Death and the Visiting Firemen

by H. R. F. Keating

  ‘No,’ Kristen said.

  The word a sigh.

  ‘It’s lovely of you to say all that,’ she went on, ‘but I know I can trust you.’

  Her face was close to his.

  The door opened.

  Fremiti’s voice came from behind it.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, if indeed I do. I went off for a few minutes and was afraid I’d missed you.’

  Kristen darted a look of irritation at the door and flung herself back into the far corner on the sofa. Smithers sat still.

  ‘I’m not sure whether Miss Kett had finished saying what she wanted to or not,’ he said.

  ‘It can wait now,’ Kristen said.

  A low voice for Smithers.

  ‘The main thing is we know we can rely on each other.’

  ‘Well,’ Smithers said, getting to his feet, ‘remember what I told you. And, now, Fremitt, shall we take a stroll in the yard before it gets too hot?’

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ Kristen whispered.

  ‘No doubt we’ll meet at lunch,’ said Smithers.

  As he and Fremitt stepped out into the bright morning sunshine Fremitt said:

  ‘I hope I did right to leave you with that girl. She seemed to want to confide something to you.’

  ‘She found it difficult to broach the subject,’ Smithers said.

  ‘She’s an odd creature,’ said Fremitt. ‘Sometimes I find her quite pleasant, but lately ... And there was that most regrettable scene.’

  They walked out into the sunshine in silence.

  ‘You had something to tell me?’ Smithers said.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I mustn’t keep you. I have got something which I do want to – to put before you,’ said Fremitt.

  He strolled a few paces across the cobbles without saying anything more.

  ‘I presume it is something connected with Hamyadis’s death?’ Smithers said.

  ‘Connected with? It’s the very root -1 feel, having some sort of alibi for the time of the attack on - on the boy, on Peter that is, I can in some measure speak frankly.’

  But no frank speech: silence.

  ‘I find this extraordinarily difficult to say.’

  ‘I promise you whatever it is need go no further,’ Smithers said.

  ‘Quite so. Quite so. Though if I am right it ought to. And I am afraid it will come as a very great shock to you.’

  ‘A remark parents very often make when they feel obliged to reveal their son’s behaviour during the holidays.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Fremitt.

  But once again he said no more.

  ‘Come,’ Smithers said as they turned to walk back across the yard, ‘you have aroused my expectations to the point where you are bound to satisfy them.’

  Fremitt stood still.

  ‘Peter,’ he said. ‘Peter killed Hamyadis.’

  ‘I would be interested to hear your reasons for thinking that,’ said Smithers.

  ‘I have been going over the whole affair in the last day or two,’ Fremitt said. ‘At first, I admit, I imagined it to be no business of mine, but something someone said gave me the notion that unless the matter was gone into very thoroughly by somebody used to sifting such things the mystery might never be solved. The whole thing might be terra incognita for ever.’

  ‘I see,’ said Smithers.

  ‘So I gave it some thought, and eventually hit on a point hitherto overlooked, I venture to think.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Simply that an old-fashioned pistol, of the sort that was supposed at first to have killed Hamyadis, is loaded differently from a modern weapon.’

  ‘Loaded differently? Ah, I begin to understand.’

  ‘My dear chap, take it calmly I beg. It’s a monstrous thought to be faced with, but if it is so one must grapple with the fact.’

  ‘You are going to tell me that an old-fashioned ball need not have been loaded into that Durs Egg pistol.’

  ‘Exactly. It could have been loaded with a bullet from, for instance, an automatic of modern design.’

  ‘I think you had better state your case in full,’ Smithers said. ‘I cannot, I must admit, conceive of any motive for what you have hinted at.’

