An Awkward Lie

by Michael Innes

  ‘Accepts orders, Sergeant, and expects to have his own accepted.’

  ‘Orders, sir?’ Sergeant Howard frowned. ‘I take his. But where should his come from? Not from London, unless I have a very wrong notion of the legal position of the Constabulary.’

  ‘You haven’t. Clearly you haven’t. But sometimes, I suppose, there are overruling considerations.’

  ‘No doubt, sir.’ Howard’s tone didn’t suggest that he was prepared to allow much to this. ‘There’s no damned body. That’s the mischief.’

  ‘It would be simpler if there was a body?’

  ‘Of course it would. The Coroner would have to sit on it. But there’s no body. There’s nothing but a story told by your son. A true story.’

  ‘You judge it to be a true story?’

  ‘I thought I’d made that clear to you already, Sir John.’ Howard spoke stiffly. ‘I consider Mr Appleby’s testimony to be wholly reliable.’

  ‘So does Colonel Pride, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Well, yes. I think he does. But he takes these orders–’

  ‘Which are not orders, at all?’

  ‘Of course they’re not. The Prime Minister himself couldn’t give such an order. I doubt whether the Queen in Council could.’

  ‘I see you are a student of the Constitution, Sergeant. I was interested in it myself. But, of course, there are other powers.’ Appleby pointed to the newspapers on a table. ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Just so, sir.’

  ‘At least it tells us something. You and I.’

  ‘That’s very true sir.’ Howard had brightened. ‘It does give us a line.’

  ‘Ought we to have a line? Is it at all our affair?’

  ‘It’s your son’s affair, Sir John.’

  ‘So it is.’ For a moment Appleby was silent. ‘It’s also their affair. Do you want me to say whether I have any confidence in them?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a proper question for me to ask.’

  ‘No more it would. But – implicitly, at least – you are asking it. Well, it’s my impression that they’re better than they were.’

  ‘That may well be.’

  ‘Yes. But they keep some of their old vices – or is it virtues? – still. Mum’s the word.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘A mania for covering up. And – as my man Hoobin says – always the right hand not knowing what the left hand doth. It’s not the technique you and I were brought up in, Sergeant.’

  ‘Decidedly not. And I’m wondering whether there’s anything you can do, sir. You see what the position is. But for that newspaper report – which is the kind of thing nobody remembers after three or four days – there’s nothing. Nothing public, I mean. And there’s nothing at all except your son’s report to us.’

  ‘And your telephone call that was supposed to come from the Home Office.’

  ‘Well, yes – but that might just be a joker who had read the paragraph in the paper. So the evidence is simply Mr Appleby’s statement. Now, suppose nothing more ever happens. Anybody who remembers anything at all about the matter will vaguely suppose that some sort of hoax was being played upon the police. There would be nothing which could be called particularly injurious to Mr Appleby’s reputation in that. So one can see that the Chief Constable is rather awkwardly placed when he gets this hint or order or whatever to let be. As I say, it’s the lack of the body that cripples us. If we just had that, we could force these people’s hand if we wanted to.’

  ‘We could do nothing without consultation with them, Sergeant. Ten to one, what we are witnessing is simply their conventional hugger-mugger and instinct to cover up. But it’s just possibly something quite different. They may want no further action, no further publicity, for some very weighty reason indeed.’

  ‘Well, I can see that. But a totally illegal embargo on a normal police investigation doesn’t please me. Particularly when its effect is to brand a respectable young man like Mr Appleby as either deluded or frivolous.’

