by Roger Bax
“Good lord,” said the Superintendent.
“That’s what I thought. I said, ‘You were mighty quick doing that, weren’t you – and why didn’t you tell me you’d been back here last night?’ He said it hadn’t seemed important. I said, ‘In a case like this everything’s important and you ought to know that’ – very severely. He looked ashamed of himself and said he was sorry. He said he’d been afraid the stains would stick if he didn’t get them out right away, and that it was his best coat. He said he’d used water on them first and then petrol.”
“Pretty fishy,” said Jackson.
“Fishy? It stinks to heaven! I said, ‘Did you come back here because of the stains or find them when you got here?’ He said he came back because he’d hurt himself and needed a wash and a drink, and that he’d found them after he’d got home. Imagine it – here he was, nearly an hour late for an appointment, having a sort of private wash-day in his room just because of a couple of spots of blood!”
“I suppose we’ll never know now whether it was his blood or not,” said Jackson gloomily.
“I took the coat away on the offchance, but frankly I don’t think there’s a hope. That wasn’t the only funny thing at the flat. His window was open a good eighteen inches – sash window. I said, ‘Do you usually leave your window like that on foggy nights?’ He said he was trying to get rid of the smell of petrol. Then I saw that the grate was full of ashes. I said, ‘What have you been burning here?’ He said, ‘Midnight oil, Inspector.’ I told him not to be funny and he said, ‘Inspector, I’ve been burning papers. As far as I know, it’s not a crime, but you’re welcome to the ashes.’”
“And what did you do?” asked Jackson.
“Super,” said the Inspector, “I’m a conscientious man. I don’t like leaving anything to chance. I took a sample of those ashes, though I felt pretty foolish. Cross just stood there with a sneer on his face. If you ask me, he’s a damned nasty piece of work!” And the Inspector, who was more annoyed than he ever liked to be, blew his nose violently.
“So now where are we?” he went on more slowly. “Cross has been behaving in a rather peculiar way – I would say definitely a suspicious way – but that alibi can’t be got round. He wasn’t there, so he didn’t do it. So who did? Who was the man who was friends with Hollison, who socked him for a reason we don’t know, at a time which showed he knew all about the domestic arrangements, who telephoned to establish an alibi, who disguised his voice because it was pretty well known around here, and who then vanished into thin air? Who?” And Inspector James thumped the Superintendent ’s desk.
“Search me, Inspector. I haven’t an idea.”
“Neither have I,” said the Inspector, “but we’ll find him. It’s just routine – we’ll stick at it and we’ll find him.”
CHAPTER VIII
About the same time that the Inspector was calling on the Superintendent, there was a knock at the door of the Hollison house in Welford Avenue, and when Mrs. Armstrong went to see who it was she found a young woman on the doorstep.
“Good morning,” said the visitor. “I’m Pamela Whitworth. I wondered if there was anything I could do for you.”
Mrs. Armstrong, tight-lipped and outwardly composed again after the shock of the night, looked Miss Whitworth up and down carefully, but could find nothing to disapprove of.
“It’s very kind of you,” she said. “Mr. Geoffrey’s in – I daresay he’ll be glad to see you. He needs somebody to take him out of himself. Won’t you come in?”
“Thanks,” said Pamela.
“He’s all right, of course – so far as anyone can be. It’ll take us all some time to get over that horror. He was talking about you only a few minutes ago. He’s very grateful for what you did.”
“I’m afraid there wasn’t much I could do,” said Pamela. “You’re sure I can’t get you anything – take any messages? You must be terribly worried and busy, and I don’t have to go to the hospital today.”
Mrs. Armstrong smiled and shook her head. “Whatever has to be done, it’ll do me good to do,” she said finally. “If you can cheer Mr. Geoffrey up a bit you’ll be doing us all a good turn.”
Geoffrey came to the door of the lounge, looked out and said: “Hello, there. I thought it was you.” He held out his hand. “Come on in. It’s nice to see you.” There were shadows under his eyes, and he was grave and subdued. Pamela felt deeply sorry for him.
