Salt is Leaving

by J. B. Priestley

  ‘I don’t think so, Superintendent—’

  ‘Now look – we’ve no evidence she’s really missing. Girls of this sort – and we know she was on the loose – go rattling off anywhere with anybody. They don’t tell their mothers, sisters, brothers, landladies – or their doctors – when and where they’re going. It’s all gin and impulsiveness and sex with them. Go anywhere, do anything – except steady work. We’ve had scores and scores of ’em through here. So don’t waste your time asking about this Noreen Wilks. She might have gone to Birmingham – London – anywhere. So just you forget about her.’ He stood up and held out a hand.

  Ignoring the hand, Dr Salt didn’t even get up. ‘I haven’t finished yet, Superintendent.’

  ‘Now look – unless they’re involved in a criminal offence, we can’t begin tracing these little fly-by-nights.’ He was annoyed now and didn’t sit down again. ‘I agreed to see you because of something that Sergeant Broadbent said – but I’m a busy man—’

  ‘Sit down, Superintendent.’ This came out with such astonishing ferocity that Hurst found himself back in his chair without meaning to move. He was about to protest when Dr Salt broke in sharply: ‘Now let me explain why I’m here. And don’t give me any more about little fly-by-nights going to Birmingham. I know what goes on in Birkden. I ought to, after seven years of it. So just listen, please. It’s more urgent than anything else you’ll hear today.’

  ‘Want to bet on it?’ And Hurst stared back at him.

  ‘Certainly – five pounds,’ the doctor replied promptly. ‘Though I don’t know who’d hold the stakes and decide upon the winner. Now then – Noreen Wilks. She seems to have been missing for about three weeks. And she’s suffering from a very unusual form of chronic nephritis – a kidney disease. If you want the medical details, you can have them. It’s rather a speciality of mine – so far as an overworked GP can have a speciality—’

  ‘I’ll take your word for all that, Dr Salt. But where’s the urgency?’

  ‘I’d worked out a treatment for her that just kept her going nicely. And I’d impressed it upon her that wherever she went, she must report to a doctor within ten days. I’d made her understand that if she went without treatment for several weeks, she’d soon be very ill indeed and might die. She could be silly and irresponsible about most things, but she knew this was serious, she was frightened, and she gave me a solemn promise. She carried in her bag a note from me to any doctor she might report to, giving details of the treatment and asking him to get in touch with me for her case history. Now she’s not been heard of for three weeks. Dr Baldwin has her case history now, of course, but the point is that no doctor, in or out of a hospital, has been in touch with me about Noreen Wilks.’

  ‘But in spite of her solemn promise – and I know what these girls are – she may not have seen a doctor – just not bothered—’

  ‘Then she’d be in a hospital now – or dead—’

  ‘You can’t prove that, Dr Salt—’

  ‘I can’t even prove I’m fit to attend anybody, not beyond having a few pieces of paper that say so. But I’m willing to show that girl’s case history to any specialist – or body of specialists – you like to name—’

  ‘I’m not querying your medical opinion, Dr Salt, just trying to follow your line of argument—’

  ‘Good morning, Superintendent!’ The man who had walked in was tall and thin, elderly and authoritative.

  ‘Yes, Sir Arnold?’ Hurst was on his feet, eager and smiling.

  ‘I’ve just been having a word or two with your Chief, Colonel Ringwood—’

  Dr Salt, not on his feet, produced an explosive cough.

  ‘Oh – this is Dr Salt – Sir Arnold Donnington. Dr Salt’s worried about a patient of his – a girl called Noreen Wilks – who seems to have disappeared. But I’m sure he won’t mind—’

  ‘Dr Salt?’ Sir Arnold, who had the face for it, gave him a glance full of distaste. ‘We’ve met before, I think. In court when I was on the Bench. You gave some rather controversial evidence on behalf of that fellow—’

  ‘Yes.’ Dr Salt looked up at him, rather like a sleepy little bear, but he had cut in very sharply. ‘He was a sick man.’

  Sir Arnold was obviously not a man to avoid battle. ‘But I seem to remember he was given a stiff sentence at the Assizes afterwards – several years, I think—’

  ‘And he’s still a sick man, probably worse. Sick in the head.’

