Gently Down the Stream

by Alan Hunter

  ‘Taught him to fish, did he?’ A dreamy expression stole into Gently’s eyes and once more they wandered to the bright-lit expanse of broad with its thousand reedy inlets. He pulled himself up.

  ‘You couldn’t find a picture of him for Inspector Hansom … have you been able to find one since?’

  ‘There now – I was forgetting!’

  She felt in her wide apron-pocket and produced a postcard print of the sort vended by street photographers. It was taken on a promenade and showed a man of medium build in dark uniform, the maid on one arm and the cook on the other. He had a stolid but far from naive Northshire countenance. His lips were thin and his mouth rather wide.

  ‘Took last year it was, on the front at Starmouth.’

  ‘He looks quite presentable. Did he have any girlfriends?’

  ‘Well, we had our larks, but I never heard of him going steady with a girl.’

  ‘Did he ever mention Miss Brent?’

  ‘No, not to me.’

  ‘Had he any people or special friends in the locality?’

  ‘Only his aunt, who lives at Upper Wrackstead.’

  Gently stowed the photograph away in his wallet. ‘Now we’re on the subject of photographs, I don’t see any of Mr Lammas about.’

  The cook cast a quick look towards a bureau at the far end of the room, her eyes rounding in perplexity.

  ‘That’s funny now … there used to be one here. Perhaps he took it with him.’

  ‘Are there any others?’

  ‘Oh yess, no doubt, in Mrs Phyllis’ albums.’

  ‘But none about the house?’

  ‘No, certainly. She would not have them there.’

  ‘Just one more question, Miss Roberts, and then I think we can let you go.’

  The cook looked up attentively.

  ‘Was Hicks a musical man … did he, for instance, play a concertina?’

  ‘Why yes he did – but very badly, though!’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Roberts … that’s everything for the moment.’

  Hansom watched her thoughtfully as she got up and departed. Then he reached out absently towards the bag of peppermint creams. ‘You’re right …’ he said to Gently, beginning to munch.

  Gently cocked an interrogative eyebrow.

  ‘About Lammas having a point of view. Me, I think I’d have cashed out in twenty months, let alone twenty years!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THERE WERE ASHTRAYS about the lounge and as though by tacit consent they all began to smoke. Hansom began it with one of his workaday Dutch whiffs, then Gently produced his weathered sand-blast. Finally the Constable, after many vain attempts to catch someone’s eye, slipped out a small, thin cigarette-case, thus proving beyond doubt that Constables do carry such things about their person.

  ‘Cancer, my arse!’ observed Hansom crudely. ‘Why pick on tobacco out of all the other things?’

  Gently blew a comfortable ring. ‘We’ve been smoking the stuff several centuries now …’

  ‘I can show you a dozen old boys over ninety – smoked and chewed it since they were in the cradle. If you ask me it’s the cinema that’s the killer.’

  ‘Or the internal combustion-engine …’

  ‘Leastways, I shan’t quit before my old man does …!’

  There was quite a pleasant haze in the warm air of the lounge by the time Pauline Lammas appeared. She was not put out by it – on the contrary, she paused at the door to light a cigarette of her own. Taller and more robust than her mother, Pauline tended to plainness of feature. She had short, straw-coloured hair, greyish-blue eyes and a thickened nose, and made-up a good deal more than was necessary. She wore a black bodice-blouse and a green skirt.

  Gently rose courteously when she entered. From her private cloud of smoke she quizzed him coolly.

  ‘And – you are Chief Detective Inspector Gently, CID?’

  Wooden-faced, Gently admitted it.

  ‘Really … you’re not a bit how I expected you to be. I’m afraid I’m going to be disappointed – do you mind?’

  ‘Not essentially, Miss Lammas …’

  ‘You see,’ she hurried on, ‘I visualized you as one of the younger school of detectives – the sort they make films about, or at least lean and hatchet-faced and – and intellectual looking. But you aren’t. You’re just paternal. It’s difficult to believe that you’re a detective at all!’

  Gently cleared his throat, but Hansom gave his harsh laugh.

  ‘Don’t worry, miss – he hates people to think he looks like a policeman!’

  ‘Does he really? How strange!’

  ‘He likes you to take him for a farmer or a commercial traveller!’

  ‘Ahem!’ coughed Gently loudly. ‘I think perhaps we should get down to business … don’t you?’

  Hansom chortled to himself and kicked his large feet happily under the table. Pauline Lamas swept her bushy green skirt flat and sat down with precision timing.

  ‘Now, Miss Lammas … I understand you were in Norchester all the Friday evening.’

  ‘Yes, inspector. I’m playing Cordelia for the Anesford Players – our first night is a week today.’

  ‘It is a pity, Miss Lammas, that this tragic circumstance should have intervened.’

  A flicker of emotion twisted the corner of the young girl’s mouth, but immediately she recovered her former brightness.

  ‘It’s not going to intervene, inspector. Daddy wouldn’t have expected it.’

  ‘You mean you still intend to play?’

  ‘Of course – he would have wanted me to. Daddy was a Player himself. Hasn’t anyone told you?’

  ‘Naturally … if you feel it’s your duty.’ Gently shrugged. ‘Miss Lammas, what time was your rehearsal on Friday?’

  ‘At half-past seven, at St Giles’ Hall.’

  ‘Who is the producer of the Anesford Players?’

  ‘John Playfair – he’s the Drama Organizer. You can get him at his office in Pacey Road or his private address at 40 Birdcage Hill.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Lammas! You are correct in assuming that I shall need to get in touch with him. What time did the rehearsal end?’