“Don’t hesitate to throw me out when you want to,” she said, loosening her coat. “I expect you have a lot to do.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Geoffrey, “I was just thinking how quiet it was. I thought I’d better stick around today, in case the Inspector wanted me, but so far nobody’s even telephoned. After last night’s rumpus, the silence was getting a little unnerving. I say, do take your coat off – you look as though you’re just going. Or are you in a hurry?”
“Not a bit,” said Pamela.
He took the coat, folded it inside out and placed it carefully over the arm of a chair.
“I think it was spendid the way you took charge last night,” he said. “I wanted to thank you. I’m afraid I was very offhand at the time – everything happened in such a rush and muddle. Cigarette?”
“Thanks,” said Pamela. “What about you?”
He produced his pipe and sank into an easy chair opposite her. For the first time he really looked at her carefully. There was no doubt about it – she was quite lovely. Usually he found redheads hopelessly disappointing – they were marvellous from a back view, and then when they turned round they had thin pink-and-white complexions and plain features. This girl was quite different. Her hair was a deep Titian, loose to her shoulders; her complexion was creamy and her eyes were a warm brown. He had never seen anyone like her before.
He suddenly realized he was gaping, and smiled. “Sorry,” he said, “that was very rude. The fact is – forgive my awful nerve – you’re very good to look at. Really, quite a tonic! You’ll have to be careful not to get your patients into trouble when you start doctoring. That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it?”
“That’s the plan,” said Pamela. “I’ve another two years to do yet before I qualify. It’s rather an expense for Daddy, but he’s keen about it, too.”
“You like it?”
“It’s fascinating. Very hard work, of course, but never dull. I like the theatre work. Watching, I mean – naturally I don’t do it myself yet. But I’d like to be a surgeon. We’ve got some very good ones – women. After all, you don’t need the build of a coal-heaver to remove an appendix, and I’ve a very cool head.”
“You certainly have,” said Geoffrey. “Of course, you don’t look like a surgeon. You never would look like a surgeon. I don’t know that I’m in favour of women doing jobs like that.”
“Oh, you’re just old-fashioned. When a patient’s really ill, he doesn’t care whether it’s a man or a woman who operates. The more pain, the fewer the prejudices. Anyway, I beat a lot of the men in the Third Year lists. We’ll see.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Geoffrey said: “I’ve been thinking about last night. It’s been a hideous business, but I was very glad that you thought my father died at once.”
“There’s no question at all about it. He couldn’t possibly have known what happened.”
“It’s a great relief. I couldn’t bear to think of the old boy dying there in pain and God knows what agony of mind. We’ve always been pretty good friends, you know. I shall miss him a lot.”
Pamela nodded.
“Of course, we’ve not seen much of each other lately, because of the war, but he used to write regularly and we kept pretty close. The damnably tragic thing is that it should happen now, just when the war was over and he was beginning to enjoy life again. He was so proud and happy when Arthur and I came back – he looked good for ten or twenty years, he really did. But why should I worry you with my troubles?”
“Please go on,” said Pamela. “It�
��ll do you good to talk.”
Geoffrey couldn’t help smiling. “You sound terribly professional,” he said. “But, as a matter of fact, it probably will. To you, anyway. No, the thing was he didn’t act like an old man – he was interested in things. He was a fine sailor, you know, in his time. You wouldn’t have thought it, seeing him cruising about the river in Truant – that’s a boat he had on the river. All engine, no sail. But before the war he had a cutter, about ten tons, and he and I used to have wonderful fun round the coasts. I think he knew every creek from the Thames right up to Yarmouth – and they take some knowing. He really loved the sea, and that’s how I came to love it. We had a few narrow escapes – you can’t help that – but he really knew his stuff. I thought he’d live to a ripe old age and now—Oh, it doesn’t seem right! A bloody end like that!”
“I know,” said Pamela softly. “It’s the way it happened that’s shocked you so much. It’s far worse for you than for him. You should see some of the old people who come in to us and die slowly after hopeless operations. He might have been like that. But I know it’s no good talking that way. ...”
