by Roger Bax
“That’s decent of you, Inspector. I should be happier if you could tell me whom you were thinking of arresting. It’s not going to be awfully pleasant living under a question-mark.”
“We’re doing all we can,” said the Inspector. “I should try to forget about this business now, if I were you. Why don’t you – er – take Miss Whitworth out to dinner? It would do you good.”
Geoffrey laughed. “Inspector, I’m going to.”
Sharp at seven that evening Geoffrey drew up outside Dr. Whitworth’s house and tooted twice. He watched the door eagerly, and was just getting out to knock when Pamela appeared. She looked very snug in some sort of fur coat – Geoffrey was quite untutored in female clothes – and she was hatless. As she got into the car and snuggled down, he thought he had never seen anyone so lovely. He said, “You know, someone ought to paint you.”
“Someone has.”
“Not really?”
“Aha! One of my father’s patients. I believe it’s hanging somewhere now.”
“You want to be careful with those artist chaps,” said Geoffrey. “They’re an untrustworthy lot.”
“Do you know any?”
“I’ve read about them.”
She laughed. “You’re sweet. Where are we going?”
“I booked a table at Taglioni’s – off Greek Street. It’s quieter than most, and the food isn’t bad. I can leave the car there, too. All right by you?”
“Lovely.”
“Got your thermometer?”
“No, why?”
“My temperature’s rising.”
“You’ll have to go to bed.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you’d have to go to bed.”
“Oh! I say, I apologize for the car. I’m afraid it hardly does you justice. Don’t be scared if she swerves a bit – one of the front hubs is out of alignment. Today’s her twelfth birthday.”
“She seems to have plenty of go in her still.”
“I think she’ll get us there.” Geoffrey suddenly felt that he didn’t want to talk any more. He didn’t want to think, either. He just wanted to enjoy the incredibly exciting adventure of taking Pamela out.
They had crossed Putney Bridge before he spoke again. “I’m glad you called today,” he said. “Sorry to be so banal – but I really am glad. I wish I’d known you longer. I can’t imagine how it was we never met, living so close. I’ve been at Welford Avenue almost six months.”
“And to think I didn’t know!” said Pamela, and Geoffrey laughed.
Taglioni’s was just comfortably full, and their table was pleasantly secluded behind a pillar. They had gin and vermouth, and Geoffrey ordered a bottle of hock. He also handled the menu efficiently.
“This is really a great treat for me – going out to dinner, I mean,” said Pamela. “I see so little of Daddy, and I like to be at home on my free evenings whenever I can, in case he’s free too.”
“I’d like to meet him,” said Geoffrey.
“I dare say it could be arranged,” said Pamela. “It would do him good to talk about something besides medicine. You could tell him all about your adventures.”
“What adventures? I didn’t have any.”
“You must have done – in six years. How did you get into the Navy in the first place?”
“Well – I was a little tired of the paint industry and just applied – usual way. They found I had particularly good eyesight and normal intelligence, so they accepted me for the Signals. Just a rating, of course. I spent some time up on the east coast playing about with morse lamps and semaphores. I wanted a commission, and that meant getting experience at sea. Time passed, and I finally got to Chatham, and then we heard we were going to a depot ship. It turned out to be a station in Bermuda.”
“And that was where your adventures began?”
“You’re pulling my leg. In Bermuda we lay about on a veranda in shorts, peeling potatoes. We also carved a tennis court out of coral limestone. One day the Chief Petty Officer sent for us and told us there was a job to do inland, but there were seven of us, and he only wanted six. He said I’d better stay behind. ‘I know you’re disappointed,’ he said, ‘but don’t worry, we’ll find you another job. We shan’t send you to sea.’ I blurted out, ‘But that’s what I’ve come out here for.’ He said, ‘What? – pack your things and report here at two o’clock.’ And that afternoon I was posted to a cruiser. Just luck, you know.” He raised his glass. “Cheers. Am I talking too much?”
“I love it. Do go on.”
“Well, she was a pretty teased-out ship, but we had some fun in the Pacific. We were supposed to be hunting a German armed merchant cruiser, but we did a three-months’ tour and never saw anything of it. The thing I remember most about that trip was a picnic we had in a sandy desert in Peru, outside a little oil town. Two hundred ratings, salted peanuts, hamburgers and beer, and a dance in the evening with two hundred lonely wives from every township within fifty miles.”
“Yes, I suppose you’d remember that! What about your commission?”
“Well, I got home eventually, went on a lot of courses, and finally finished up a sub-lieut. I’d heard some of the chaps talking about radar, and got interested, and so I asked to be put on Fighter Direction Control. I was posted to an escort carrier, then to a light fleet carrier, and finally to Incorrigible. We were in all the big shows – Iwojima, Okinawa and right up to Japan. Actually I had some aircraft out bombing Tokyo when the news came through on the commercial radio that Japan had surrendered. It was grand fun saying, ‘Come back, boys, it’s all over.’”
“The way you tell it, the whole thing sounds like a holiday from beginning to end.”