  ‘Certainly I will be explicit,’ said Fremitt. ‘I owe you that at least. And I am not, of course, suggesting that a boy of - what is he? - eight or nine could have wanted to kill a man like Hamyadis. The possibility does not bear thinking about. But what may not have occurred to you is that he would have a very natural desire to transform what he might have looked on as a toy pistol into a real one. And unfortunately we had all been told that to do just that was child’s play. Child’s play: it’s a horrible thought.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Smithers. ‘It is a horrible thought. But go on/

  ‘Well, assuming the boy performed this simple operation, he would next want to fire this real gun. And as far as we know there were no bullets of the period about. But here again there’s a terribly unfortunate set of circumstances. The boy, and all of us, knew that other bullets were about: the bullets in Hamyadis’s own automatic. And on the morning of the murder these were put in a place where they could easily be got at.’

  Fremitt looked at Smithers. Quick concern. And looked back at the cobbles under their feet, steadily. The crystalline particles lying in the cracks between each worn stone.

  ‘I have no doubt at all that he wasn’t thinking what he was doing,’ he said. ‘It was his first chance to test out his childish idea, and he took it. There can be no question of moral responsibility. He’s a bright and intelligent lad; he could have done it all, but at that age there cannot be any realization of the consequences.’

  Smithers said nothing.

  Fremitt stopped their slow pacing and took him by the arm. Urgently.

  ‘My dear chap’, he said, ‘I know it may seem a reductio ad absurdum, but isn’t that the best way out? Something has occurred which means that one of these people we know, quite well, has killed a fellow human being. Isn’t what I have just suggested to you the kindest possible solution?’

  ‘If it were correct I suppose it might be,’ Smithers said.

  Fremitt dropped his arm, and said:

  ‘I thought I would give you a friendly warning before it was too late. I’ve noticed you seem to have made rather a favourite of the boy. Very good of you. But you must think twice about it.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  ‘I hope you don’t feel offended at anything I have said. There was a moment, I know, when our aims conflicted, but all that is happily settled.’

  ‘Having come to the conclusions you have, it was extremely good of you to tell them to me.’

  ‘Not at all, not at all. My duty really. Well, I must be off. To tell you the truth I find the full heat of the sun a little much at the peak of summer. I prefer, when I can, to stay indoors until the early evening.’

  Fremitt glanced quickly at the deep shade of the inn doorway and then quickly back to Smithers.

  ‘Then I won’t keep you,’ Smithers said. ‘Thank you again.’

  As Fremitt left, Smithers looked up at the stable clock. Hard to read in the glare. He waited till the hands had moved on exactly five minutes and then he went into the hotel again and made his way to the front hall.

  Sitting on a high dark wooden chair was Kristen.

  ‘Hallo,’ she said, ‘are you looking for the boy?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I was,’ said Smithers.

  He noticed that Kristen while he had been talking to Fremitt had made a complete change of clothes. She was now wearing a summer frock, frilly and full. As she stood up he detected the smell of eau de Cologne. Her lipstick was a delicate pink.

  ‘He gave me a message for you,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘He said, would you mind if he didn’t go with you this morning?’

  ‘I see. Did he give you any reason?’

  ‘He said ... Well, no, he didn’t actually give any reason
. Just would you mind.’

  ‘Thank you. Did you wait here all that time to pass the message on? It was very good of you.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, I wanted to see you anyhow.*

  ‘Again?’

  ‘This isn’t about anything like that,’ Kristen said. ‘I thought that perhaps if you were free you could spare a little bit of time to tell me about Winchester. You did say you would, you know.’

  ‘Did I? Well, then I’ll do my best. But if you wouldn’t mind waiting a few moments I have one piece of business I want to do before I go out.’

  ‘Oh, don’t go. Anyway don’t let’s go out straight away, it’s so hot out just now. I’ll tell you what we could do. I bought some picture postcards of the famous bits the other day. You could tell me about them first and then we could see them later on, it will be all the more interesting.’

  ‘You know,’ Smithers said, ‘I’m no expert on local history. If you want to find out about old Winchester you would do best to look it up in a reliable guide book.’

  ‘Not a stuffy old guide book,’Kristen said.

