‘Don’t think I’m on that one’s side,’ she began. ‘I’d be against him whatever it was. All the same, Salt, you’re not being very sensible. I thought so last night. I think so now. The only difference is that I’m no longer feeling cross about it. But I have to tell you that I think you’re behaving like an idiot.’ It came tumbling out before she really knew what she was saying. Then she felt terrified as he stared at her for a moment, all bristling eyebrows. But his lined and weathered face cracked into a grin.
‘I’m sure you do, Maggie. There’s a point past which each sex finds the other idiotic or childish. This is still true however much a man and a woman may find they have in common—’
‘Do you think we have much in common?’
‘I don’t know yet – and, anyhow, that’s not what we’re talking about—’
‘Oh – all right,’ said Maggie impatiently. ‘But if you want to know why I think you’re behaving like an idiot, I’ll tell you. And please don’t interrupt. You say you want to leave here as soon as possible – to have a holiday and then start again, probably somewhere thousands of miles away. Well, I understand that. I feel like that myself sometimes. But if that’s what you want, then why entangle yourself – running risks too – in something that nobody – but nobody – asks you to bother about at all? You’re alive – and Noreen Wilks is dead and Derek Donnington’s dead – and the police are quite happy believing he killed her and then himself. I didn’t like Colonel Thing, the chief constable, but there was a lot of sense in what he said. Leave it alone. Don’t interfere. Young Donnington and Noreen are dead and can’t run into any more trouble. You’re alive – and you can. And why should you? I don’t say you like playing God – that’s a bit much – but I do say it’s mostly a kind of conceited obstinancy in you – and it frightens me and I don’t like it.’
He waited a moment. ‘Finished?’ He wasn’t aggressive; just calm and quiet, which in a way made him all the more maddening.
‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘Though I could go on and on. But I won’t.’
‘It’s a sound feminine point of view,’ he told her rather slowly. ‘Really – the let-sleeping-dogs-lie approach – um?’
‘If you like—’ But the telephone was ringing.
‘Who?’ he asked it. ‘Mr Aricson? Certainly. Put him on . . . Yes, this is Salt, Mr Aricson. What can I do for you? . . . All right, then, what can you do for me? . . . I see. I’d like to repeat that, if I may. A cheque for seven hundred and fifty pounds – for services rendered – will be available today, whenever I want to pick it up, but only today. Right? . . . In other words, you’re ready to pay me seven-fifty to clear out and mind my own business – um? Very tempting, I must say, but I’ll have to turn it down . . . No, no, I’ve hardly any scruples at all. But I want to leave everything clear and tidy . . . Oh, no, it won’t be . . . We can leave Colonel Ringwood out – he’s just downright stupid . . . I agree. Hurst is experienced and honest. He’s not consciously trying to deceive me or anybody else. But he is busy deceiving himself. It’s our great British vice – haven’t you noticed? . . . All right, try to swallow this. A young man is in love with a young girl. He takes her to a party. Later, they leave it, as they’ve done before, to go to an empty house to make love. But on this particular night the boy suddenly turns into a maniac. He strangles the girl and mutilates her body. Then he not only hides the body but very carefully and neatly papers over the gap in the wall. He then goes home and shoots himself. Even if I’d no other evidence – and I have – I could never accept that story. I’d feel ashamed of myself for the rest of my life even if I pretended to accept it. Thank you for ringing me, Mr Aricson, but you can tear up that cheque. Goodbye!’
Coming away from the telephone, he looked steadily at her. ‘If you listened to that, Maggie, then you heard most of my answer to you. I don’t say conceit and obstinacy play no part here—’
‘Of course they do. And all that money too,’ she added rather crossly. ‘What a waste! Just to prove some theory you have! I know I’m sounding like Colonel Thing, who’s supposed to be so stupid, but as I said before, I thought he talked sense—’
‘There’s something you’re all overlooking,’ he cut in harshly. And the change of tone gave her a shock. ‘If I believe young Donnington didn’t kill Noreen, then I must also believe that somebody else did. So what do I do then? Leave Birkden with a homicidal maniac still at large in it? Go far away knowing that the Birkden Evening Post won’t catch up with me, to tell me about the next victim?’