Geoffrey re-lit his pipe. “Well,” he said, “it’s all over now. All except the damned inquest and the police inquiry and all the worry about who on earth could have done it. Lord knows what’ll happen to the business. Have you met my cousin Arthur Cross, by the way?”
“I think I may have passed him as I went out last night. I didn’t speak to him. How has he taken it?”
“He doesn’t show his feelings much. Naturally, Father didn’t mean as much to him. He’s an odd chap – he was taken prisoner early in the war and had a bad time. It changed him a good deal. I expect you’ll meet him. He’s done very well in the business – probably it would be best if he took it over. I was going into it myself – the old man was very keen – but now—”
“Can’t you go on being a sailor?”
“I’m too old for peacetime. Just passing on what I know and then passing out. The Navy likes to get ’em young – thirteen, isn’t it? – and train them up. I say, did the police contact you today?”
“Oh, yes, I had a session with the Superintendent over breakfast. He was interested in the man who telephoned, but I couldn’t help him much.”
“Well, I suppose it’s their job, not ours. I can’t see a glimmer of light myself. Oh, must you go?”
“I think I ought to,” said Pamela. “I’ve got to go and queue. That’s what comes of having a free day.”
“It’s been so nice,” said Geoffrey, helping her on with her coat. “Bit grim for you, but very kind. I must really stop feeling sorry for myself. Look, I suppose you’re not free for dinner tonight?”
“I could be,” said Pamela.
Geoffrey brightened at once. “Really? I say, that’s marvellous. You’ll probably save me from getting quietly drunk. Let’s go up to town – I know one or two cosy places. We can drive up in the old Morris, if you don’t mind. Suppose I pick you up at seven?”
“Lovely,” said Pamela. Geoffrey went with her to the gate and stood watching her as she walked briskly down the road.
Early that afternoon Geoffrey rang the Superintendent’s office.
“This is Geoffrey Hollison,” he said. “Any news?”
“The Inspector’s on his way round now, I think,” said Jackson. “How are you feeling, sir?”
“Not too bad, thanks. Yes, you’re right – his car’s just stopped. Bye.” He went into the hall and let the Inspector in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hollison,” said James, in reply to Geoffrey’s greeting. “I hope you’ll forgive me for troubling you again.”
“Forgive you! I’ve been waiting for you. Nobody tells me anything. Even Miss Whitworth knows more than I do.”
“Ah – Miss Whitworth’s been calling, has she? Nice girl. The Superintendent has quite lost his head.”
“It wouldn’t be hard,” said Geoffrey. “Well, what’s your news, Inspector – if any?”
“The inquest will be on Monday,” said James. “You’ll be there, of course – I’ve rung Mr. Cross and told him. We shall want Mrs. Armstrong as well, and Miss Whitworth.”
Geoffrey nodded. “You haven’t ... you don’t know yet who did it?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. The trouble is that if we rule out the possibility of a complete stranger being responsible – as we must – there are very few people in this case.”
“I know. I lay awake last night doing mental arithmetic. Unless there’s a completely dark horse somewhere you could count your ‘possibles’ on two or three fingers.”
“Two,” said James. “But there’s no evidence.”
“There’s a first-class motive, Inspector. You were frank enough yesterday, and I’m not blind. Who in the whole world benefited by my father’s death? Myself and Arthur. But Arthur couldn’t have done it. Do you think I did – now that you’ve had a night to reflect on the situation?”
The Inspector smoked stolidly. Presently he said: “I went over to the College this morning, Mr. Hollison. About those notes.”
Geoffrey nodded. “I don’t suppose you’ve made me very popular there, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“I don’t know,” said the Inspector; “I don’t think you’ll find your reputation’s suffered. I called on the Director of the School.”
“I’m sure he was most helpful.”
“Yes, he was. He – er – he said some nice things about you. Not evidence, of course. No use in a court, but still quite helpful. He said he hadn’t heard your lecture yesterday, but that as it was nearly lunch-time and the morning session was over we’d go and have a drink in the wardroom and talk to the chaps who had heard it.”
Geoffrey grinned. “I bet they did you well.”