  She took hold of Smithers by the elbow, firmly.

  ‘You can’t really see me settling down to have a good read of a guide book, can you?’ she said.

  She bustled him out of the hall to the foot of the wide stairway.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I want you to breathe some life into it all for me. You could, you know. You’re awfully sympathetic when one gets to know you.’

  They climbed the stairs.

  ‘Now, I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘We’ll just have a look at my collection of picture postcards and then, when I’m full of a sense of the past, out we’ll go.’

  She flung open the door of her room.

  It contained much the same furniture as Smithers’s own, but Kristen had imposed on its neutrality a strongly feminine atmosphere. The air was heavy with a mixture of sweet smells. The dressing table was cluttered with cosmetic bottles and jars. A trail of spilt face powder ran across it. One of the drawers was not pushed home. It had jammed on the corner of some frothy peach-coloured garment. The wardrobe door was slightly ajar showing a thick row of dresses and a litter of shoes.

  There were signs of hasty tidying. Out-of-date newspapers, paper-backed books, and letters had been piled together in tilting heaps. On the low table by the window the marks left in the dust by hastily moved objects showed up in the sunlight. A clean packet of picture postcards lay beside an ashtray full of lipstick-coloured stubs.

  ‘Now, do sit down and make yourself comfy,’ Kristen said.

  She steered Smithers to a low armchair and then stationed herself on the edge of the bed by the door.

  ‘Now, where did I put those postcards?’ she said. ‘I must have put them somewhere safe because they’re so precious to me. Are you like that? Do you hide things away when they’re very important, and then not know what you’ve done with them?’

  ‘Are those the ones?’ said Smithers, pointing at the packet.

  ‘Why, so they are. Right under my nose all the time. Aren’t you clever to spot them like that? But then you are clever. That boy was quite right when he said you were a super detective.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Smithers, ‘what exactly was the message he gave you for me. I’d be very grateful if you could remember it word for word.’

  ‘I’m afraid you haven’t a hope. I can’t learn things, you know. They made me go and act at some theatres in the provinces once for the publicity. I never could learn the parts: that’s why they had to call the whole thing off in the end. Quite right too. It’s just lowering yourself to go to places like that. The dressing-rooms often didn’t have hot water. But now you’re making me talk about myself, you naughty man.’

  ‘We were talking, I think, about young Peter. I’m a little surprised to hear he’s decided not to come with me. I’m anxious to know exactly why.’

  ‘Oh, but you can’t ever know why a boy of his age takes it into his head to do something. He probably forgot.’

  ‘But he left a message with you.’

  ‘Did he? Oh, yes, of course he did. I told you, didn’t I? And you went all old world courtesy about it. I think it’s lovely, I do really. You don’t get much of it today. That’s why I really prefer older men. They know how to treat a girl. Now, you tell me all about old Winchester. There are my little pictures.’

  Kristen darted across the room, picked up the packet of cards, ripped off the wrapper, and fanned the photographs out on the dressing table beside Smithers.

  They were a series called “Beauty Spots of the Downs”.

  ‘Now, isn’t that silly,’ said Kristen. ‘I was in such a tear I must have grabbed the wrong lot. Never mind. You just tell me about what we’re going to see.’

  She sat on the edge of Smithers’s chair.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m quite anxious about Peter. I don’t suppose he’s come to any harm, but I want to see him fairly soon. If you’ve got anything to tell me, tell me now, and then I’ll go and look for him.’

  ‘Oh, you silly man, all you can talk of is whether you’re looking after that boy properly. Of course you are. Now relax.’

  She ruffled his hair.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Admit it. It gives you a thrill to be here with me, doesn’t it? There’s no need to be starchy, you know. I can keep my mouth shut. You’re a man, I can see that, in spite of your tatty old clothes and everything. Why don’t you and I have a nice cosy little chat?’

  Smithers turned in the chair and looked up at her.

  ‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ he said.

