“I don’t think I need to answer that.”
“Dad, I won’t be a minute. I’m packed.” Marion ran up the stairs.
“Packed?” Grundy glared after her, then swung round on her father.
“You must understand the position, Solomon.”
“I’ll tell you what I understand. If Marion goes she doesn’t come back.”
Mr Hayward’s gravity was wonderful. “Perhaps that will be for the best.”
Marion came down the stairs carrying two suitcases. Her face was very pale.
“You’d packed last night,” Grundy said accusingly.
She looked surprised. “I said I must get away. I thought you understood.”
Mr Hayward intoned a valediction over the grave.
“It’s possible that when this sad affair is cleared up some arrangement may be—”
“Shut up.”
Marion said, with a look of anguish, “Sol. Please try to understand.”
“Goodbye. Have a good relationship.”
“Oh, you’re intolerable.”
“Take a good short cut on the way down.”
The door closed after them. He stood in the picture window and watched them go, Mr Hayward carrying the suitcases. Marion got into the Rover without a backward glance.
He turned and stood looking at the fragments of his breakfast. Then he took them into the kitchen, said, “That’s that,” put on his overcoat, and went to the office.
Chapter Six
Flight?
The office, as Mrs Langham said to Miss Pringle, was not what it had been. There was an atmosphere about it these days, and in view of everything that was of course, as Mrs Langham said also, not surprising. Mr Werner was still very polite, he was a man who would never fail in politeness, but he was obviously worried. And he had reason to be, Mrs Langham meaningfully said. As for Mr Grundy, well, of course, Mr Grundy was the cause of the worry.
He came in this Friday morning, Mr Grundy, obviously in such a hurry or in such a temper that he flung them a bare grunt over his shoulder as he charged into his office. A few minutes later, Mr Werner, who had been in for an hour, came out of his own office and entered Mr Grundy’s.
“Well,” said Mrs Langham, “I’d sooner him than me.”
Miss Pringle giggled.
Werner found his partner moodily looking at the morning’s post, and obviously in a bad mood. It was not perhaps the best time to say something which might be misunderstood, but he had made up his mind to say it anyway. He told Grundy of his interview with Manners, and added that the situation was a difficult one. “What do you think we ought to do about it?”
“Do?”
“Quite frankly, my dear, we’re in a turmoil. Our little firm, I mean. And you and I, we’re in a state too, aren’t we? I don’t like it that we should be bad friends, we’ve been good friends for so long.”
He was looking a very neat little cock sparrow this morning, and his smile was appealing.
“Say what you mean.”
“Don’t misunderstand me. I’ll tell you what’s the matter with you, Sol, you’re too bloody suspicious. You take everything too hard.”
“I expect you’re right.” Grundy smiled, or half smiled, back at him. “I’ll try not to misunderstand.”
“What has happened is bad for business, you must see that. To be mixed up with a murder case, that is not very nice.”
“So?”
“You ought to take a rest, stay away from the office, oh, for a month. Don’t worry at all. Have a holiday, take Marion away. By then they will have found out who did this thing, everything will be forgotten.”
“And Guffy?”
“Quite honestly, old dear, do you suppose that Clacton or anybody else is going to buy a Guffy series just now?”
“Take Marion away.” Grundy barked sharply, then got up and paced about the room. Theo watched him nervously. Suddenly he shouted, “I won’t do it, I won’t bloody well do it.”
Outside, Mrs Langham and Miss Pringle looked at each other. Mrs Langham whispered, “Oh dear.”
“Sol. You said you would not misunderstand.”
“Why should I run away?” He glared at Theo. “Do you know what happened last night? Some bloody old snob at home tried to cut me. I made him speak, though. He didn’t like it, I can tell you.”
“You made him speak?” Theo looked baffled. “I shall never understand you English.”
“I’m not English, I’m Irish. You’re trying to get rid of me.”
“No, no.”
