hard to read. Nor was it a very definite statement when he had deciphered it. Still, it did say that if a knife existed of the nature which Scoresby described, it might possibly have inflicted the wound from the result of which Yeldham had died. Further than that, though, the doctor would not go, and he ended by making the very reasonable request that he might be shown the alleged weapon or a duplicate of it before giving a precise opinion.
“If it is the knife,” Scoresby thought, “and if the extra two miles on the speedometer really matter, then it must be one of the four, and whichever of them it was, he or she must have kept his or her head and been acting all the time deliberately. Probably some of the things that have been noted are pure bluff and very possibly any apparent ‘give-away’ should be taken as being as likely to be evidence of innocence as of guilt. In fact, perhaps I ought to have noticed who acted best for one of them must have been acting if it was one of the four. In that case—” He broke off and studied the chart again carefully. “On the other hand, if the car is a coincidence and the knife the wrong weapon, then undoubtedly there is a good case for Salter having the opportunity and for having done it when he left the library to get, as he says, the cards. I’m back again where I started. If only I could trace that woman—Well, we ought to be getting some further reports in soon about the owners of cars registered with the number ten.” Once more he fingered the list and then picked it up. It was dangerous, but perhaps it was worth trying the effect of showing it to all those concerned. “Although I must admit,” he said to himself with a grin, “that to do so bears a very close resemblance to Reeves’s method of tackling the problem, and the man or woman whom I want seems to be conclusively proved to be shock-proof.”
14
A Distant View
“Very comfortable lodgings you have, sir, if I may say so.”
“You think so, sergeant?” Lansley shut the door and suggested that Scoresby should sit down. “It was tactful of you to say something nice about them in the hearing of my landlady, but I hardly agree with you. By the way, I wonder if she is listening outside the door now. Does it matter if she is?”
“Not much. It’s not very likely, though, is it?”
“It’s extremely probable. She’s bubbling over with natural curiosity. I don’t mind myself if she does listen, because if she does not, her imagination will provide a more exciting story than if she does. But I should have thought that you would have objected on general principles, so, with your leave, I’m just going to look. You may call it a practical demonstration of how anxious I am to help you.”
With what Scoresby regarded as a sarcastic smile he got up and moved with studied leisureliness to the door. “As I thought,” he said as he shut it again. “Watering the aspidistras on the half-landing. However, she’s gone now, so what can I do for you?”
“I couldn’t find you yesterday, sir.”
“No. I went up to London for the day.” There was a short silence while Scoresby wondered if there was any point in asking why he had gone. Eventually it was broken by Lansley going on: “Since you don’t ask, but obviously want to know why, I’ll tell you. There wasn’t really any reason at all. Only things were a bit sultry down here, and I thought that the lapse of twenty-four hours might allow them to cool down a bit. Consequently, I made an apocryphal excuse and took a day off. Actually, I went to my tailor, whom I did want to visit some time, saw about a wrist-watch which wanted mending, went up to the city to see a stockbroker and decided not to take his advice—which is nearly always a sound thing to do—and went to a cinema in the Strand. Not very thrilling, but fairly useful. You can check most of it if you want to. That is if it interests you.”
“I don’t see why I should; but if you would like me to and care to give me the names—”
“It would give an appearance of verisimilitude to a bald and unconvincing statement of fact. Quite.” Lansley added some names and addresses and waited for Scoresby to disclose the object of his visit.
But the sergeant appeared to be in no hurry to come to the point. “Thank you, sir,” he said, closing his note-book. “You still keep up your London connections, then?”
/>
“There’s no stock exchange in Trevenant, is there? And if you ask my honest opinion, there isn’t really either a watchmaker or a tailor, although I admit that there are people who pretend to practise both those arts.”
“You London gentlemen will never allow that we do anything properly in the country.” Scoresby shook his head as if grieved at the thought.
“‘London gentlemen’,” Lansley repeated thoughtfully. “Are you fishing, sergeant?”
