Gently Does It

by Alan Hunter

  ‘I don’t suppose you saw anything of him last Saturday?’

  Susan wrinkled her brow. ‘I thought maybe he’d slipped in while I was out of the kitchen … I felt sure he’d be up there with her. But then, you see, she’d gone out on her own and he stopped at home … well, I suppose they had a row. Anyway, she’s finished with him now.’

  The cakes were finished and the coffee drunk. Susan eased back into her chair and explored her painted lips with the tip of an angelic tongue. ‘I like to have a talk,’ she said confidentially, ‘it makes you feel better.’

  Gently said: ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘Oh … I don’t know.’

  ‘I was thinking of going to the pictures myself. There’s still time.’

  Susan unfolded herself another peg and embraced him with a liquid smile. ‘I’ve never been out with a policeman before,’ she said.

  ‘It’s quite safe,’ said Gently.

  ‘We-ell!’ She inclined her head coyly.

  Poker-faced, Gently paid their two bills and helped Susan on with her flaming red coat. Across the way was a taxi rank. Gently shepherded her through the traffic and handed her into the first car. ‘Regent,’ he said to the driver, then paused. Over by the Princess foyer stood somebody, watching them, a tall, broad-shouldered figure in an American-cut jacket. Gently shrugged and got in.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Susan.

  ‘Could have been one of our men.’

  ‘I thought it looked like Fisher.’

  ‘Could have been him, too.’

  Susan laughed and snuggled against him silkily. ‘I’ve never been out with a policeman before,’ she repeated.

  * * *

  At Charlie’s the proprietor was in the back helping Elsie with the washing-up. The snack-bar had a sordid, end-of-the-day atmosphere, with dirty cups on the tables and litter on the floor. Its only occupants were the tug-skipper and his mate, who sat talking interminably in low tones, and Fisher, who sat by himself with a cup of tea before him. Outside the street was deserted and silent. Inside there was an occasional clink of cup and saucer from the back and the drone of the conversation, on and on, like an audition from another world. A coffee-stained evening paper carrying Peter Huysmann’s photograph shared a table with a half-eaten bun.

  Fisher played with the spoon in his saucer. His mouth was small and tight, his dark eyes angry and furtive. They glanced at the two tug-men, at the door, at the clock, which showed eleven. He pulled over the paper, limp and dirty, and stared at it. Why had Charlie looked at him like that when he came in? Why had he said: ‘What – you?’ in that sort of way? Charlie was in with the police, he knew that. Suppose they’d dropped something to him – something about Fisher? But he was safe there, as long as he kept his trap shut … they might suspect, but they couldn’t prove anything.

  Fisher crumpled the paper and threw it into a corner, done and finished with. He looked across at the two tug-men. They were completely absorbed in their conversation … or was it that they didn’t want to speak to him? Had Charlie said something to them? He could imagine Charlie bending over and whispering: ‘Stay clear of Fisher – the police have got something on him!’ And so they talked and talked and pretended he wasn’t there. He got up and went over to them. They stopped talking and looked round. A movement from the back suggested that Charlie had put his head round the door.

  ‘I’m Fisher,’ he said defiantly.

  The tug-skipper shrugged his lean shoulders. ‘What about it, mate?’ he retorted.

  ‘I’m Huysmann’s chauffeur.’

  ‘Well … what are we supposed to do … clap?’

  ‘I could tell them a few things they don’t know, if I’d a mind to … things they’re never going to find out without me.’

  Charlie said from the door: ‘Well – why don’t you tell them? What are you afraid of?’

  Fisher swung round to face him. ‘I’m not afraid of nothing – see? They can’t pin anything on me, whatever they think – and whatever they say they think!’

  ‘What do they think, mate?’ put in the tug-skipper.

  ‘Never you mind … it isn’t your business.’

  ‘Then why come barging in with it?’

  Fisher clenched his fists and looked ugly. ‘Here … stop that!’ exclaimed Charlie, coming round from behind the bar.

  ‘Let him be,’ said the tug-skipper, ‘I know how to handle his type …’

  ‘I won’t have fighting here.’

