A Gun to Play With

by J F Straker

  ‘Do you know this gentleman, madam?’ Herrod asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, after a moment’s hesitation that was not lost on the detectives. And then, with more determination, ‘I’ve never seen him before. Never.’

  ‘But, Anna,’ Waide protested. ‘Don’t you remember —’

  Herrod silenced him, and signalled once more to the Sergeant. Waide, still protesting, was ushered from the room.

  ‘Now, Mrs Kermode —’

  ‘I tell you I don’t know him,’ she interrupted. ‘That’s plain enough, isn’t it? What more do you want?’

  ‘Sit down, please.’ The Superintendent’s voice was suddenly stern, and she obeyed reluctantly. ‘A witness has stated that you and that gentleman left the pub together one evening last week in company with another woman. So someone, you see, is lying.’

  ‘Not me,’ she said. ‘We may have left at the same time, but that doesn’t mean I know him, does it?’

  ‘You were seen drinking and talking with him before you left,’ Herrod told her. The woman made no answer, and he went on, ‘I’ll be frank with you, Mrs Kermode. Mr Waide — that’s the gentleman who was in here just now — is under suspicion of having committed a serious crime. He says he has an alibi that he spent the night in question at your flat. So you see how important it is that — well, that you should not be mistaken.’

  Watching her, he experienced surprise and some doubt. Why was she no longer afraid? What had he said to dispel the fear that had certainly been there before?

  ‘What is he supposed to have done?’ she asked curiously, her voice quieter, more composed.

  ‘We won’t go into that now. But have you or have you not met Mr Waide before?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said sullenly.

  ‘Did he spend a night at your flat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Thursday night,’ she said, after consideration.

  And that seems to dispose of Waide, thought Herrod.

  ‘Why did you at first — er — fail to recognize him?’ he asked quietly.

  He thought he knew what her answer would be, and was surprised that it was so long in coming. ‘You know how it is. One doesn’t like to discuss one’s personal affairs with Tom, Dick, and Harry,’ she said eventually. ‘People jump to conclusions — and one’s got one’s pride, Inspector.’ (‘Superintendent,’ he murmured again.) ‘I did it as a favour to Mr Waide — he was in no condition to drive home. And when I saw him here tonight I thought, well, he’s a nice one, he is, telling tales about me. That’s no way to return a kindness, I thought. But, of course, when you explained ...’

  Yes, he thought, that’s what I expected her to say. But she isn’t convincing. That ought to be the reason — but it isn’t, I’m sure it isn’t. Yet how …

  ‘Who was the girl who was with you in the pub that evening?’ he asked suddenly and knew he had struck at the vulnerable point. The fear had come back to her eyes; her dignity was gone. So it was the girl she had been worried about, not Waide. That was why …

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We just got talking in the pub. I don’t know her name.’

  ‘But the three of you left in Waide’s car?’

  ‘Did we? Oh, yes, so we did. She lived out my way. Mr Waide offered to give her a lift.’

  I bet it wasn’t Waide who offered, Herrod thought. Not if he was as tight as he makes out. He was about to produce the dead girl’s photograph for the woman’s inspection, then changed his mind. If she were lying, if she in fact knew the girl, she might still deny the photograph. But the corpse itself might shock her into the truth.

  ‘I would like you to come to Lewes tomorrow, Mrs Kermode,’ he said. ‘There’s someone else I want you to see.’

  ‘Who?’ She was still nervous. And then, when he shook his head, ‘Well, I can’t. Not tomorrow. I’ll be at my sister’s all day, looking after the kids while she visits her mother-in-law. The old lady’s sick.’

  ‘When will your sister be back?’

  ‘I don’t know. Seven, maybe.’

  ‘This is urgent,’ Herrod said. ‘Give me your sister’s address, and I’ll have a car there at seven-thirty to take you to Lewes.’

  She hesitated. ‘Make it half-past eight,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I’ll want my supper first.’

  They brought Waide back when the woman had gone. ‘She’s lying, Superintendent,’ he said desperately, his eyes searching the room. ‘That was Anna. Why have you let her go?’

