She faltered: "I don't think I understand."
"If you think it over, I feel sure you will," he suggested. "If your evidence is true, Fletcher was alive at one minute past ten."
"Yes," she said hesitantly. "Yes, of course he must have been."
"Yet at 10.02 the Constable saw an unknown man coming out of the garden-gate; and by 10.05 Fletcher was dead, and there was no trace to be found of his murderer."
"You mean it couldn't have happened?"
"Consider it for yourself, Mrs. North. If you say that the man you saw left at 9.58, who was the man the Constable saw?"
"How can I possibly tell?"
"Can you suggest any reason to account for his presence in the garden?"
"No, of course I can't. Unless he murdered Ernie."
"In considerably less than a minute?"
She stared at him uncomprehendingly. "I suppose not. I don't know. Are you - are you accusing me of having murdered Ernie Fletcher?"
"No, Mrs. North. But I am suggesting that you have falsified your evidence."
"It's not true! I did see Ernie taking that man to the gate! If there was another man in the garden, I knew nothing of it. You've no right to say I falsified my evidence! Why should I?"
"If, Mrs. North, you did, in point of fact, recognise the man who entered the garden, that in itself might constitute a very good reason for falsifying your evidence."
Sally's hand descended on her sister's shoulder, and gripped it. "Quiet. You're not obliged to answer."
"But I didn't! What I told you was true! I know nothing about the second man, and since I heard Ernie whistling just before I went into the hall I presume he was alive at a minute past ten. You want me to say he didn't see that man out, but you won't succeed! He did!"
"That's enough," said Sally. She looked across at Hannasyde. "My sister is entitled to see her solicitor before she answers any questions, I think. Well, she isn't going to say any more now. You've heard her evidence: if you can't make it fit with your constable's evidence, that's your look out, not hers."
She spoke with considerable pugnacity, but Hannasyde replied without any apparent loss of temper: "Certainly she may consult her solicitor before answering me. I think she would be wise to. But perhaps she will be good enough to tell me where I may find Mr. John North?"
"I don't know!" Helen said sharply. "He didn't tell me where he was going. All I can tell you is that he isn't coming back to dinner, and may be late home."
"Thank you," said Hannasyde, rising to his feet. "Then I won't detain you any longer, Mrs. North."
Helen stretched her hand towards the bell, but Sally said curtly: "I'll see him out," and strode to the door and opened it.
When she returned to the library she found her sister pacing up and down, a twisted handkerchief being jerked between her hands. She looked at her under frowning brows, and inquired: "So now what?"
"What am I going to do?"
"Search me. Do you feel inclined to tell me the truth?"
"What I have already said is the truth, and nothing will make me go back on it!" Helen said, holding Sally's eyes with her own.
There was a slight pause. "All right," Sally said. "I don't know that I blame you."
Chapter Ten
Joining his superior outside the gate, Sergeant Hemingway said: "Nothing much to be made of it my end. Did you shake the fair Helen?"
"No. She's sticking to it that her story's true. She's bound to, of course. I didn't expect her to go back on it. What I did want to do - and what I rather fancy I succeeded in doing - was to frighten her. Did you get anything out of the servants?"
"Precious little. The butler saw young Neville walking off down the drive at about 12.30 that night, which makes it look as though what he told me was true. Otherwise, I wasted my time. Old-fashioned sort of servants: been employed there several years, seem to be fond of both master and mistress, and aren't talking. Come to think of it, it's a pity there aren't more like them - though not from our point of view. Did you get the impression Mrs. North was working in cahoots with her husband, or what?"
"I don't know. Her sister warned her not to answer me until she'd seen her solicitor, so I didn't press the matter."Just about what that dame with the eyeglass would do!" remarked the Sergeant disapprovingly. "In my young days women didn't know anything about such things. I don't believe in all this emancipation. It isn't natural. What are we going to do now? Get after young Neville?"