  Fisher turned furiously on Charlie. ‘Policeman!’ he burst out, ‘bloody policeman! I’m not a policeman, whatever else I am. And you watch out for yourself, that’s what I say. Things are going to change round here … you may not be so high and mighty, for one!’

  Charlie took him by the sleeve. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he demanded.

  ‘Get your hands off me – get them off!’

  ‘I’m asking you what you mean by what you just said.’

  Fisher wrenched himself away. ‘You’ll find out, don’t worry! You’ll find out that you can’t treat some people like dirt …!’

  The doorbell tinkled and the bulky figure of Gently entered. He glanced at Fisher with mild surprise. ‘We seem to be following each other about …’ he said.

  ‘Rotten cop!’ shouted Fisher, ‘coming here trying to find out things … but there’s nothing you can find out. Ask your pal Charlie, here!’

  Gently ignored him and went over to the counter. ‘A cup of coffee,’ he said. Charlie, with a dangerous glance at Fisher, went to serve him. ‘Look at him!’ cried Fisher, trying to include the tug-men, ‘a bloody know-all cop! A rotten sneaking policeman! Treating us as though we were something out of a drain!’

  The second tug-man shifted uneasily. ‘If he’s a policeman you’d better button your mouth up, chum,’ he said. But Fisher would not be silenced. ‘You’d think he was clever to look at him – he thinks he’s clever himself! But he isn’t – not really! There’s as clever people as he is about and they aren’t chief inspectors …’ Encouraged by Gently’s passive acceptance of his taunts, Fisher moved closer to the counter. ‘You took Susan to the pictures, didn’t you? I know – I was watching you! And what did you get out of her, I’d like to know? How much do you think she knows?’

  Gently turned about and surveyed him expressionlessly. ‘Why did Leaming turn her up tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘Leaming!’ Fisher spat on the floor. ‘How should I know why he did it? What’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘I was just asking …’ replied Gently smoothly.

  ‘Bloody coppers – always asking questions! But you won’t get anything out of me. And if you’ve got any sense you won’t listen to Susan’s lies … dirty little bitch!’

  Gently turned his back and stirred his coffee. Charlie looked at him questioningly, but Gently’s lips framed a negative.

  ‘What’s she been saying about me?’ blustered Fisher, pushing up and trying to make Gently look at him. ‘She’s been lying … I’ve a right to know!’

  Gently placed his spoon in the saucer and drank some coffee.

  ‘If it’s anything about me and Gretchen, it’s a bloody lie!’

  Gently put his cup down.

  ‘Listen!’ shouted Fisher, ‘I’ve got a right to know – you’re going to tell me!’ and he laid his hand on Gently’s shoulder. He didn’t realize how big a mistake this was …

  Unfortunately, the memory of a fragment of masonry bouncing along the pavement came into Gently’s mind at the critical moment and he put plenty of pull into the movement. Fisher lay on his back, completely stunned.

  ‘My God!’ exclaimed the tug-skipper, ‘I didn’t even see it happen!’

  Gently dusted his hands modestly. ‘It’s something they teach you at police college …’ he said. He motioned to Charlie. ‘Put him outside while he’s quiet.’ He looked at the two tug-men thoughtfully. ‘I saw you come up this morning. You dropped a barge at the other side of Railway Bridge. Who was tha
t for?’ he enquired.

  The two tug-men looked at each other and the skipper ran his tongue over his lips. ‘It was sawn-out stuff – we drop it there to save time,’ he said.

  ‘Does that quay belong to Huysmann’s?’

  ‘Well, no … it don’t. But they handle the stuff there for us.’

  ‘Who handles it?’

  ‘I reckon it’s the firm we supply it to.’

  ‘And who are they?’

  The skipper paused reluctantly, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘They call themselves “The Straight Grain Timber Merchants”.’

  Gently smiled at the distant reaches of the night. ‘It’s the first time I’ve heard of that particular firm,’ he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE HUYSMANN AFFAIR had turned stale by Tuesday. The fun and games were over with the arrest of Peter and although the failure to charge him with the murder was still good for a minor headline, feeling was that time would take care of that … as, indeed, it would. More current now was the pulled muscle of the City’s centre-forward. The situation was very keen at the top of the third division south.