  ‘Society has to be protected—’

  ‘Some of it’s not worth protecting,’ said Dr Salt sharply.

  ‘No doubt some of it isn’t.’ But Sir Arnold’s tone was equally sharp. ‘You should try being an industrialist these days, Dr – er – Salt. We have to employ about fifteen hundred women and girls. They come and go as they please, say and do what they like, swear like troopers or pack up and go if a foreman criticizes their work. No idea of order, responsibility, of trying to earn the wages we have to pay them – foul-mouthed sluts half of them. Perhaps the young woman you’re inquiring about – er—’

  ‘Noreen Wilks,’ said Dr Salt carefully.

  ‘Perhaps she was one of them—’

  ‘She did work at United Fabrics for a time, I believe, Sir Arnold.’ Dr Salt now sounded amiable, perhaps even a little respectful. ‘But talk to the Superintendent. I can wait.’

  ‘Thank you. I shan’t be long and you needn’t go. Nothing private about this.’ He turned to the superintendent. ‘It’s about the old Worsley place. You were keeping an eye on it for us.’

  ‘Yes, Sir Arnold. We still are. Why – nothing’s happened up there, has it, sir?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge – no, Superintendent. Though I must admit I haven’t been near the place for months.’ Sir Arnold was easy and fluent. ‘As you probably know, the old Worsley place adjoins our United Fabrics Club, and we bought it so that we could turn it into an annex to the Club. We approved a scheme and accepted an estimate, and for the last three months I’ve been pressing the contractors to start work there. Maddening people. However, they’re now making a start in a few days’ time, and as soon as they do they’ll put in their own night watchman. Now I’ll tell my secretary to notify you when the contractors are in. But just for these last few days I’d like your fellows to keep a particularly sharp eye on the place. Nothing worth stealing inside except possibly a few fittings – but, of course, there’s the lead on the roof—’

  ‘And that’s what the villains like, Sir Arnold.’

  ‘Well, we don’t want to lose it now. So tell your fellows to chase anybody out of the grounds. A dog would be useful—’

  ‘I’m afraid we couldn’t justify that, sir.’

  ‘No, we people who keep the town going mustn’t ask too much, must we?’ He had flared up, but now controlled himself. ‘Well, keep an eye on the place for the next few days, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘We’ll do that, Sir Arnold.’

  ‘Excellent! Dr Salt, I hope you find your patient – Dora Jilkes—’

  ‘Noreen Wilks.’ Dr Salt said it very carefully.

  ‘Quite. Well, I hope you find her. Good day to you both.’ And he didn’t give Superintendent Hurst, who was dithering at the edge of his desk, time to show him out. However, Hurst lumbered to the door and went out into the corridor, in the hope that that would somehow show respect. When he came back, Dr Salt was busy lighting a pipe.

  ‘What Americans – would call—’ Dr Salt was speaking between puffs – ‘the Mr Big of Birkden. Chairman – United Anglo-Belgian Fabrics. Chairman – Birkden Telegraph Publishing Company. Senior Magistrate. Other things too. Mr Very Big of Birkden.’

  Hurst, back behind his desk, regarded his visitor with some disapproval. ‘Sir Arnold Donnington can be a bit stiff and sharp, but he’s a fine man. He needn’t have stayed here and identified himself with Birkden, but he has done. I don’t know anybody who’s done more to make Birkden what it is today.’

  ‘No doubt,’ said Dr Salt. ‘But what’s that?
No, don’t tell me. I’ve spent too much time at the wrong end of it. By the way, Donnington didn’t strike me as being stiff and sharp this morning. In fact, he was extremely nervous.’

  ‘I didn’t notice it. And I can’t imagine why he should be.’

  ‘He was, though. Take my word for it.’

  ‘He might have been a bit on the fussy side – about that old Worsley house. But it’s not a month since he lost his only son. And Colonel Ringwood, the Chief Constable, who’s a friend of his, says it’s hit him very hard.’

  ‘Well, when a man’s son commits suicide—’

  ‘Dr Salt,’ Hurst came in heavily, ‘the verdict was accidental death. And it’s not going to be anything else in this office. Yes, I know. He was cleaning a gun at five in the morning. But it’s still accidental death here. Now have you anything you have to say to me about this Noreen Wilks?’