"No. I'm going back to the police station. It's no use my tackling Neville. I haven't anything against him, except the state of his bank overdraft, and he knows it. I'm hoping Glass may have managed to make contact with that postman. As far as I can see, the two people we've got to get hold of are North and Carpenter. I'll put a call through to North's office, and find out if he's there, or has been there. With any luck Jevons has been able to ferret out some more information about Angela Angel. I put him on to that first thing this morning. Which reminds me that there's one thing I want to pick up, and that's a photograph of Fletcher. We'll call in at Greystones on our way, and borrow one from his sister. I take it no photograph was found amongst Angela Angel's possessions?"
"Only a few of stage pals, and one of Charlie Carpenter. I asked Jimmy Gale particularly, but he was positive there wasn't one of the man who'd been keeping her. Few flies on the late Ernest. Think Angela's an important factor, Chief?"
Hannasyde did not answer for a moment. As they turned in at the front gate of Greystones, he said: "I hardly know. If North's our man, I should say not. But in some way or other she seems to be linked up with the case. It won't do any harm to see what we can find out about her."
He rang the front-door bell, and in a few minutes the door was opened by Simmons, who, however, told them that his mistress had gone out. Hannasyde was about to ask him if he could produce a photograph of his master when Neville strayed into the hall from a room overlooking the drive, and said with his shy, slow smile: "How lovely for me! I was getting so tired of my own company, and I daren't go out in case you're having me watched. My aunt wouldn't like it if I became conspicuous. But where's the Comic Strip? You don't mean to tell me you haven't brought him?"
The Sergeant put up a hand to his mouth. Neville's large eyes reproached him. "You can't like me as much as I thought you did," he said, softly slurring his words. "I've learnt two new bits to say to him, and I'm sure I shan't be able to carry them in my head much longer."
The Sergeant had to fight against a desire to ask what the new bits might be. He said: 'Ah, I daresay, sir!" in a non-committal tone.
Young Mr. Fletcher, who seemed to have an uncanny knack of reading people's thoughts, said confidentially: "I know you want me to tell you what they are. I would - though you oughtn't to try and pick my brains, you know - if it weren't for the Superintendent's being with you. You understand what I mean: they're awfully broad - not to say vulgar."
The Sergeant cast an imploring glance at his superior, who said with an unmoved countenance: "You can tell the Sergeant some other time, Mr. Fletcher. I called in the hope of seeing your aunt, but perhaps you can help me in her stead. Have you a photograph of your uncle which you could let me borrow for a few days?"
"Oh no!" said Neville. "I mean, I haven't. But if I had I wouldn't lend it to you: I'd give it to you."
"Extremely kind of you, but -'
"Well, it isn't really," Neville explained, "because I hate photographs. I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll give you the one that stands on a table all to itself in the drawing-room. As a matter of fact, I was wondering what next I could do to annoy my aunt."
"I have no wish to annoy Miss Fletcher. Isn't there some other -'
"No, but I have," said Neville in his gentle way. "I shan't tell her I gave it to you, and then she'll organise a search for it. That will be uncomfortable, of course, but since I started to do good turns I've found that they invariably entail a certain amount of self-immolation, which has a very degrading effect on the character."
Talking all the time, he had led the way into the drawingroom, where, as he had described, a large studio portrait of his uncle stood in solitary state upon an incidental table. He stopped in front of it, and murmured: "Isn't it a treat?"
"I don't want to borrow a photograph which Miss Fletcher obviously values," said Hannasyde somewhat testily. "Surely there must be another somewhere."
"Oh, there is, beside my aunt's bed! But I shan't let you have that, because it wouldn't suit my book. There's an almost indistinguishable but certainly existent line drawn between the counter and the added irritant."
"I'm bothered if I know what you're talking about, sir!" said the Sergeant, unable to contain himself. "Nice way to treat your poor aunt!"
The flickering gaze rested on his face for an instant. "Yes, isn't it? Will you have it with or without frame, Superintendent?"