  She’s lying, Herrod thought, but not about you. ‘It’s all right, sir,’ he said soothingly. ‘Mrs Kermode has corroborated your statement.’

  ‘She has? Oh, thank God for that!’ Relieved, Waide flopped into a chair.

  ‘Does that mean I’m in the clear, Superintendent? You won’t want me any more?’

  ‘That’s about it, sir. But I’d like to hang on to your car for a day or two. I don’t want to inconvenience you, but it may have more to tell us. I’ll try —’

  ‘My dear fellow, don’t give it another thought. Keep it as long as you wish.’ He was bubbling over with bonhomie and good humour. ‘I’m so damned glad to be out of this mess I wouldn’t care if I never set eyes on the car again.’

  He laughed, and licked his lips. ‘This calls for a celebration, you know. Besides, I’m damned dry. I suppose you wouldn’t care —’

  ‘No, thank you, sir. Not at the moment. But don’t let that stop you. If you want to go off for a quick one the Sergeant and I can pick you up at the pub when we’re ready.’

  Waide went — glad, no doubt, to be rid of policemen.

  Before they left Herrod had a word with Superintendent Farrar.

  ‘This Anna Kermode,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what she is or what she does, but I could bear to find out. I fancy she’s more than just a casual pick-up who took a man back to her flat. Can you keep an eye on her? Or shall I get the Yard to send a man down?’

  ‘Better let us handle it,’ Farrar said. ‘Our chaps are familiar with the district, and they may know some of the good lady’s associates. But what are we looking for?’

  ‘Damned if I know. I can’t believe that she’s tied up with Landor, but it could have been the Wilkes girl who was with her that evening. I may be better informed on that by tomorrow night. And Landor and the girl could have pinched Waide’s car after he and Anna had left it.’

  ‘That still doesn’t make Anna more than a casual pick-up,’ Farrar said.

  ‘I know. Unless it was a put-up job between her and Catherine Wilkes. Only in that case — well, keep an eye on her, anyway. It may be a waste of time, but at least we’re playing safe.’

  On their way to collect Waide Sergeant Wood said, ‘When you were questioning Waide this morning, sir, and he wouldn’t come clean about yesterday afternoon, what was it you were writing? It had me puzzled.’

  ‘Eh?’ Herrod was also puzzled. Then he grinned. ‘Oh, yes, I remember. Just a dodge of mine, Wood. Some energetic scribbling interspersed with the occasional piercing glance at the suspect — it gets ’em rattled. They think you’re writing their dossier, or a ‘wanted’ ad.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But what did you write?’

  ‘Nothing important. I’ll show you when we get back. No — wait a minute.’ He fumbled in his pockets, and presently produced a crumpled sheet of paper. ‘I remember now — I picked it up. It wouldn’t have done to leave it on my desk, revealing the idle thoughts of the great detective to all and sundry. Here, read it!’

  The Sergeant read it.

  A fat little bounder named Waide

  Had been most inexpertly made.

  He had eyes like a pig,

  And his turn was too big,

  And his soul was completely mislaid.

  ‘All my own work,’ the Superintendent said modestly. ‘Not bad, eh?’

  6

  It had been a pretty good day, Toby thought contentedly, as he sipped a whisky and ginger ale after dinner. They had bathed and laz
ed and bathed again, and walked on the pier, and tried most of the side-shows; and after tea they had sat in deckchairs on the beach and talked. There had been one little black cloud when the constable had asked to see him at lunch-time, and they had both panicked, expecting his immediate arrest; but the man had only brought a formal summons to attend the inquest at Lewes on the morrow, and the cloud had passed. Tomorrow was tomorrow; it could not spoil today.

  ‘Time we were off’ he said, putting down his glass. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded eagerly. ‘I couldn’t be readier.’

  She’s sure got guts, Toby thought admiringly, as he followed her from the hotel. I’m in this because I can’t help myself; and, Catherine Wilkes apart, it’s also a personal matter for me now. A guy tried to bump me off last night, and nobody’s going to throw lead at Toby Vanne without a comeback. But Crossetta, she’s tagging along just for the fun of it. Seems like she gets a real kick out of it, too.