  ‘Not much.’ Dr Salt took the pipe out of his mouth and looked hard at its mouthpiece. ‘She hasn’t reported for treatment anywhere. She isn’t in any hospital. Not unless the country’s medical service is even worse than I think it is. And if she left Birkden, nobody so far seems to know when or how.’ He got up and then pointed his pipe at Hurst, who had also risen. ‘The girl’s missing. Where is she? Is she alive or dead? You could begin making a few inquiries—’

  ‘We’ll do that, of course—’

  ‘It’s something I’d like to clear up before I leave Birkden—’

  ‘We can do that better than you can, Dr Salt. And we don’t encourage amateur investigations—’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve never fancied myself as a detective.’

  ‘Glad to hear that, sir,’ said Hurst, smiling. ‘Very relieved. I just had a feeling you might do.’

  Dr Salt nodded but didn’t return the smile. ‘I’ve a feeling too. Not based on any real evidence. Kind of gloomy hunch. I can’t help believing that Noreen Wilks never left Birkden. And if she didn’t, then I think she’s dead.’

  2

  Dr Salt drove to a garage he knew, where he persuaded one Bert to take a little time off from his football pool sheet to attend to a headlight. ‘I’ll be back about three, Bert.’

  ‘Why – what’s the idea, Doc? It’s been like that for months. Why the sudden rush?’

  ‘I’m hoping to sell it – that’s why.’

  ‘Then you’re dead right. The least bloody thing, they want to take quids off.’ Bert gave him a sly look. ‘How much you asking, Doc? I might know somebody.’

  ‘Bert, you attend to that headlight first. And before three o’clock, don’t forget.’

  There is always a lot of traffic at midday in the centre of Birkden, and even the broadest pavements seem crowded with people busy not working. Dr Salt tried to saunter to enjoy his pipe and the pleasant October day, but soon realized he had chosen the wrong place and gave it up. He looked in a bookshop but found nothing he wanted. He spent twenty minutes, making rather a nuisance of himself, in the gramophone and record department of Birkden’s largest store, which was very warm and seemed to smell of hot pastry and face powder. Every time he asked the girl about another record, she closed her eyes, as if he mightn’t be there when she opened them again. Finally it worked – he felt it was the least he could do – and without waiting for her answer he hurried away, sweating it out down to the street level.

  A few minutes later he turned into a side street and found his way into the Snack Bar of the George. The counter was thick with high blood pressures and potential coronaries, either shouting at one another or at the waiter and the barmaid. After a few more minutes he extracted out of this tumult a bottle of stout and a slab of veal-and-ham pie, out of which a profit of about four hundred per cent was being made by somebody. There was one small unoccupied table in the far corner, and there he munched and swallowed and read an early edition of the Birkden Telegraph that had been left behind. Before trying to find any news – not always easy to find in this early edition – he looked carefully through the advertisements of Birkden’s larger cinemas. His eye rested longest on that of the Lyceum.

  Just before two o’clock he was climbing the stairs up to the Circle entrance to the Lyceum. The stairs were broadly and deeply carpeted; the walls below and above the photographs of film stars were panelled in wood or plastic of the same light-brown shade; and the general effect suggested a palace made of milk chocolate. The old-gold lighting did nothing to spoil this effect, but a bright green notice, above a door on the left of the half-landing, was out of key: it said Gents. The next flight was shorter than the one below; it led him into a great milk-chocolate space that had two or three doors marked Private on the right, and on the left, in the centre, showed him the curtained entrance to the Circle. A girl was standing there, waiting to look at tickets. She wore a uniform brown coat and short skirt, a pink blouse, black stockings; a neat compromise between the severe and the sexy, the severe to demand the tickets, the sexy a foretaste of the lush pleasures inside. At first Dr Salt did not recognize her, and it was only when he was a few feet away from her that he saw that she was Peggy Pearson.

  ‘Peggy,’ he began.

  ‘Oh – it’s you, Dr Salt.’ She had rather prominent muddy eyes, a wide pout of a mouth glistening with lipstick, not much nose and chin. ‘Are you coming in? Everybody seems to like it this week.’