  ‘My dear Howard, I very much appreciate your feeling that way.’ Appleby paused, and glared through the high mullioned window of the breakfast-room. Solo Hoobin had finished clearing the lawn of its litter, and was now preparing to ride up and down it on the mowing-machine. It was having been given the freedom of this exciting implement within the secure boundaries of Dream that had first put into Solo’s head the more hazardous ambition of owning a moped. Solo swung the engine as Appleby watched, and then stood back with a kind of proprietary pride at the resulting roar. The ancient Hoobin had now appeared, and had plainly appointed as his morning’s task the onerous business of directing his nephew’s further progress. Appleby got up and closed the window. ‘So there is something I must tell you,’ he said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What you would like to have – say, what you and the Chief Constable would both like to have – is a little independent evidence. Evidence, I mean, that there was a body – that there was a body and a girl and a motor-car with a trailer-caravan and a couple of strange men. The whole set-up that we know perfectly well Bobby did not imagine. I think that’s right?’

  ‘It wouldn’t come amiss, Sir John. Of course, we wouldn’t act irresponsibly. But it would be satisfactory, shall we say, to have something of the kind under our hand.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, we have.’ Appleby pointed through the window. ‘Do you know that lad of mine out there – Solo Hoobin?’

  ‘Yes, I do – although nothing against him.’ Howard sounded doubtful. ‘A bit of a natural, isn’t he?’

  ‘Well, Sergeant, that’s our old-fashioned word for it. They’d now call Solo ESN. Educationally subnormal. I dare say he was never much of a candidate for the Eleven Plus. Still, he has eyes in his head.’

  ‘You mean, sir, that this young man saw–?’

  ‘The body in the bunker. And then the two men and the girl making off with it. It was on a poaching expedition on Monday night and Tuesday morning.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ As he uttered this exclamation, Sergeant Howard sprang to his feet. ‘If I’d known–’

  ‘It came to me only half-an-hour ago, Sergeant. It was pure chance that I started getting it out of Solo at all. He didn’t want trouble.’

  ‘They never do.’ Howard frowned. ‘He wouldn’t – would he? – make much of a witness, sir.’

  ‘He had a companion of his own age called Jem Puckrup, whom I haven’t seen. Quite a different type is Jem. As sharp as they come. No magistrate could take it into his head that Jem had been dreaming something up.’ Appleby paused. ‘Will you have another cup of coffee?’ he asked.

  Howard had sat down again, but not without evident reluctance. He had been given a lead, and it was his impulse to follow it up at once. Solo Hoobin, in fact, had come very near to being whisked off to the police station at Linger – an event which would have alarmed him very much. Given his head, Howard would have had Jem Puckrup in too – and Jem would in consequence be in a position to enjoy several glorious evenings of free beer at the Killcanon Arms on the strength of his experience. Appleby judged this undesirable. It would, of course, be entirely impossible for him to withhold from either Howard or Colonel Pride the information he had come by from Solo. But, as an interim measure at least, he wanted his own way with it now.

  ‘Would you think of having a word with those two lads, Sergeant?’ he asked diplomatically.

  ‘Well, yes. It would only be in order, sir, if I may say so.’

  ‘Perfectly right. Would you care to ring through to the Chief Constable now? You’ll find the telephone in the library entirely private.’

  ‘You think I ought to have his authority, Sir John?’ It was unmistakable that Howard wasn’t too pleased.

  ‘Well, I do think that you and I, Sergeant, must both mind our step. This is a delicate matter, whe
ther we like it or not. And perhaps we should consider where we stand with these two lads now. The major likelihood is that we already know everything material that they have to tell. But I don’t put it higher than that, mark you. You might well pick up from Solo out there something that I let slip by me.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s at all probable, sir.’ Howard was already mollified.

  ‘But there’s another side to the thing. As the matter stands, both Solo and Jem will continue to keep quiet. Solo thinks of me as reliable. He probably won’t let on to Jem Puckrup that he’s told his story. And their chief thought, as I said, is to keep out of trouble. Once the police tackle them, and they know they’re involved, their motive for keeping their mouths shut will be gone. They’ll have a high old time spinning their yarn.’

  ‘Quite true, sir. But where there’s been violence and possibly murder, one doesn’t like to have uninterrogated witnesses at risk.’

  ‘They’re not at risk – unless in point of mere accident. They took care to keep well out of sight on Tuesday morning, and you and I are at present the only people in the world who know their story. Nobody can possibly be after them.’