  Impatient Hansom, having slept on it, ventured a suggestion that the super should reverse his decision and charge Peter forthwith. It was Hansom’s first chance of getting an unaided homicide conviction … it might easily be his last. But the super, also having slept on it, was convinced that his decision had been wise. He had known Gently longer than had Hansom. He had also begun to be affected by a little of Gently’s doubt about the case. So he trailed a convenient smoke-screen before the powers that be and went about his superintendental duties with a thoughtful mien.

  Mrs Peter Huysmann had seen her husband at police headquarters. In the presence of a curious constable there had been very little said on either side. Such hopes as had been raised in Mrs Huysmann by the delay in charging Peter were quickly shaken – Peter himself had very few. ‘But it must mean something …’ she said. He shook his head. ‘It means they’re waiting until they’ve got everything ready.’ ‘But did you see Chief Inspector Gently, Peter? He knows you didn’t do it … he told me so!’ ‘He doesn’t belong here. Cathy, it won’t make any difference.’

  ‘Fancy!’ said Mrs Turner to Susan, ‘going out with a policeman – and that one too, who’s old enough to be your grandfather! I knew you weren’t particular, my girl, but I didn’t know you’d come as low as that.’ Susan sniffed infuriatingly. ‘He’s a nice man,’ she said, ‘I like him … he’s got good taste.’ ‘He must have been after something or he wouldn’t have taken you out!’ ‘You’re completely wrong,’ said Susan, ‘he wasn’t after anything. He was just being sympathetic and nice and manny …’

  Gretchen’s bedroom was small, almost an attic, with a narrow window looking across the river to the willow trees down Riverside. The floor was stained and naked; the walls, distempered grey, bore nothing but a carved wood crucifix and a narrow iron bed, a white-painted deal wash-stand and a cane-bottom chair comprised all the furniture. Gretchen knelt for long periods on the bare floor in front of the crucifix. Her lips murmured over and over: O my God, I am sorry for my sins … let me be forgiven and show me the way.

  There came a tap at the bolted door. ‘Just a minute!’ Gretchen called, and rose, rubbing her painful knees. At the door was Susan. ‘It’s the Chief Inspector, miss – he wants to know if you can see him.’ Gretchen hesitated. ‘Which – which one is the Chief Inspector?’ ‘He’s the one from Scotland Yard, miss … the quiet one who’s always nice to you.’ ‘Very well … tell him that I shall be down directly.’

  Susan went, and Gretchen moved across to the white-painted wash-stand, which had a small mirror. She patted her straight black hair with plump fingers, turned sideways and examined herself critically. Then she looked back into her dark eyes, large, heavy, betraying nothing except that they had something to betray.

  Gently was waiting in the hall. He came forward, smiling sunnily, and took her plump, limp hand. ‘I hope I haven’t broken in on you too early,’ he said. Gretchen shook her neat head. ‘I am usually up at six o’clock … we have always been early risers.’

  Gently said: ‘I’d like to have a little chat in the study, if you are agreeable.’

  ‘In the study?’ She looked at him in some dismay.

  ‘I want to glance through the papers in your father’s desk … of course, we can talk elsewhere if you prefer it. I only wanted to kill two birds with one stone.’

  Gretchen took two quick little breaths. ‘It does not matter … one must grow used to these things.’ Gently led the way to the study.

  The study had a forlorn, removed look, shaken out of its familiar self by the absence of the carpet, which the local police had taken away, and the slight redistribution of the furniture which this had occasioned. Gently dusted off a chair with his handkerchief and placed it for Gretchen. He himself sat down at the desk and began a leisurely examination of the contents of the drawers.

  ‘Your brother is bearing up well,’ he observed, aside. ‘I asked him if he had any message for you, and he said to tell you that you mustn’t worry, because somehow it would come out what really happened.’

  Gretchen said: ‘I would like to see him, when I may.’

  Gently nodded, peering into a file of advice notes. ‘There won’t be any difficulty made about that. You can come along with me, if you like. I suppose you didn’t know much about your father’s business affairs, my dear?’