  They had kept away from Cardiff Street during the day; apparently No. 17 functioned only after dark. Toby felt a thrill of excitement as they parked the car (out of sight, but within easy distance in case they had to run for it) and he and the girl walked quickly past the entrance to Cardiff Street and turned into Smith Street.

  The yard was deserted. No sound came from it, no light, no sign of life. Toby probed its depths with the beam from his torch, keeping the girl behind him.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go round the front.’

  The front too was in darkness. So, apart from an occasional street lamp, was Cardiff Street. Looking down its gloomy length, Crossetta wondered if any but themselves and their quarry ever sought it willingly.

  ‘First on the field, apparently,’ Toby said. ‘That’s fine. We will now take up battle stations.’

  They crossed the street and parked themselves in the shadows of a narrow alley between two tall buildings. At the far end of the alley was the Riley.

  ‘Lines of retreat properly secured,’ Toby said. ‘Now we just wait.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Until someone turns up, I guess. Or until we get bored.’

  He thought it unlikely that he would get that way himself. She was close beside him; the scent of her hair was in his nostrils. He would have preferred to have his arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder. But he had learnt from experience that Crossetta was curiously averse to physical contact, and he did not want to overplay his hand.

  Yet once the thought had occurred to him he could not will it to cease. It kept nagging at his mind, so that presently he grew fidgety and edged away from her.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘Cramp,’ he lied. And then, filled with a sudden brainwave, ‘Crossetta, if some one spots us — a policeman, say, or — or anyone — I’m going to put my arms round you and pretend I’m kissing you. They won’t bother about us if they think we’re canoodling. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No,’ she said, after a pause. But he knew that she did mind, and it bothered him. Didn’t she like him enough? Or was she still in love with her dead husband?

  He wished he knew.

  They did not talk much. The noises of Brighton were all about them, yet distant, so that they felt strangely isolated. The sound of a car approaching caused them to tense expectantly, only to relax as it went past the end of the street. Once hurried footsteps along the pavement off which they waited made Toby raise his arms hopefully. But the footsteps crossed the road, and the man passed by on the opposite pavement without noticing them.

  And then, some ten minutes later, their patience was rewarded. They heard the hum of an approaching car, and crept farther into the shadows. This time the car did not pass. It swung round into Cardiff Street and pulled up outside No. 17.

  ‘Here we go!’ Toby whispered.

  The small parking lights on the car, and the general gloom of the street, did not make observation easy. They crept forward a little. A man got out of the car, a door slammed. The man appeared to be fumbling with the lock on one of the big doors, and presently it opened and he disappeared into the farther darkness.

  They heard the door close. A light was switched on inside the building. ‘I wish we could see,’ Crossetta whispered. ‘I want to know what he’s doing. Couldn’t we sneak round to the back?’

  ‘Not this time,’ said Toby. ‘No more bullets for me.’

  They had not long to wait. Ten minutes later the lights went out and the man reappeared, locking the door behind him. As he climbed into the car Toby gripped the girl’s arm.

  ‘Come on. Time we were leaving.’

  The car moved quietly off down the street, and they turned and ran down the alley towards the Riley, tumbling into the seats as they reached it. ‘It’s the Sunbeam again,’ Toby said, pressing the starter. ‘I got the number. This time we’ll track it to its lair.’

  They saw it pass the end of the street, and went after it. It seemed unlikely that the man could know he was being followed, but they kept well behind, taking no chances.

  The man in front seemed to be in no hurry. They came to the Old Shoreham road, and headed west. Past the football ground, and then right, past the big stadium and into a part of the town that was foreign to Toby. The traffic grew less, and he dropped farther behind, anxious not to arouse suspicion. Presently the Sunbeam slowed, turned down a tree-lined avenue, and then into a private drive. Toby drove past it without pausing, took the first turning that offered, and stopped.

  They looked at each other.

  Now what?’ asked Crossetta.