“For what, sir?”
“For facts about my murky past?”
“Yes, sir. It wasn’t what I came round about; but since you put it that way—”
“You shall have it. And much good may it do you. Born of poor but honest parents, as the saying is, I was educated, as you know, at Finchingfield College, where I pursued a course of conscientious and unrelieved mediocrity, on what was quaintly termed ‘the modern side’, which meant that the elements of chemistry, physics, mathematics, French, and German were pursued in preference to those of the so-called classics. The late lamented Mr Yeldham, by the way, was par excellence an addict of the classics, and my scholastic career, undistinguished in itself, I fear, had the misfortune never to obtain his very high commendation. Nor was I able to endear myself to him in other ways. I shone neither on the football nor on the cricket field, nor even on the racquet or fives court. Have a cigarette, sergeant?”
Scoresby gravely accepted the offer without taking any notice of the fact that it was delivered as part of the preceding sentence. “Nevertheless,” Lansley went on, throwing the match into the fireplace, “though I had the misfortune never to win the outspoken admiration of my house-master, I am afraid that I must disappoint you. We parted perfectly good friends. If I was not a good games player, I did my best; if I was not a brilliant scholar, I was not openly idle. To tell you the honest truth, I found that it made life much more comfortable with both boys and masters to play games with apparent willingness, and as for work, I was at all times aware that I should have to rely for an income mainly, if not entirely, on what I earned. On the death of my parents (which has now occurred) I could look for rather under two hundred a year before paying Income Tax. I need hardly say that I want more, and as yet I am not earning anything like as much as I want. Though, let me quickly add, lest it raise hopes in your mind which will soon be dashed, I am not in debt.”
“Shall we come back later to the present?” Scoresby suggested. “It must be—ten years, since you left Finchingfield?”
“Getting on for twelve. I started with the idea that I would pursue the only subject which had really interested me at Finchingfield—namely, chemistry. But when I looked round the commercial world I found that the quality of the education which I had received in that subject was sadly deficient. I hear a rumour, by the way, that the new headmaster is trying to improve all that; and I can only say that it is high time that something was done about it. However, to go back to myself, I set to work to learn some more chemistry—mainly from text-books. I lived with my parents and I also worked hard. I also took the trouble to improve my French and German, and I even began to learn a little Spanish for possible use in South America, because I was beginning to come to the conclusion that there was no real opening in England. Not that I failed to get a job. I did; and a peculiarly unpleasant one it was in the East End of London, with very little pay and no prospects. But it was experience, and it did help me to get a job here.”
“Did you get that through Mr Hands?”
“No. I had never seen him until I came here. I was on the verge of giving up the struggle and going abroad almost on chance when I saw the job that I have at present advertised as vacant. It is not, as I said just now, a particularly well-paid one, but I thought—and think—that the chemical side is all-important, really. I was prepared to wait—I have waited, and in a short while I shall be in a position to demand my own price—within reason, that is. I firmly believe, if it interests you, that it never pays to be unreasonable.”
“And then—I don’t mean this offensively—you found another way of increasing your income?”
For a moment Lansley looked surprised. “Oh, yes, I see—Patricia. Well, I’ll try to accept your intentions about not being offensive, but don’t be arch, sergeant. It doesn’t suit you. Well, I am—or was—engaged to Miss Hands, but I don’t think it is quite kind to call it ‘another way of increasing your income’.”
“No offence intended,” Scoresby reiterated. “I only meant that I was sure that it was to make a friend of Mr Hands. But why ‘is or was’?”
“Miss Hands and I had rather a row over the weekend. That’s why I went up to London, really.”
“I see, sir. ‘The course of true love’, you know, sir. It will probably come all right in the end.”
“Now you’re being both ponderous and arch at the same time, which definitely is unwise. In addition, I am not at all sure that it will come right.”
