A Blunt Instrument ih-4
Page 24
"Poor devil!"
"Well, that's one way of looking at it," said the Sergeant. "What about the late Ernest and Charlie Carpenter? Seems to me they got a pretty raw deal. And all for what? Just because a silly bit of fluff who was no better than she should be ran off with one of them, and was fool enough to kill herself because of the other! I don't see what you've got to pity Ichabod for. All that'll happen to him is that he'll be sent to Broadmoor, an expense to everybody, and have a high old time preaching death and destruction to the other loonies."
"And you call yourself a psychologist!" said Hannasyde.
"I call myself a flatfoot with a sense of justice, Super," replied the Sergeant firmly. "When I think of the trouble we've been put to, and that maniac ticking us off right and left for being ungodly - well, I daren't let myself think of it for fear I'll go and burst a blood-vessel. What was it first put you on to it?"
"Constable Mather's saying that Brown hadn't taken up his pitch when he passed up Barnsley Street. That, coupled with the conflicting evidence of the pair at the other end of the street, made me suddenly suspicious. The presence of a policeman on the occasions of both murders was the common factor I spoke of. But I admit it did seem to me in the wildest degree improbable. Which is why I didn't tell you anything about it until I'd worked it out a bit more thoroughly. As soon as I began to think it over, all sorts of little points cropped up. For instance, there was the letter from Angela Angel which we found in Carpenter's room. Do you remember the quotations from the Bible in it? Do you remember when we discovered Angela's photograph in Fletcher's drawer that Glass wouldn't look at it, but said something in rather an agitated way about her end being as bitter as wormwood? The more I thought about it the more certain I felt that I'd hit on the solution. When I traced Carpenter's old agent this morning, and got a list of the towns Carpenter visited on that tour his brother spoke of, all I did was to inquire of the police at each one whether a family of the name of Glass lived, or had ever lived, there. As soon as I discovered some Glasses living at Leicester, and heard from the local Superintendent that there had been a girl attached to the family who had run off with an actor some years ago, I knew I was right on to it. All things considered, I thought it wisest to come straight down here and confront Glass with what I knew - before he took it into his head to murder you," he added, twinkling.
"Well, that was nice of you, Chief," said the Sergeant, with exaggerated gratitude. "And what about me getting myself disliked by Brown, and wasting my time watching young Neville try on his uncle's hats?"
"Sorry, but I didn't dare let Glass suspect I might be getting on to his trail. I must notify Neville Fletcher that the mystery is cleared up."
"You needn't bother," replied the Sergeant. "He's lost interest in it."
Hannasyde smiled, but said: "All the same, he must be told what's happened."
"I wouldn't mind betting he'll think it's a funny story. He hasn't got any decency at all, let alone proper feelings. However, I won't deny he dealt with Ichabod better than any of us. You tell him I'm expecting a bit of wedding-cake."
"Whose wedding-cake?" demanded Hannasyde. "Not his own?"
"Yes," said the Sergeant. "Unless that girl with the eyeglass has got more sense than I give her credit for." He was interrupted by the entrance into the room of the Constable on duty, who announced that Mr. Neville Fletcher wanted to speak to him.
"Talk of the devil!" exclaimed the Sergeant.
"Show him in," said Hannasyde. "He's on the phone, sir."
"All right, put the call through."
The Constable withdrew, Hannasyde picked up the receiver, and waited. In a few moments Neville's voice was wafted to him. "Is that Superintendent Hannasyde? How lovely! Where can I buy a special licence? Have you got any?"
"No," replied Hannasyde. "Not our department. I was just coming up to see you, Mr. Fletcher."
"What, again? But I can't be bothered with murder cases now. I'm going to get married."
"You aren't going to be bothered any more. The case is over, Mr. Fletcher."
"Oh, that's a good thing! We've really had quite enough of it. Where did you say I can buy a special licence?"
"I didn't. Do you want to know who murdered your uncle?"
"No, I want to know who keeps special licences!"
"The Archbishop of Canterbury."
"No, does he really? What fun for me! Thanks so much! Goodbye!"
Hannasyde laid down the instrument, a laugh in his eyes.
"Well?" demanded the Sergeant.
"Not interested," Hannasyde replied.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 936416e3-1627-4628-a81c-9d5a678fd46a
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 19 April 2011
Created using: FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
frenky_m
Document history:
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