  ‘Oh no … he did not think that a woman had any part in business.’

  ‘He was one of the old school … I’m just a child at business matters myself. I spent a couple of hours looking through the firm’s books on Sunday, but I might just as well have had a nap. Why doesn’t somebody think out a way of making book-keeping intelligible?’

  Gretchen kept her dark eyes riveted upon him, on edge, trying to gather something of what would come. But Gently seemed to be in no hurry. He prodded and poked, drawer by drawer, sometimes musing over bits and pieces with raised eyebrows, as though he had forgotten Gretchen’s existence. Occasionally he made a remark of no particular significance and once or twice he asked questions about things. For the rest, Gretchen might just as well not have been there and towards the end of Gently’s investigating she began to get impatient.

  At last he appeared to have finished. He replaced everything which had been removed except a green card and closed the drawers. The card he handed to Gretchen. ‘Have you seen this before?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘It is an advice card from his suppliers in Holland … this is perhaps the last one.’

  ‘Do you remember it being received?’

  ‘I think it came one day my father went to London on business. He picked up his mail as he went out.’

  ‘There is something scribbled across one of the margins. Would that be your father’s handwriting?’

  ‘Oh yes. He often made little notes like this.’

  ‘Have you ever heard that name before – “The Straight Grain Timber Merchants”?’

  ‘I know nothing of his business …’

  ‘The name is entirely unfamiliar to you?’

  ‘Yes … entirely unfamiliar.’

  Gently received back the card and put it carefully away in his wallet. He took out a large new bag of peppermint creams. ‘Have one?’ he invited. Gretchen refused. Gently placed half a dozen of them on the desk in line-of-battle and stowed the bag back in his pocket again.

  He said: ‘Miss Gretchen, I think it’s time you told me the truth about last Saturday.’

  Gretchen started back in her chair. ‘Inspector … what is it you mean? I’ve told you everything!’

  Gently shook his head sadly and removed the first of the peppermint creams. He said nothing.

  ‘But you took it down … everything I said! What more can there be?’

  ‘First,’ said Gently, swallowing, ‘you didn’t go to the pictures, Miss Gretchen.’

  ‘But I did … to the Carlton … it wa
s Meet Me in Rio!’

  ‘Secondly,’ continued Gently, unheeding, ‘the chauffeur, Fisher, was in the habit of visiting you on Saturday afternoons, here, in this house.’

  ‘You cannot say that, oh no …!’

  ‘And thirdly,’ proceeded Gently, ‘Fisher did not spend the afternoon at his flat, as he would have us believe. He left it at about two o’clock and returned again at four twenty-two and a half p.m. exactly. In addition to this somebody – and I suggest it was either Fisher or yourself – was seen by your brother at the head of the main stairway when he entered.’

  ‘But this is … impossible!’

  ‘There are supplementary facts, Miss Gretchen. Fisher has been your lover since January. You are with child by Fisher. You have refused to see Fisher since the discovery of the crime. Fisher has been hinting that he may soon be boss here. He has also hinted that he has knowledge of the crime unknown to the police. When you have added all that together, Miss Gretchen, you will come to the irresistible conclusion that both you and he spent the Saturday afternoon in this house.’

  Gretchen gave a low moan and buried her face in her two plump hands.

  ‘I can appreciate your feelings,’ said Gently kindly, ‘and believe me, I hate this side of the business almost as much as yourself. But there are some important things which must take the place of personal considerations or there could be no human society. Miss Gretchen, if your brother is to receive justice you must tell the truth. His life is very nearly in your hands.’

  ‘It isn’t true,’ moaned Gretchen, ‘I can’t help him … it isn’t true!’ and her shoulders heaved with sobbing.

  Gently took the second peppermint cream. ‘If you won’t speak,’ he said, ‘you are leaving me with only one possible conclusion. I shall have to think that you are shielding your lover at the expense of your brother’s life and that you are doing it because you can only save his life by accusing your lover … is that what you want me to think?’

  Gretchen sprang upright, staring at him. ‘No, no! That is not so – he didn’t do it!’