“I won’t have it. I’m not going to be mucked about by anybody, you or the police or anybody.” Theo backed away as Grundy, half a head taller, advanced. His foot caught in a threadbare patch of carpet and he fell over backwards, knocking a tray of papers to the floor.
In the outer office Mrs Langham looked significantly at Miss Pringle, got up and opened Grundy’s door after the most perfunctory of knocks. She took in the scene at a glance. Mr Werner was on the floor, and Mr Grundy was standing over him. Mr Werner looked at her ruefully. Mr Grundy said, “Mr Werner caught his foot in the carpet.”
“So I see,” Mrs Langharn said coldly. She stayed long enough to see Mr Werner get to his feet, and then closed the door again. It was her belief, as she said afterwards to Miss Pringle, that if she had not opened the door when she did, violence would have been done. This belief was not affected by the sound of Mr Grundy laughing, for the laughter had, she thought, a sinister sound.
Inside the office Grundy was saying, “I must be losing my sense of proportion. It’s coming to something when you’re nervous of me, Theo. I’m sorry.”
Theo laughed too, uncertainly. “Do not misunderstand me, Sol.”
“No. I’m just the original Irish clot, that’s all. The hell of a situation like this is that you begin to suspect the motives of everybody, even your best friends. You’ll know soon enough, so I may as well tell you now. Marion’s left me, gone home to Mum and Dad.”
Theo digested this news, then smiled. “You’re a bachelor. Isn’t that all the more reason for taking a holiday, old dear?”
Grundy smiled back at him.
The man who sat in Manners’s office was about forty, pale, fattish, a little above medium height. Inspector Ryan watched him with the anxious pride of a father whose son is about to read his essay on a school prize day.
“Mr Leighton lives at 11 Cridge Mews, sir, just opposite Miss Gresham. Remember I told you he was up in Manchester, we couldn’t get hold of him? Well, he came back today and I think you’ll be interested in what he’s got to say. Just tell the superintendent what you told me, Mr Leighton. Take your time.”
Mr Leighton cleared his throat and began to speak in a flat Cockney whine. He was, like many people who came to tell their stories in Manners’s office, distinctly nervous.
“I’m a scrap metal dealer, you understand, sir, old cars and that sort of thing really, and on Tuesday I had this appointment in Manchester with a Mr Hinchcliffe, so I thought I’ll go up on the night train, otherwise it means getting up at the crack of dawn—”
“Take it steady, man,” admonished Ryan, now rather in the role of a second advising an over-eager boxer.
“So, oh, just about ten o’clock that night I was getting ready, you know, changing and packing up and so on, and I saw this chap arrive, a big geezer he was.”
“What room were you in?”
“Front room, that’s my bedroom. just happened to be looking out of the window.”
“Did you know Miss Simpson?”
Mr Leighton’s bloodshot eyes looked away from the superintendent, his glance flickered around the room. What’s the matter, Manners wondered, has he had it off with her himself and doesn’t want me to know about it? “Just to talk to, you know, just to pass the time of day with, that’s all. Very pleasant she always was too, always cheerful and nice.”
“And you happened to be looking out of the window?”
Mr Leighton rolled his eyes and looked appeali
ngly at Ryan, who laughed.
“I think he was interested in her male visitors, sir, put it that way. He says there were quite a few.”
“Quite a few,” Mr Leighton agreed eagerly. “There was the darkie, he used to come often, and then, oh, several others. Once or twice they stayed the night. I mean, I saw them leave in the morning.”
“I see. You just happened to be looking,” Manners said neutrally.
“I was dressing. But this chap, now, I’d seen him once before, or maybe twice. I noticed him specially, because he had ginger hair.”
Manners felt the tingling in his stomach that he associated with the break-through in a case. “Can you describe him?”
“He was big, not all that tall maybe, but very broad, bulky sort of chap altogether. He was wearing some sort of light tweed coat, no hat of course. I saw his face under the lamp. Then he rang the bell and she came down, they spoke for a minute or so and she let him in. I saw them together upstairs. Then she drew the curtain.”