‘Oh – all right, I can understand that – if what you believe is true.’ She still sounded cross, crosser than she really felt. ‘And I’m not sure it is, because if that Donnington boy was more than half mad, he might easily do all kinds of contradictory things. And what was all that about evidence? How can you get any evidence – just sitting here?’
‘I know – you feel I ought to be running round taking fingerprints and collecting tobacco ash. But that’s not my method, Watson. My method is to do nothing in particular, just drop a remark or two and watch the pressure build up. The other people do all the work, giving themselves away—’
‘Oh – I realize you’re very clever, Salt. But you do a lot of dangerous bluffing, too. You announce you’re leaving in a day or two – you tell everybody they’re all wrong – and there’s a murderer around – but can you honestly tell me you really have a clue?’
‘My dear Miss Culworth’ — and she knew at once that this was half mockery and that behind it he was serious – ‘believe it or not, I need only one other piece of information, and then I think my case will be complete – and the mystery solved—’ But that was all he told her. There was a lot of noise outside, then some simultaneous ringing and knocking, and they were joined by Mr ‘Buzzy’ Duffield.
3
‘Before the talking starts – and don’t think I haven’t plenty to say because I have – Bzzz – step out an’ have a look at it. Talk about class! I’m more than halfway to Buck House with a car like this. Bzzz.’ As they followed him out, he waved a hand at a long black car standing at the kerb. ‘Got it from a punter instead of the money he owed me at the betting shop. Talk about a bargain! He’s more than two thousand nicker down on this lot. Bzzz. That’s Whitey pretending to be shuvver. The cap’s good – he insisted on it – but the rest of him’s dead off key – and so far I’ve to open the bloody door all the time. Bzzz. How about taking a ride in her? Drive slow – lift your hand now an’ again – give the peasants a treat.’
‘No, thanks, Buzzy,’ said Dr Salt. ‘I haven’t time. But I can use that car. Whitey can take the Culworth family home to Hemton – while you’re talking to me. Mr Culworth hasn’t been up and about for days – and could do with a smooth ride. Maggie, go and see if they’re ready.’
‘Please,’ said Maggie.
‘This time you win. Please.’
Maggie found her parents already in the sitting room, wondering what was happening. Five minutes later she was sitting in the car with them, on her way home. She was not very happy about it, even though she knew she would have to be in the shop some time in the afternoon, to clear things up with her father. But she couldn’t help wishing that Salt had insisted upon her staying with him, at least for another hour or two. He hadn’t exactly hurried her away with her parents, but he’d assumed she was going with them just a bit too quickly and easily – almost, though not quite, as if he wanted her out of his way. And what was he up to? And what did Buzzy want with him? And did he feel she was being stupid, an ally no longer, when all she really wanted was to keep him out of trouble? She went back over their argument. She was still going over it when Whitey brought them to their front door.
About the middle of the afternoon, when she and her father had dealt with cheques and bills in the little back office at the shop, her father drew his chair nearer to hers, looked hard at her and said: ‘There’s something I have to discuss with you, Maggie. And I think this is the best time to
do it.’
‘Not if you’re feeling tired, Daddy.’
‘No, I’m all right. Y’know, I’ve great confidence in Dr Salt’s judgement. I feel he understands me as a man and not just as so much blood pressure, temperature, heartbeats and the rest. And he told me that if I could get a good offer for this shop, I ought to give it up. On the other hand, even if I could afford it, I oughtn’t to go away and do nothing.’
‘And I’m sure he’s right. He isn’t always right, but he is about you, Daddy.’
‘Do you mean he isn’t right about you—?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Maggie hastily. ‘It’s something else, quite different. I don’t suppose he ever gives me a thought.’
‘Oh yes, he does. However,’ he continued, to Maggie’s sharp disappointment, ‘we’re talking about me and the shop now. Now I didn’t tell you this, but as a matter of fact I can get a very good price indeed for the shop and the business. And I could come to an arrangement with my old friend Sayers in Birmingham to help him – on a part-time basis – on the rare books side—’
‘Well, that would be just right for you, wouldn’t it?’