"Without, please," Hannasyde replied, looking at him a little curiously. "I think I understand. Your methods are slightly original, aren't they?"
"I'm so glad you didn't say eccentric," said Neville, extracting the portrait from its frame. "I hate being called eccentric. Term employed by mediocre minds to describe pure rationalism. Now I will hide the frame, and bribe Simmons to keep his mouth shut. Practically the only advantage I have yet discovered in inheriting a fortune is the ability it confers on one to exercise the unholy power of bribery."
"And then I suppose you'll join in the search for it?" said the Sergeant, torn between disapproval and amusement.
"No, that would savour strongly of hypocrisy," answered Neville serenely. "There you are, Superintendent. I shan't invite you to stay and have tea, because my aunt might come back."
Once outside the house, the Sergeant said: "Came over me in a flash! Do you know what that silly smile of his makes me think of, Super?"
"No, what?"
"That picture people make such a fuss about, though why I've never been able to make out. Pie-faced creature, with a nasty, sly smile."
"The Mona Lisa!" Hannasyde laughed suddenly. "Yes, I see what you mean. Odd young man. I can't make up my mind about him at all."
"There are times," said the Sergeant, "when I'd ask nothing better than to be able to pin this murder on to him. However, I'm bound to say it isn't, to my way of thinking, arty enough for him. My lord would go all out for something pretty subtle, if you ask me."
"I shouldn't be at all surprised if you're right," said Hannasyde.
In another few minutes they boarded an omnibus which set them down within a stone's throw of the police station. PC Glass had not returned from his quest, and Hannasyde, having ascertained over the telephone that North was not at his office, put through a call to Scotland Yard, and asked whether Inspector Jevons had come in. He was soon connected with the Inspector, who had, however, little to report. He had discovered the block of flats in which her unknown protector had installed Angela Angel, but her apartment had been rented by a man calling himself Smith. The hall porter was sure he would recognise the gentleman if he saw him again, and described him as being slim, dark, and very well dressed.
Hannasyde glanced at his watch, and decided to return to London, leaving the Sergeant to pick up any information that Glass might bring in. He appointed a meeting-time at Headquarters, and went off, bearing the portrait of Fletcher with him.
It was some little while before Glass presented himself, and when he did arrive he appeared to be suffering from strong indignation. He no sooner set eyes on the Sergeant than he said sternly: 'Whoso causeth the righteous to go astray in an evil way, he shall fall himself into his own pit!"
"What on earth's the matter with you?" said the Sergeant. "You can't have been on the jag, because the pubs aren't open yet."
"Let them be ashamed and confounded together that seek after my soul to destroy it! I will turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity; I am like a green olive tree in the house of the Lord."
"Look here, what the devil have you been up to?" demanded the Sergeant.
Glass fixed him with a sombre glare. "Mine eyes have beheld lewdness, and a Babylonish woman!" he announced.
"Where?" asked the Sergeant, suddenly interested.
"In a glittering house of corruption I have seen these things. I have escaped from an horrible pit."
"If you mean what I think you do, all I can say is that I'm ashamed of you," said the Sergeant severely. "What were you doing in that kind of a house, I'd like to know? The Chief told you to find the postman; instead of obeying orders you go and -'
"I have done as I was bidden. I have found him though my feet were led in the path of destruction."
"Now, look here, my lad, that's quite enough. There's no need to go nuts over the postman's morals. It doesn't matter to you where you found him, as long as you did find him - though I must say I'd no idea postmen got up to those kinds of larks in the suburbs. Did you get his evidence?"
"I summoned him forth from that place of sin, yes, and his wife also -'
"What?" exclaimed the Sergeant. "Here, where was the poor fellow?"
"In a playhouse, which is an habitation of the devil."
"Do you mean to tell me all this song and dance is because the postman took his wife to the pictures in his off time?" gasped the Sergeant. "It's my belief you're crazy! Now, cut it out, and let's get down to brass tacks!
Did he see Mrs. North on the night of the murder, or did he not?"