“About ten o’clock, you say. You can’t get the time more exactly?”
“No. But I left at ten-thirty, and it was a few minutes before that. Say ten to ten-fifteen.”
“You didn’t see him come out?”
“No. Still there when I left.”
“Didn’t see him drive up, get out of a car, anything like that?”
“No. He walked into the Mews.”
“How sure are you that you’d recognise this man again?”
Leighton’s cheek was twitching slightly. “Pretty sure. I think I’m sure.”
“Would you be willing to attend an identification parade?”
“I – yes, I suppose so.” He paused, gathering confidence. “Yes, definitely.”
Manners avoided Ryan’s look of triumph. Something about the situation bothered him, and suddenly he knew what it was. He said quietly, “Have you got form, Mr Leighton?”
“I—” the man said, and swallowed. Ryan looked first astonished, then disgusted.
“Come on, then. Let’s have it.”
“It was years ago, seven years. I got twelve months for receiving. It was a mistake. I had nothing to do with it.”
“I sent you up, didn’t I?” Leighton nodded. “And since then you’ve kept your nose clean?”
“I told you, it was a mistake.”
When Leighton had gone, Ryan said, “Sorry, Super. I should have realised.”
“How could you? I remembered him because I sent him up, that’s all. You don’t know anything about him? Then you’d better ask around, see what you can find.”
“If there is anything to find.”
“Of course. Scrap metal dealer doesn’t sound too good. Pity.”
“He didn’t have to come forward. If there was anything against him, you’d think he’d keep quiet.”
“I know. We can’t show him a photograph, but if he does make an identification it puts Grundy in the right place at the right time. That’s why it would be nice if Leighton were a solid citizen. As it is—” He sighed, and left the sentence uncompleted. The telephone rang. He lifted the receiver and listened with growing excitement to what was said at the other end. Then he turned to Ryan. “That was Clavering, the local super. It looks as though Grundy’s trying to slip the country, may have killed his wife. We’ll have to get the word to ports and airfields. Then let’s get down there.”
“How’s Clavering got news of it?”
“Some woman phoned the station.”
Felicity Facey always took Adrienne and their son Edward to school in the car, and on this Friday morning she did some shopping, and so did not return to The Dell until after eleven o’clock. She called on Marion, partly because she was curious to know exactly what had happened on the previous night, partly because they often had a cup of coffee and a chat in the morning. There was no reply to the bell. Marion must be out, then, although it was unusual for her to be out shopping in the morning, she was an afternoon shopper. Unusual, too, for her to be out on a Friday which, as Felicity knew, was not one of the days on which her cleaner came. Looking through the picture window she saw what was more unusual still, the living-room left untidy. She kept a lookout while she was making lunch, and told her husband about it when he came home.
Bill Facey said in his worried way, “You shouldn’t interfere.”
“Interfere! For all you know, she may be lying dead in the bedroom.” He made a slight, incredulous noise, which she resented. “Where is she then, tell me that?”
“I expect she’s home now, and you didn’t notice her come in.”
“We’ll see.” Felicity dialled the Grundys’ number and held out the receiver so that he could hear the ring. There was no reply.
“She may have gone up to town to shop. Or out to see someone.”
Felicity snorted her disapproval of these suggestions. When her husband had gone again she decided to have another look next door. Perhaps a glance through the kitchen window at the back might reveal something vital. Before going round, however, she pressed the front-door bell again, as a matter of form. There were footsteps, the door opened, and Grundy stood there.
“Oh,” Felicity retreated a step. “Is Marion – can I speak to Marion.”
“Not possible. She’s gone away.”
“Gone away? That’s very sudden, isn’t it?” She was taking in what she saw behind Grundy, the large suitcase, the overcoat on a table, and on top of the overcoat the passport.
“Quite sudden. She wanted a rest.”
“When did she go, then?”