“Distance lends enchantment. We sometimes worked twenty-three and a half hours at a stretch!” He relaxed in his chair, as though the mere recollection made him tired. “I don’t know whether it’s the wine or whether it’s you,” he said, “but everything seems so much better tonight. Even though I am suspected of murder.”
Pamela nearly dropped her coffee-cup. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
“Oh, I am, you know. The Inspector was awfully kind and did his best to set my mind at rest, but I’m a suspect all the same.”
“You have an inflated ego,” said Pamela.
“No, I mean it. You see, my father left me some money.”
“There’s nothing unusual in that.”
“But I can’t prove that I didn’t do it. Everyone else can.”
“I’ve never heard anything so absurd in my life,” said Pamela, and she looked quite cross.
“I told you you’d never make a doctor,” said Geoffrey.
“What do you mean?”
“If they brought in a young man with blue eyes and curly black hair, suffering from an acute appendix, you’d take one look at him and say: ‘He couldn’t have an acute appendix. He’s much too nice. Take him away and give him an aspirin.’ ”
Pamela laughed. “Don’t be absurd. I know it’s very easy to make mistakes about people, and I know that an attractive man may be an absolute swine. But if you’re trying to persuade me that you could be a murderer – well, I wouldn’t believe it unless I’d seen you do it with my own eyes.”
“It’s most unscientific, that’s all I can say. The Inspector is less impressionable. He asked me some very probing questions.”
“I expect it’s just routine.”
“I’m getting tired of that phrase – that’s what he says. Anyway, I’m afraid a lot of people are going to believe that I did it.”
“A lot of people!” Her scorn was biting. “Do you mind?”
“I’d give anything to have the case cleared up.”
“You must go on trying to forget it. Keep on working, and take me out to dinner now and again, and pretend it didn’t happen.”
“A counsel of perfection – but if you’ll help, it’ll make forgetting easier. You’re not – engaged or anything?”
She held up her left hand.
“Not a thing!”
“I’ve been trying to see all day.”
“Well, that’s one worry off your mind, isn’t it? I’m only twenty-three, you know.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing. You can do an awful lot in a year or two.”
“I’m fussy,” said Pamela, “and busy.”
“I thought medical students—”
“That was when they were all men. I thought sailors—”
Geoffrey laughed. “There’s not much on my conscience. Maybe I’m fussy, too.”
“I think we’re being rather stupid, anyway,” said Pamela. “I blame the wine. I shall be very angry with myself tomorrow when I recall this conversation.”
“I shall treasure it,” said Geoffrey, “always.”
“Good heavens, you are becoming sentimental, aren’t you? Positively maudlin! I think we ought to be going. It’s been a most pleasant evening. Thank you so much.” She got up more briskly than was necessary.
Geoffrey drove back very carefully, indeed – and very slowly. He said, “Everything I want to say sounds ridiculous before I say it.”
“Then why bother?”
“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“Nonsense. We only met twenty-four hours ago.”
“I counted them, too! Why shouldn’t I be in love with you? You’re beautiful and clever and good. ...”
Pamela wriggled. “I wish you’d stop,” she protested. “You don’t know me a bit. What an impetuous man you are! It’s ... really, it’s quite absurd.”
Geoffrey was silent.
Presently Pamela said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I am impetuous. Off my rocker a bit today. But I don’t take a word of it back,” he added defiantly.
“I wouldn’t want you to,” said Pamela. “I like you. I don’t believe in pretending. I wish I could help you.”
The cloud settled on Geoffrey’s face again.
They passed the end of Welford Avenue and stopped outside the doctor’s lamp. He looked at her. “Good night, Pamela,” he said. “You don’t know how I hate your going. It’s been so wonderful.” He leaned towards her, his arm on the back of her seat. Then he hesitated and said ‘Good night’ again.
She said, “Good night, Geoffrey,” and got out.
“Damn!” said Geoffrey.
Pamela paused. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I wanted to kiss you. My nerve’s gone!”
She put her head inside the car and gave him the lightest of kisses. “Good night, my dear,” she said.
She ran up the steps to the front door and quickly let herself into the house. A voice within her said: “You shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid. It was – too soon.”
Another voice answered defiantly, “But it was nice – and so is he.”
CHAPTER IX
Geoffrey awoke next morning to a mixture of sensations. There was still the consciousness of tragedy, the oppressive thought of another grim day ahead.
But today there was something else as well. He felt stirrings of cheerfulness. He told himself that he ought to be ashamed of himself, with his father only two days dead and still unburied. But he couldn’t help it, and he couldn’t feel ashamed.
As soon as he had bathed and shaved, Geoffrey went downstairs in his dressing-gown to phone from the lounge. Mrs. Armstrong was not moving yet – it was only eight o’clock, and she was making up lost sleep. Geoffrey had to look up the number in the book. He dialled it with a quickened pulse.
“Is that Dr. Whitworth’s house?” he asked. “Is Miss Whitworth about yet, please?”
There was a pause, and then Pamela came on the line. “Who is it?” she asked.
Geoffrey took a deep breath. He even liked her voice over the telephone – a searching test. He said, “It’s me – Geoffrey Hollison.”