“They were most hospitable. Important people, too – captains, commanders, lieutenant-commanders – I’ve never seen so much gold braid all at once. It took quite a while to get around to the subject of your lecture. Anyway, in the end I said: ‘Well, gentlemen, I understand you were all at a lecture given by Lieutenant-Commander Geoffrey Hollison yesterday afternoon. There’s just one question I want to ask you. Did the lecture seem to go quite smoothly, or was there a break in the continuity at any point?’ ”
“Well,” said Geoffrey, “what did they say?”
“One of them, Mr. Hollison, said your lectures never go smoothly. Another said, ‘What was the fellow talking about yesterday? – dashed if I can remember.’ A third – an American commander, very nice fellow – said, ‘Have another drink, Inspector.’ ”
“Damn!” said Geoffrey. “I wish I’d been there.”
“I thought you’d feel like that. I said to them: ‘Gentlemen, Mr. Hollison’s life may be in some danger. If you can answer my question, you will probably help him.’”
“God!” said Geoffrey softly.
“There was a dead silence – it’s a wonderful building, that – very quiet. Then a young lieutenant said: ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at, Inspector, but if you’re serious, I was up near the front and at one point he seemed to have lost something. It wasn’t very obvious but I saw him shuffling through his notes. Is that what you mean?’ I said: ‘That’s exactly what I mean and I’m very grateful to you. Mr. Hollison will be giving his lecture next week as usual.’”
Geoffrey bit hard on the stem of his pipe. “You are a damn fool, Inspector, why the devil couldn’t you tell me that in the first place?”
“Just routine, Mr. Hollison – my routine. Anyway, I think that disposes of the notes as far as you’re concerned. I should think it’s a thousand to one that the murderer put the notes under the body just to make things more difficult. But he must have known the significance of them.”
“Nobody could have known – except my father – and Arthur.”
“And we know that Mr. Cross didn’t do it. Of course, if we were willing to – what shall I say? – enter the realms of fantasy we should have to admit that you could have left the no
tes at home, and still have put them under the body as a sort of double bluff in the evening – or picked them up from the telephone and then dropped them again. Crime can be such a very complex thing.”
“And I was just beginning to think you’d let me out,” said Geoffrey reproachfully. “I can’t take that last idea of yours very seriously.”
“I wouldn’t like you to lose sleep over it. There’s just one question I wanted to ask you, while I’m here – I hope you won’t resent it. What’s your financial position?”
Geoffrey looked surprised. “My financial position? I – er – I don’t know. It’s all right, I suppose. Do you want to borrow some money?”
“No, Mr. Hollison, I just wanted to find out whether you were solvent. You’re sure you haven’t been gambling heavily, or running into debt, or entertaining too many Wrens?” There was a disarming twinkle in the Inspector’s eye.
Geoffrey sat back, relieved. “My dear Inspector, I haven’t time. I’m officially attached to the Admiralty, you know, and I have some duties there as well as at the College. We’re kept at it pretty hard. I get my pay – you can look up what a lieutenant-commander gets after deductions. Then my father insisted on making me an allowance of a thousand a year, though frankly I didn’t need it. I’ve no idea what my balance is at the bank, but I’m sure it’s adequate. I’ll ask the manager to let you know.”
The Inspector nodded. “You’re really too good to be true!”
“I resent that. Just because you live in a world of crime ... I’ve been at sea for six years, remember, and you can’t get into much trouble there.”
“I suppose not. Anyway, I’m glad you’re in the clear financially.”
“I wish I were in the clear altogether. You know, I believe you still think of me as a suspect in spite of everything you’ve said.”
“I’ll be quite honest with you,” said James. “You could be the murderer. There is – how shall I put it? – a lack of evidence that you didn’t do it. You could have got there in time. You could have had a motive, though in your case it isn’t as strong as it might seem, because you’re not the sort that’s primarily interested in money. On the other hand, there’s not a shadow of evidence that you did it. Not a particle. At the moment I can’t go beyond that. All I can say is that if I were thinking of arresting you I shouldn’t be telling you this.”