“This morning. Don’t bother about the milk.”
“Milk?”
“I thought perhaps you’d come to return it. But I see you haven’t got it with you.”
There could be no doubt about it, he was jeering at her in the most unpleasant way. Greatly daring, she said, “I see you’re going away too. To join her, I suppose?”
“You suppose wrong. And now will you just go home and mind your own business.” The half-grin on his face changed to a snarl, and the door was banged against her. She went home, and there quite openly sat in her window to watch. Less than five minutes had passed when Grundy came out, fetched his old Alvis from the parking space, brought out the case, put it in the boot and drove away. Felicity pondered the implications of what she had seen and heard. It did not take her long to decide that it was her duty to telephone the police.
“We can’t enter by invitation, there’s nobody to invite us. But I think that window round the back, you know, the one slightly open, looks as if it had been forced, don’t you, sir?” Ryan winked one eye. “And if that’s so, we ought to go in and have a look.”
Manners’s nose was wrinkled. “I don’t like it.”
“But we want to get in.”
There had been no legitimate grounds for obtaining a search warrant, but Manners agreed that they wanted to get in. It was one of those problems which often confront the police.
“Well, then, if you just stay here a couple of minutes—” Ryan said cheerfully. Five minutes later they were inside, and ten minutes after that Ryan was saying, “If you ask me, this is a bit of a sell. Her clothes have gone, and he can’t have got rid of her body round here. Where would you put a body in one of these super-modern places? And you can’t bury it outside, you’d be disturbing the landscape gardens.”
But the caution with which Manners had approached the case earlier had gone. He felt certain now that Grundy was the man they wanted. “Where is his wife, then? And why has he slipped the country?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t see much to help us here.”
Ryan went downstairs, and Manners into the small study that Grundy used for working. He searched through the papers on the desk without finding, or expecting to find, anything relevant to the case. He did, however, discover several notes from Werner, and two of these were signed with the little Guffy McTuffie figure on the postcard. Werner was in the clear, but was it possible that Grundy and his partner had u
sed this figure as a signature in writing to each other? He was thinking about this when the telephone rang. He went downstairs and Ryan, at the telephone, covered the mouthpiece and raised a thumb.
“They’ve got him. London Airport. He had an air ticket for Belgrade. One way. What do you want them to do?”
“Send him along to the station. We’ll keep him for questioning.”
“There’s just one thing. He’s been talking to the officers out at the airport. He said something about Mrs Facey causing this trouble, that she believed he’d killed his wife and he was stringing her along. He says he quarrelled with his wife, and she’s staying with her father.” Ryan hesitated. “We’ve got the number.”
“All right, then. Ring it.”
Ten minutes later, Manners himself had talked to Marion Grundy. “She’s like an icicle, that one,” he said to Ryan. Doesn’t intend to come back to London to see him, or not at the moment. She confirms the quarrel, but had no idea he was going away. Wasn’t surprised, though. ‘I’ve given up being surprised at anything he does’ she said. It’s damning, though, we couldn’t want anything better. His nerve broke.”
“He said he was going for a holiday.”
Manners’s earlier doubts had vanished like snow in an oven. “What do you suppose he’d say? But running away at a time like this, what can it mean except that he did it? Shouldn’t be surprised if we have a confession out of him in an hour.”
“Pity Mrs Nosy wasn’t right. If he had killed his wife that would really have been straightforward,” Ryan said cheerfully. Manners was not amused.
They did not get a confession out of Grundy, not after one hour or five hours. He sat glowering at them all, an ape of a man with arms swinging, face brick red (Manners could not help reflecting that his appearance was likely to impress a jury unfavourably), and denied everything. Manners, Ryan, Fastness and Jones, questioned him in couples.
“Why did you suddenly decide to leave this country?”
“My partner, Theo Werner, suggested it. I made up my mind he was right.”
“Did you tell him you were going?”
The End Of Solomon Grundy Page 11