Scoresby looked at his boots and decided that it would be worse than tactless to refer to any of the rumours that he had heard about Patricia’s temper, a subject as to which Lansley would certainly need no coaching. “Well, sir, let’s hope for the best,” he murmured without committing himself as to what was the best, “and I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you for making all this routine work so easy. I ought, I suppose, to have asked you before, but I have had to take things in such order as I could.”
“Glad to have helped you. But what was it that you really came round about? You did say that my past was not the object of your visit.”
“No, sir. I came about this: I’ve got a list—rather a long one, I am afraid—which may possibly contain the name of the lady who so mysteriously arrived and departed that night. I wonder if any of the names on it convey anything to you. One of them might be associated with Mr Yeldham through Finchingfield and so be known to you.”
“So you are looking for her still?” Lansley lit yet another cigarette, and put out his hand for the list.
The question seemed to be too obvious to Scoresby to be worth answering. Of course, he was looking for her! The sound of the pages being turned over filled the room, since Lansley was one of those people who was capable of extracting the maximum of noise from a piece of paper. “I don’t think,” he said eventually, “that this brings anything particular to my mind. Of course there are plenty of common names which have also been those of people whom I know. We must hope the lady wasn’t called Smith, Brown, or Jones. She didn’t look like it to me when I saw her—”
“No, sir. You’re sure that none of those names is of any particular significance to you?”
Lansley looked at it again and brought out a pencil. “There was a boy of that name at Finchingfield—and that—and that—and I think that, or perhaps a master. I forget, but it sounds familiar—and that.” He went on ticking most of the list energetically.
It was a disappointingly large number that he marked. “Which is almost as bad as none,” Scoresby thought as he raised his heavy body out of the rather fragile chair on which he had been seated. Had he known it, his choice of chair had greatly annoyed Lansley’s landlady, who had managed to observe the selection through the keyhole, but who now, judging that a conversation which to her mind had been thoroughly disappointing was about to end, was quietly removing herself. She might well have delayed her retreat too long, for Scoresby was on the point of taking his departure, when Lansley called him back.
“You stopped me by mistake in the middle of a sentence just now, sergeant.”
“I’m sorry, sir. What were you saying?”
“I said that this good lady didn’t look like Smith, Brown, or Jones when I saw her. But that was not really the end of what I was going to say. I was going to finish the sentence: ‘—when I saw her yesterday’.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes, about half-past twelve, on my way from the city to the Strand. At least I am almost sure that it was she. I was on a number eleven bus, and it is difficult to be a
bsolutely certain from the top of a bus of the identity of anyone you see on the pavement with their back to you, especially when it is a person whom you have only seen once before. Rather a striking woman, though, in some ways. Yes, I am almost sure that it was she.”
“But didn’t you do anything about it? I mean, sir, you must have known that we wanted to get her evidence, to put it at the very lowest.”
“Oh, yes. I realised that. But what could I do? The bus, in the manner peculiar to buses, took the opportunity to go fast instead of remaining placidly in a traffic block, as they always do when you want to go quickly. You can’t yell vaguely, ‘Stop that woman there,’ from the top of a bus, and expect to get the right one stopped. In fact, in all probability, nothing would happen at all, unless one got arrested for causing a disturbance. So I did the only thing that I could think of. Rang the bell once, as instructed, and prepared to get off and chase her. Buses, as I said, are invariably perverse, and we had got very nearly to the Gaiety before I did manage to touch the pavement. Your friend must have been quite a long way up Chancery Lane by then.”
“But couldn’t you have told the conductor you must get off at once?”
“I did say something about wanting to catch up a lady, but I’m afraid he misunderstood me. He said, ‘We aren’t allowed to stop here, sir, not if she’s ever so pretty,’ which was annoying and not even true. They are allowed to stop there. But, as I hate making myself conspicuous, I gave it up.”
“I see. What a pity you couldn’t have caught her up! As it is, I don’t really know that we are much further on.”
And Death Came Too Page 12