"I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart," apologised Glass, with a groan. "But I will make my report." He produced a notebook, and with a bewilderingly sudden change from zeal to officialdom, read in a toneless voice: "On the night of 17 June, having cleared the box at the corner of Glynne Road at 10.00 p.m. precisely, the postman, by name Horace Smart, of 14 Astley Villas, Marley, mounted his bicycle, and proceeded in an easterly direction, passing the gates of Greystones. Smart states he saw a woman walking down the drive."
"Did he notice whether she was carrying anything?"
"He states that she carried nothing, that when he saw her she had one hand raised to hold her hair against the breeze. With the other she held up the skirts of her dress."
"Did he recognise -'The Sergeant broke off to answer the telephone, which at that moment interrupted him. "Scotland Yard? Right! Put 'em through Hullo? Hemingway speaking."
"We've got Carpenter for you," announced a voice at the other end of the line.
"You have?" said the Sergeant incredulously. "Nice work! Where is he?"
"We don't know that, but we can tell you where he will be this evening. Got it through Light-Fingered Alec, who says Carpenter's hanging out in a basement room at 43 Barnsley Street, W. That's -'
"Half a shake!" said the Sergeant, reaching for a pencil. "43 Barnsley Street, W. - basement room. Where is Barnsley Street?"
"I'm telling you. You know the Glassmere Road? Well, Barnsley Street leads out of it into Letchley Gardens."
"Letchley Gardens? Classy address for friend Carpenter."
"It would be if he lived there, but he doesn't. Barnsley Street's not so hot. No. 43 looks like a lodging-house. Do you want Carpenter pulled in?"
"I thought you said you didn't know where he was?"
"We don't, but his landlady might."
The Sergeant thought for a moment, and then said: "No. You never know, and we don't want to give him warning we're on to him. He'll keep till he gets home. I'm meeting the Superintendent at the Yard when I get through here. We'll go along to this Barnsley Street then, and catch his lordship unawares."
"Well, from what Light-Fingered Alec told Fenton, you won't find him till latish. He's got a job in some restaurant. Anything else we can do for you?"
"Not that I know of. If he's working in a restaurant, the Chief may decide to pick him up in the morning. Anyway, I'll be seeing you. So long!" He replaced the receiver, and said with satisfaction: "Well, now we are getting on, and no mistake!" He found that Glass was still waiting, open notebook in hand, and his eyes fixed on his face, and said: "Oh ye
s, you! What was I saying?"
"You were about to ask me whether the man Smart recognised the woman he saw. And I answer you, No. He rode upon the other side of the road, and saw but the figure of a female, her robe caught up in one hand, the other smoothing her hair, which the breeze ruffled."
"Oh well, there doesn't seem to be much doubt it was Mrs. North, anyway!" said the Sergeant. He collected his papers together and got up. The Constable was apparently still brooding over the experience through which he had passed, for he said with a shudder: "The lamp of the wicked shall be put out: but the tabernacle of the righteous shall flourish."
"I daresay," agreed the Sergeant, bestowing his papers in his case. "But if the picture you saw was wicked enough to set you off like this, all I can say is I wish I'd seen it. I've never struck a really hot one in my life - not what I call hot, that is."
"How long shall thy vain thoughts lodge within thee?" demanded Glass. "I tell you, when the wicked perish there is shouting!"
"You go off home, and treat yourself to a nice aspirin," recommended the Sergeant. "I've had enough of you for one day."
"I will go," Glass replied, restoring his notebook to his pocket. "I am tossed up and down as the locust."
The Sergeant deigned no reply, but walked out of the office. Later, when he met Superintendent Hannasyde in his room at Scotland Yard, he said: "You've properly put your foot into it now, Chief. Turned poor old Glass into a locust, that's what you've done. You never heard such a commotion in your life!"
"What on earth - ?"
"Led his feet into a horrible pit," said the Sergeant with unction. "I've sent him off duty to get over it."
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