  ‘Yes, Sir John. But that doesn’t apply to your son.’

  Howard had at least reduced Appleby to a moment’s silence. When he did speak, it was soberly enough.

  ‘You think Bobby may be running into mischief?’

  ‘Well, sir, I don’t imagine he’s simply taken himself off on a holiday. And this doesn’t look like being an affair for amateurs.’

  ‘Bobby is certainly that. And it looks as if he may have a dangerously erroneous notion of this girl. But I don’t think he can have got anywhere very far as yet. His only line, you see, has been the possibility that the dead man was a master at his first school – a place called Overcombe. That’s where Bobby has gone off to, I believe. It’s rather a wide cast, if you ask me. And does give us a little time.’

  ‘I don’t agree.’ Howard had stood up again – and Appleby saw that he was the same angry man who had presented himself half-an-hour before. ‘This is no sort of affair to mark time on, if you ask me. And it’s something that, in your position, you don’t need to do. The Chief Constable is an important man, no doubt. He has to be listened to, and given a civil reply. But no more than that. He doesn’t know people, Sir John, any more than I do. But can’t you get what information you want? You must have top connections far outside the Metropolitan Police. Wouldn’t it be a good idea – just for your own satisfaction, and without relaying anything to me – to get into the picture, and know just what’s going on?’

  ‘If anything is going on – in the sense we have in mind. It’s still not quite certain, Howard, that the whole affair isn’t a perfectly ordinary sort of crime.’

  ‘It would be very satisfactory to know that, sir. Very satisfactory, indeed.’

  ‘I take your point, Sergeant.’ Appleby was silent for a moment, and then got to his feet. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  And at that, as was only proper, Sergeant Howard took his departure at once. He paused on his way down the drive – Appleby noted with amusement – to give Solo Hoobin a casual greeting and an appraising glance. Left to himself, Appleby experienced two or three minutes of something like irresolution. And then, very unusually, he spoke to himself aloud.

  ‘The fellow’s quite right,’ he said. He went into the library, picked up the telephone, and glanced at the clock. Half-past-ten. The morning was still young.

  PART FOUR

  The Girl

  9

  Slipping out of the Leather Bottle, Bobby Appleby looked at his watch. Ten to seven. Prep would be almost over, and in the next quarter of an hour he must make his rendezvous with Beadon and Walcot. But here, meanwhile, was the girl – miraculously proposing, it seemed, to eat out of his hand. He glanced back through the door before closing it. Jakin and Lew were finishing their brandies at leisure; they had rather lost interest in their casual entertainer as soon as he had paid for this quite costly form of refreshment. But they would be following him out in a minute or two. He signed rapidly to the girl, and dodged round to the back of the pub.

  She followed him, and they were face to face.

  ‘Off duty?’ he asked.

  ‘In one sense, yes. We’re talking. Where’s your car?’

  ‘Still in the school drive. Walk down to the lodge and I’ll overtake you. We’re dining.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘No perhaps about it, Susan Danbury. You’ve got a lot of awkward lies to explain. The Three Feathers is quite good, and only four miles away. I’m putting up there.’

  ‘Not proper to dine with a gentleman where he’s putting up.’

  ‘Stop talking nonsense, and listen. I’ve got to see two of the boys first. Beadon and Walcot. I’ve taken them on as my assistants. Like the boy Tinker in Sexton Blake. And I’ve a date with them in ten minutes’ time. Your turn after that.’

  ‘Thank you very much. But, just for the moment, please follow me. Our association is to be quite an innocent one, Bobby Appleby. But we’re not advertising it, all the same.’ As she said this, Susan walked rapidly off. It didn’t occur to Bobby not to follow. His heart was pounding just as if the whistle was about to blow at the end of a gruelling first half. He doubted whether he was going to be good at a game of wits with Susan – if it was adversaries, that was to say, they were going to be. There were nice girls with whom he’d tumbled around a bit. But none of his Away Matches had been anything like this at all.