  Kristen slid down the arm an inch until her hip was resting against Smithers’s shoulder.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ she said. ‘I’vegot all the equipment, haven’t I?’

  A murmur.

  ‘In a way, I suppose you have,’ Smithers said.

  Kristen leaned towards him.

  Rat-tat. A sharp knock at the door.

  ‘Who the hell’s that?’ said Kristen.

  The door opened, and Peter came in.

  ‘I’ve got a copy of The Stage for you,’ he said. ‘Bit of luck, the first shop I went to had just one left. But I couldn’t find you when I came back, so I thought I’d try up here.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ said Kristen. ‘Here. Here’s sixpence. Now off you go.’

  ‘Will you be able to show me the history bits of Winchester tomorrow, sir?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I’ll be able to show them to you almost straight away if you want,’ Smithers said.

  ‘Would you really, sir? Jolly super. I thought you were going to spend the day out of the sun or something.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Smithers. ‘I really prefer being out on a day like this to being shut away indoors. I’ll see you later perhaps, Miss Kett.’

  ‘You can’t go like this,’ said Kristen. ‘Listen, Peter, you come back in half an hour. Mr Smithers and I have got to have a little talk, see? You can come back later and there’ll be another sixpence for you.’

  ‘What have I got to do this time?’ Peter asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Kristen.

  The door pushed to.

  Kristen turned, leaning against it.

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘so I did push him off out of the way. I did it because I wanted to see you alone. I wanted to desperately. I’m frightened, Mr Smithers. This murder. Do you think they’ll pin it on me? You can save me, I know you can. You’re so clever.’

  She put her hands on Smithers’s shoulders.

  ‘You will save me, won’t you?’

  ‘I don’t imagine there’s anything much to save you from,’ said Smithers.

  She looked up at him, tears in the eyes.

  ‘But there is, there is. They’re all against me, all the rest. You’re the only one I can trust. They’d get together and make out a case against me, I know they would. And you’d be the only one who could see through it.
’

  ‘What would they have against you?’ Smithers asked.

  ‘I knew you’d help,’ Kristen said. ‘I knew you would, I knew you would.’

  She laid her head, the heavy mass of blonde hair, on Smithers’s chest. Her back heaved as if with sobs.

  ‘There’s that packet,’ she said. ‘That might be one thing. I think I had better have it after all. It would be safer if I saw it and then destroyed it, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Safer for whom?’ said Smithers. ‘Now listen to me, my girl. You’ve behaved pretty badly all through this business. I happen to believe that that packet has very little to do with the murder. But your insistence on having it when it was hidden in a place so much connected with the killing has caused untold trouble to the police and everybody. It’s also been responsible for getting me into the inspector’s bad books. So it stays with me until I say you can have it. And you behave yourself from now on. Do you understand that?’

  Kristen stood her arms hanging at her sides, eyes looking at her feet.

  ‘I’m not always like that,’ she said. ‘These last few years I’ve got into the way of it: I’ve had to. But sometimes, when I see myself doing something like what I was trying to do to you just now, I hate myself. 1 really do.’

  Tears. Not glycerine, but salt.

  Sixteen

  Smithers found Peter waiting for him in the uncomfortable, ornamental chair in the hall.

  ‘Ready for our walk?’ he said.

  ‘You were an awfully long time,’ said the boy.

  ‘Well, first Miss Kett wanted to see me, then Mr Fremitt did, and then Miss Kett wanted to see me again.’

  ‘Why did they suddenly want you in such a hurry?’

  ‘To tell me stories.’

  ‘That would be something about the murder,’ Peter said.

  ‘I shouldn’t have tried to evade it.’

  ‘Was what they told you true?’

  ‘Only in bits.’

  ‘I see. When is it all going to be over, Mr Smithers?’

  ‘I know how you feel. It’s high time it was over. But I think something may be happening.’

  ‘What sort of a thing?’

  ‘A fish may be swimming towards some bait. Have you ever been fishing?’