  ‘No, I want to talk to you, Peggy.’

  ‘Well, it’s a bit awkward here—’

  ‘I know. But it’s important.’

  ‘I’ll bet it’s about Noreen, isn’t it? Well, if you don’t mind me stopping all the time – y’know, people coming in – there’s one now.’

  He waited, standing on one side, until she had looked at a ticket, torn it in two and dropped one piece into the tin receptacle. Then he went close to her and spoke in a low voice. ‘You were a friend of Noreen’s and she stayed in your house after her mother died – um?’

  ‘That’s right. But that was my Mum’s doing. She got two-ten a week out of Noreen just for bed and breakfast. Noreen and me were always together, one time. But, then, when she lodged with us, I hardly saw her. I was up when she was still fast asleep, then at night she was still out when I’d be going to bed. She’d stopped working then and was going out to posh parties. But still – some afternoons she’d come to the caffy here and if I could get half an hour off we’d talk. Excuse me.’

  He waited on one side again while she dealt with a slow-moving elderly pair of patrons. ‘When was the last time you talked?’ he asked as soon as she was free. ‘Try to remember, Peggy.’

  She waited a moment, trying hard. ‘It was some time in the second week of September—’

  ‘The last time she came to my surgery was the morning of September the 12th—’

  ‘And if you ask me – that’s the day she went out at night and never came back. I’m nearly sure my Mum says it was the twelfth. And I’ll bet anything,’ Peggy continued, excited now, ‘it was the day before that when she came here for the last time. She was in a great state of excitement and had to tell somebody. And if you want to know where she is, I believe I can tell you – if it’s important, Dr Salt—’

  ‘It’s very important, Peggy, or I wouldn’t be bothering you now – oh, I’m sorry!’ He disentangled himself from two young men and a girl. One of the young men gave him a curious glance while the other produced their tickets. Even when they had gone through the curtains, Peggy shook her head and waited a few moments.

  ‘They could be a bit nosy, that lot,’ she explained, speaking now in a rapid whisper. ‘Well, you see, Noreen told me that one of these posh party boys she’d been playing around with had said he’d take her to the South of France. And after that she thought he’d want to marry her. He was mad about her, she said. Well, of course, we’ve all heard that before, but I believed the South of France part. She wouldn’t tell me his name. No, not me. I’m just Peggy Pearson. I don’t go to parties at the Fabrics Club. I’ve just got to wave and cheer, not ask for names – me. But if
you want to know where she is – I think she’s somewhere in the South of France – drinking martinis in bikinis—’

  ‘No, Peggy, she isn’t.’

  ‘Just a minute. Here’s another one.’ She was soon rid of her. ‘Right, Doctor. How d’you know she isn’t?’

  ‘She hadn’t a passport. I signed her application form on the morning of the 12th.’

  ‘She could have gone to London with this chap and got one there, couldn’t she?’

  ‘She could, but I don’t think she did. Now – this Fabrics Club. Is that where she used to go with her boy friend?’

  ‘I think so. But they went elsewhere – she was sleeping with him, I know that much. And I’ll tell you something else. From what she told me some of these so-called “party boys” would never see fifty again – dirty old men – but this one who was mad about her really was young, not much older than her. Money there too, she said. But that’s Noreen – not much sense, if you ask me – but lucky – lucky all the way.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Peggy. Only part of the way – and not very far at that.’ He had to stand aside again. He asked the next question hurriedly, as if he had had enough of this dodging about. ‘Nothing else you can tell me?’

  ‘We-ell.’ Peggy drew it out as if uncertain what to reply. ‘I can tell you this much. Noreen had a special secret she shared with me when we were always going out together. And I promised – cross my heart – I’d never say anything about it to anybody – and I never have and I won’t break my promise—’

  ‘You can tell me this, though.’ Dr Salt stared hard at her. ‘Could this special secret have anything to do with her disappearance – the night of September 12th?’

  ‘No, it couldn’t. And that’s something I’m absolutely positive about – I really am, Dr Salt.’

  Another two patrons were arriving. ‘I believe you, Peggy,’ he said quickly. ‘And thank you.’