  Susan had vanished – and then he realized that she had simply slipped into a disused stable. She seemed to know the surroundings of the Leather Bottle pretty well.

  ‘What have you told them?’ she asked, as he followed her in.

  ‘Beadon and Walcot? I’ve told them I belong in a spy-story.’ Bobby heard Susan catch her breath. ‘Odd, don’t you think? It just came into my head as a means of interesting them. I don’t even know if they believed me. And the funny thing is, it’s true.’

  ‘Where are you going to meet them?’

  ‘A sunken place just off the drive. I found them smoking there.’

  ‘Well, go and meet them. And promise me something.’

  ‘Anything in the world. Anything. You see, Susan, I’m going to marry you as soon as they let you out of gaol. The ceremony will be performed by the prison chaplain, with the Archbishop of Canterbury lending a hand. He’s my godfather, you see.’

  ‘Will you please be serious?’ For a moment, it was almost as if Miss Danbury was a little at a loss. ‘You must promise to dismiss these boys. Tell them it was all nonsense, and that they’re to put it out of their heads.’

  ‘I expect you’re right.’ This time, Bobby was serious. ‘The spy-story isn’t developing like kids’ stuff.’

  ‘It didn’t begin that way either, so far as you were concerned. You saw what you saw – you saw what we saw – in the bunker.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bobby said, and looked Susan very straight in the eye. At last she seemed to be coming clean. ‘That was far from being kids’ stuff, I agree. And I oughtn’t to have pitched Beadon and Walcot a yarn. But, you see, it’s something that sometimes happens with me, quite suddenly. It’s because I write things, I suppose. Did I tell you I’m a writer? It’s something you’ll have to put up with, I’m afraid. All sorts of other things too, I suppose. But I’ll have one virtue. I’m going to be faithful to you. Until I die.’

  ‘Which may be quite soon.’ Susan Danbury got this out so crisply that it almost covered up the way her lips had parted a fraction of a second before. ‘But not those children, please.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Bobby, I’m deadly serious. There’s a grim battle on, and we’ve begun with a shattering defeat. I’m not going to have two small boys–’

  ‘I promise. And I’ll
go now. But – Susan – one thing. You said we’ve begun with–’

  ‘Are you an idiot?’ It seemed to Bobby that Susan was really staring at him round-eyed. ‘Am I a beautiful Russian? Are you making all those amorous remarks–’

  ‘Not amorous remarks. It’s what they call being in love. At least I suppose it is.’

  ‘Whatever it is, do you think you’re really offering it to a bloody Mata Hari? Don’t you credit yourself with any sense?’ Miss Danbury paused in this brilliant counter-offensive – but not long enough to permit Bobby to do more than begin mumbling something. ‘You find your kids,’ she said, ‘and I’ll find your car. I’ll like our dinner, honest Bobby Appleby. But don’t expect it to be a lingering one.’ Again she paused for only a moment. ‘You leave this shed first, please. If anybody’s around, they’ll think you’ve been answering what’s termed a natural call. And give a whistle when all’s clear.’

  Half an hour later, they drove in complete silence to the Three Feathers. The trip took over six minutes, so this was perhaps a little odd. They had a drink at the bar, and failed to get beyond discussing the menu perched on it. Bobby was far from regarding this topic as trivial – for weren’t they going to recall this meal, Susan and he, in minute detail forty years on? The Three Feathers was said to be reliable – but ought they to begin by playing safe, and simply have smoked salmon for a start? Nothing much could go wrong with that. But Susan voted this down, and they ordered, in a spirit of experiment, an obscure concoction described as a speciality of the house. Bobby was enchanted by this intimation of divergent temperaments. It would be much more fun, he told himself, that way.

  ‘We can’t go on being civilized,’ Susan said suddenly when they had sat down at table. ‘Defer talking turkey, I mean, until after the soufflé. How did you manage with Beadon and Walcot?’

  ‘I did my best. It wasn’t awfully easy. You see, they’ve been noticing things. I forgot to tell you that.’

  ‘What sort of things?’