‘It would. Give me something to do – and not too much.’
‘Then that’s settled. So what are you looking and sounding so doubtful about, Daddy?’
‘About you, Maggie, my dear,’ he replied promptly, surprising her. ‘I was talking it all over with your mother, this morning, and we agreed it would be just right for me. But what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘No shop, don’t you see? I’m not worried about the other three. Bertha Chapman can go back to teaching, and I believe would be glad to go. No difficulty there. Sheila’s out of her element here and could find a better job tomorrow. I don’t know about young Reg – I have a notion he’s really cut out for the book trade, that boy – but I’m certain I could find him something. You’re the only one I’m worried about, Maggie. I have an idea you wouldn’t want to go back to London, doing secretarial work. And I don’t think there’d be much of an opening for you here in Hemton. Of course, you could easily find a job in Birkden—’
‘No fear! I wouldn’t be found dead in Birkden.’ She spoke with a vehemence that surprised herself. ‘I loathe the place – always have done, and now I know it better I see I was quite right.’
‘Not just because of what happened to me, I hope, my dear—’
‘There’s that, too,’ she said hastily. ‘But also for all kinds of reasons. But it’s absurd to bother about me, Daddy. You go ahead with your plans – and don’t think about me. Really I’m glad you’re giving up the shop. Lately I’ve been feeling restless – needing a change – to do something different, though I don’t know what.’
‘Dr Salt half hinted at that—’
‘Oh – what exactly did he say?’ she demanded sharply.
‘Well, various things – you know—’
‘No, I don’t know,’ she told him even more sharply, maddened by his vagueness. ‘How could I? Can’t you remember even one of them?’
‘Let me think. Yes, he said – what was it? – potentially you were a very fine woman but that your real life hadn’t begun yet.’
‘Oh, he did, did he? A fat lot he knows about my real life – or anybody else’s—’
‘No, Maggie, you can’t say that. He’s a man with a lot of insight as well as a lot of experience. I thought you’d have noticed that—’
‘All I’ve noticed,’ she replied, sweeping this reproach away to the rubbish heap where it belonged, ‘is that I’m beginning to feel rather restless.’ Then, feeling that she had been behaving badly, she smiled at him and changed her tone. ‘So you haven’t to worry about me, Daddy. You do just what you want to do. It’s time you did – bless you!’
He left early, at her insistence, but she stayed later than usual, clearing up and exchanging gossip with Bertha. Then, back at home, she really did begin to feel restless. What was Salt doing? Why had Buzzy wanted to see him? What was happening while she was just mooning around, miles away, here in Hemton? Finally, after going to look at the telephone several times and then hardening her will against using it, she rang up Salt. No reply. There was something peculiarly desolating about hearing the phone ring and ring in the flat she now knew so well, and within a few minutes of putting down the receiver she was hurrying to the bus.
It was nearly half past seven when she rang Salt’s bell and somehow knew at once that it wouldn’t be answered. Feeling small, stupid, unwanted, she turned into the main road to find a telephone box. Her heart thumping away – and, anyhow, the air in there was horribly foul – she rang up Buzzy’s Club and, after some delay, was able to speak to Buzzy himself. ‘I wanted to thank you first, Mr Duffield, for letting us use that wonderful car of yours – you remember, to take my father home—’
‘Don’t mensh – it was a privilege and a pleasure, Miss Culworth. Bzzz. You’re a friend of Dr Salt’s – so am I—’
‘Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you,’ she cut in desperately, afraid he might ring off. ‘I can’t find Dr Salt. Do you happen to know where he is?’
‘I do. But keep it quiet. Strictly between us, this is. Bzzz. After a little talk we had this morning – and as a favour to me – he’s moved into the Beverly-Astoria – you know it? Brand-new place on the Coventry Road. They’re still blowing the sawdust off it. Bzzz. That’s where you ought to find him. If you don’t, then come here to the Club and ask for me. And not a word to anybody – you never know who’ll start talking – you can’t move for big mouths. Bzzz.’