“Oh!” said Pamela cautiously. “Good morning. You are an early bird.”
“I thought I might not catch you otherwise. I suppose you’re going off to play with your skeletons today?”
“You suppose quite right.”
“It is Saturday, you know.”
“Hospitals don’t close down on Saturdays.”
“You sound frightfully severe and business-like. I really rang to know when I could have another consultation!”
Pamela hesitated. “Well ...”
“It is the weekend,” Geoffrey pleaded. “It’s the first of March tomorrow, and the glass is high. I believe March is going to come in like a lamb.”
“You can’t expect everyone to follow March’s example,” said Pamela.
“Please! Will you or won’t you?”
“Perhaps tomorrow—”
“All tomorrow! I say, that’s wonderful ...”
“No, not all tomorrow. Heavens, you’re impossible. Perhaps we could go somewhere for tea if it’s a nice day?”
“I know,” said Geoffrey, “let me show you Truant – you remember, the boat. I’ll take a few things and we’ll have tea afloat. What do you say?”
“I’d like that,” said Pamela. “All right, say three o’clock. How are you this morning, Geoffrey? Did you sleep all right?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Slept like a log. Right, I’ll call for you at three. Oh, and Pamela—”
“What?”
“It wasn’t the wine last night. I am in love with you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Pamela.
In the Superintendent’s office an hour or so later, Inspector James was studying with intense interest a report which had come in from headquarters during the night. Apparently there had been a car hold-up on the Southend road on the previous evening. Two men had stopped a Morris 12 and asked for a lift. They had then made the driver get out at the point of a gun and had driven the car away. A passing lorry had taken the owner to a telephone-box and the flying-squad had got busy. The hold-up men had been seen near Walthamstow, and chased at high speed to the Blackwall Tunnel. There, the Morris had crashed on a corner and one of the men had broken his back. The other, practically unhurt, had talked.
“It seems they had quite a flourishing business,” said the Superintendent. “Smart work, catching them.”
“I think you might have told me before about Cross having his car pinched,” the Inspector said reproachfully. “If this chap hadn’t spilt the beans I’d never have known.”
“Sorry, sir – I’d almost forgotten it myself. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with the case.”
“I don’t suppose it has,” said the Inspector. “All the same, I think I’ll pop over this morning and have a word with the fellow they’ve caught. You never know. We seem to have exhausted all other lines. The report on the bloodstained coat doesn’t get us anywhere at all. I knew it wouldn’t. The ashes are just paper and rag. By the way, I went over and had a look at the bombed house before I came here. It’s an important part of Cross’s story.”
“It stands up all right, doesn’t it, sir?”
“The house doesn’t; the story does. The place is just as he described it. The door’s off one of its hinges. There’s broken glass everywhere. The house isn’t too bad inside – not the ground floor, anyway – but the roof’s badly damaged. There’s a lot of rubbish about – bits of smashed furniture and oddments. There are one or two footprints beside the concrete path, but they’re not very clear. I think one of them is a woman’s. They’re no help to us, though. If Cross walked up the concrete he wouldn’t have left any trace.”
“Too bad,” said the Super sympathetically.
“Yes,” said the Inspector, “our luck seems to be out on this case. Look, while I’m over at Barking will you ring Cross for me and ask him if he could make it convenient to be at his flat after dinner tonight? I think I’d like one more talk with him.”
Jackson made a note, and the Inspector departed rather despondently. It didn’t look as though there were going to be any bouquets for him as a result of this job.
If Geoffrey’s feel
ings were mixed that morning, Cross’s were even more mixed. On the one hand he was a successful murderer. The plan had worked perfectly. The alibi would stand. The inquest on Monday would result in a verdict against some person or persons unknown, and they would remain unknown. Vague suspicion would cling to Geoffrey – it was a pity he hadn’t been able to implicate his cousin more deeply, but it would have been fatally easy to try something a shade too clever. It was better as it was. The case would be pigeon-holed, and a fortune was in the bag. It would be quite proper to get in touch with the solicitors after the inquest. There would no longer be any need to go to that wretched paintworks every day. He could begin to make tentative inquiries about a plane. The wide world would be open to him, rich and safe.
And yet Cross was not entirely easy in his mind. The Inspector had not been friendly. Cross himself had kept his temper with difficulty during the search of his flat. Those confounded bloodstains had given him a sleepless night. Throughout the day, as he sat in his office, the thought of what modern analytical methods might achieve with the coat still nagged at his mind. At least they hadn’t asked for a sample of his own blood – that was a good sign. A rather peremptory invitation to be home that evening did not add to his mental comfort.
When he did get back to the flat he bathed and had a couple of short drinks and dined in the restaurant and felt a little better. He was very comfortable, with a box of cigarettes and half a bottle of whisky at his elbow, when the Inspector rang just before eight-thirty.
“Come in, Inspector,” said Cross cheerfully. “Take your coat off and make yourself at home. Have a drink?”
“No, thank you,” said James. He removed his coat and settled himself in a chair.
“You look as though you’ve got a lot on your mind,” said Cross. “Can I help? By the way, did you have fun with the ashes?”