  He thought quickly. He wanted a closer look at the house, at the man — or men in the Sunbeam. But if the man with the bandaged hand should see or recognize him …

  ‘Care for a walk?’ he asked. ‘Just to the gate, to see what gives? I don’t want —’

  She was out of the Riley and running down the road before he could finish the sentence. Toby stared after her uneasily. Was he playing fair? Wasn’t it rather ungallant, not to say cowardly, to take advantage of her disregard for personal safety in this way? No harm could come to her unless she went looking for it; the men did not know her by sight, they would have no reason to suppose she was spying on them. But Crossetta was impetuous. She might not be content merely to observe. She might …

  If she’s not back mighty smart, he told himself, I’m going after her.

  Crossetta ran silently, her rubber-soled sandals making a swishing sound on the pavement. She slowed to a walk as she reached the drive; there was a street lamp almost directly opposite, but she did not hesitate. Keeping to the shadows, she slipped past the open gates and on to the large grass semicircle that lay beyond the trees. From there she had a better view of the house.

  Despite its imposing entrance it was no mansion, but a pleasant two-storied building; double-fronted, and with a projecting portico flanked by slender stone pillars. Light glowed behind drawn curtains in one of the ground-floor rooms; the rest of the house was in darkness. The Sunbeam was parked on a paved court to the right of the building.

  On the far side of the lawn Crossetta paused; but all was still and quiet, and she tip-toed across the gravel drive to the narrow strip of grass that bordered the wide rose-beds along the front of the house. Again she paused, excitement mounting in her. The lighted window was slightly raised; there was a gap in the curtains, widened occasionally by the faint breeze that stirred them. If she could get closer …

  With a swift glance to right and left she pushed her way through the rose-bushes and pressed her slim body against the wall. There were two men in that part of the room visible to her. They lounged in deep armchairs — one facing, one with his back to her. All she could see of the latter was his dark, well-greased hair and the upper part of his blue-clad left arm. The other man she judged to be tall, although his sprawling pose obscured his height. He too had dark hair, and was dressed in dark grey flannels and a light sports jacket. His bandaged right hand dangled over the side of the armchair
, his left hand held a half-empty glass which he idly rocked backward and forward on the wide chair-arm, his eyes fixed on it in scowling meditation.

  For fully a minute she watched, while neither man spoke. Then the one she could not see burst out with, ‘We’ve got to do something, surely?’

  ‘Such as what? Put an advertisement in the papers?’ asked the other, his eyes still fixed on the rocking glass.

  ‘How should I know? That’s your job, not mine. You’re the boss. All I say is, you can’t just let it slide.’

  The bandaged hand was raised to the chair-arm; the man pulled himself a little more upright.

  ‘Why not? There’s nothing to connect us with the job, is there? You’re too easily scared, my lad. I’m not saying it’s a hundred per cent safe; but who expects to be safe in this racket? We came into it to make money, and by God we’ve made it. No need to start beefing just because we trip up once in a while. The job’s gone wrong — okay. So what? We may lose a few quid over it, but there’s no real danger. Not what I call danger.’

  ‘How do you know that? If the police —’

  Behind the girl a voice said evenly, ‘Mind the roses, lady.’

  Crossetta dropped her arms and swung round. On the drive a man stood watching her, a cigarette glowing between his lips. As he drew on it she saw his face — white and puffy, with a weak, receding chin. She pushed her way through the bushes and stood, hands in pockets, staring back at him.

  ‘Well?’ she asked defiantly. ‘What now?’

  The man seemed taken aback by her aplomb. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and threw it away. It made a glowing arc in the darkness. ‘You’d better come inside,’ he said. ‘The guv’nor wouldn’t like it if I was to keep you standing out here. We’re hospitable, we are.’

  Something moved in the shadows behind him. It approached silently, and a moment later a dark figure stood on the edge of the lawn, faintly outlined by the light from the window. Crossetta smiled, and moved nearer to the man.

  ‘I’m not dressed for a social call,’ she said lightly. ‘We’ll make it another day, shall we?’