The Beverly-Astoria was the newest hotel she had ever walked into; it really did look as if it had just been unpacked out of a crate twelve storeys high; and it also looked very grand, altogether too grand, for Birkden. She decided to look around before asking for Dr Salt. It was rather dimly lit and confusing, crowded with notices and glass cases, and seemed to smell of hot tin and varnish, rather like a magic lantern that Alan had once had. She contrived a peep into the dining room just before being accosted by a man with a pale face and a waxed moustache, like a croupier in a film, who was holding a number of menus about a yard square. She decided against going down below to Ye Olde Englishe Grill and instead ventured rather uncertainly into the Cocktail Bar, which was very dim indeed, almost blacked-out, and had very soft and sickly canned music coming out of the wall. For a few moments she stood there, unable to see anybody or anything, but then – and it was the strangest experience – she heard his voice, heard a woman laugh and heard him laugh with her, from somewhere in a corner at the opposite end of the room. She took a few tentative steps in that direction – and nobody was bothering about her – and then, her sight adjusting itself to the gloom, she saw him and his companion, not a young woman, no girl, but one of those ripe, smart, handsome and sophisticated women who represent The Enemy everywhere, and especially in cocktail bars where men drink double very-dry martinis like water. And she was honest enough to recognize and name the knife that was turning in her.
It was jealousy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Four-Star For Dr Salt
1
‘Now then, Buzzy,’ said Dr Salt as soon as the Culworths had gone. ‘If you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen – up to a point. No, sit in that chair – it’s the only one that’ll hold you.’ He waited until Buzzy had made himself comfortable and was lighting a cigar. ‘Now – what is it?’
‘A bit of info first, Doc. There’s a lot of talk going round, but none of it’s coming from you. Just exactly where do you stand on this Wilks kid’s murder?’
Dr Salt explained briefly and clearly where he stood.
‘That’s all I want to know. Bzzz. Anybody been round from the police this morning?’
‘Yes, Buzzy. Colonel Ringwood himself. He lost his temper and almost told me I was outlawed.’
‘I buy that, Doc. And it’s just what I thought. Bzzz. And if it wasn’t Friday I’d have two of my boys looking
after you here. But Friday, like Saturday, can be a bloody great dogfight down at the Club. They come in from other planets. Bzzz. I need more hard boys than I’ve got – both Friday and Saturday. So – what about you, Doc?’
‘I’m not worried, Buzzy.’
‘Never said you were. But I am. So I want you to do me a favour by letting me do you a favour, if you see what I mean?’
‘Not yet, Buzzy.’
‘I want you to take a load off my mind. Bzzz. I’m not going to spend tonight watching all those baboons and their scrawny little birds at my club an’ wondering what the hell’s happening to you here. I want my mind on my business. Bzzz. So you do me a favour. You stay away from here tonight and tomorrow – see?’
‘But I’m not leaving Birkden, Buzzy.’
‘I know you’re not. This is where I do you a favour. I’ve booked you into this posh new hotel – the Beverly-Astoria. Only opened this week. And you’re in a suite – not just a bedroom, mark you, a suite – on the tenth floor.’
‘I’m not. I can’t afford it. Neither can you.’
‘Me? I could afford to take the whole bloody floor if I wanted to. Bzzz. But don’t get the idea I’m throwing good money away on this caper. They aren’t full yet – they need people to dress it up – and I have an in with a couple of the directors who’ve been betting with me for years. Bzzz. Your number’s 1012. You ask for the key and walk straight in. All brand-new. De Luxe. Four-star. And it’s time you poshed it up a bit, isn’t it, Doc? Gracious living an’ all that. Look at this lot. Either you need a woman here or three furniture removers. Bzzz. Joking apart, Doc, I’d feel a dam’ sight easier in my mind if I knew you weren’t waiting for trouble here but were up there in the Beverly-Astoria – among the Top People, we hope. Just as a favour, Doc, eh? Bzzz.’
‘All right, Buzzy. It’s very kind of you to have taken so much trouble. Though I doubt if it’s my kind of hotel—’
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