  ‘Oh, you know what they are, inspector! They go on till all hours. But I had to leave at twenty-past ten to catch my last bus.’

  ‘In fact, you were at St Giles’ Hall from the time the rehearsal commenced at seven-thirty until you left to catch your bus at twenty-past ten. Is that correct?’

  ‘Perfectly correct … you’ve only to ask John Playfair. Or anyone else who was there.’

  Gently nodded absently. ‘And what time did your bus leave?’

  ‘At ten thirty-five from Castle Paddock.’

  ‘And arrived here?’

  ‘At eleven o’clock. You get off at Wrackstead Turn.’

  ‘How about the bus going?’

  ‘I took the ten to seven.’

  ‘Then would you be kind enough to tell me, Miss Lammas, what you were doing between the time you finished your early tea served at five-thirty and ten minutes to seven?’

  There was the briefest of pauses, just sufficient to warn the alert Hansom that Gently had struck oil of some sort. Then Pauline Lammas laughed, only a fraction off-cue.

  ‘Of course, inspector … on Friday night I took the early bus!’

  ‘Why?’ fired Gently.

  ‘Why—? To do some shopping, I suppose.’

  ‘What shops are open after six o’clock?’

  ‘What shops? Oh … I don’t know! It was window shopping.’

  ‘You took an early bus, simply to window-shop?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’

  ‘When you are in town every day of the week?’

  ‘One doesn’t get much time, in business.’

  ‘Why in fact did you come home at all, Miss Lammas? Wouldn’t it have been easier for you to have had tea in the city and to have gone to the rehearsal from there?’

  Pauline Lammas laughed again, this time well on cue.

&nbs
p; ‘You are a detective, aren’t you, inspector? It wouldn’t do to have any secrets from you!’

  ‘This isn’t answering the question.’

  ‘But it scarcely needs answering. I came home not long after lunch. Friday afternoon is slack and I am a privileged employee … why are you trying to catch me out, inspector?’

  Gently grunted and struck a light for his extinguished pipe.

  ‘I shouldn’t have to remind you that this is a serious business, Miss Lammas … we want the truth, and not a special selection from it. I put it to you that you haven’t given me the real reason why you took the earlier bus to town on Friday evening.’

  A sullen look crept over the girl’s face. ‘And if I put it to you, inspector, that my real reason had nothing to do with my father’s death – won’t that be sufficient answer?’

  ‘You must let me be judge of that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t propose to.’

  ‘That may be unfortunate, Miss Lammas. It may lead me to attach more importance to the circumstance than it deserves.’

  ‘Then you’ll simply have to, inspector, won’t you?’

  Gently puffed silently a few moments, aware of a delighted Hansom at his elbow. Pauline Lammas lit a second cigarette from her first. She reached forward to stub out the butt in the ashtray on the table and Gently noticed a slight tremor in her well-groomed hand.

  ‘You were very fond of your father, were you not, Miss Lammas?’

  ‘I understood Daddy. We always got on together.’

  ‘Your brother, on the other hand, was antagonistic towards him.’

  ‘Paul is a spoiled little fool. It was Mother who set him against Daddy. He’s been spoiled and pampered until he’s no good to himself or anyone else.’

  ‘There was some trouble about him refusing to enter the business, wasn’t there?’

  ‘Dear me yes! It was quite typical of Paul. He knew Daddy wanted so badly to have him in the business and to change the name to “Lammas & Son Ltd.” – he could have walked right into a partnership as soon as he left the Grammar School. But Paul do what was expected of him? Paul soil his hands with dirty commerce? Good heavens, he was a poet – he wasn’t going to waste his time in bourgeois money-grubbing!’

  ‘You supported your father, of course?’

  ‘He needed someone to support him, inspector! His life here has been hell ever since I can remember. He was nobody in this house, except an intruder. If it hadn’t been for us I feel pretty sure he would have got out long ago. But that wasn’t his way. He hung on and tried to make something out of it. I think it was the dust-up with Paul that finally broke his heart.’

  ‘You were not surprised, then, to learn that he was apparently planning to disappear?’

  Pauline Lammas hesitated. ‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘I wasn’t.’

  Gently’s mild glance sought her eyes.

  ‘Would it be too much to say, Miss Lammas, that you were quite well aware of what he had in mind?’

  She tried valiantly to out-stare him, but there was something peculiarly undeniable about Gently’s glances. Her eyes dropped to the table.

  ‘It would be a great deal too much.’

  ‘How long have you worked at the business?’

  ‘Just over a year.’

  ‘During that year, Miss Lammas, your father must slowly have been realizing his assets. The stock was being progressively reduced, employees dismissed, items such as trucks and vans being sold, and towards the end, at all events, business being turned away. Can you truthfully say that all this went on without your noticing it?’

  ‘I did – but he didn’t tell me why he was doing it!’

  ‘And you didn’t ask him, though it happens that you are one of the minor shareholders?’

  ‘That’s only a form, as you know!’

  ‘Or warn your mother, the other minor shareholder?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything – we had only a share each so he could form the company!’

  ‘Setting that aside, Miss Lammas, wouldn’t you have naturally asked him as his daughter, or have been told without asking?’

  ‘I tell you he didn’t tell me – neither did I ask!’

  ‘At least you will not deny that you had strong suspicions.’

  She bit her lips. ‘No. I guessed what it was about.’

  ‘And you saw fit to keep it to yourself, not even exchanging a word with him about it?’

  ‘Why?’ she broke out. ‘Why are you bothering about all this? It’s the murder that matters, not how poor Daddy was planning to run away!’

  Gently tapped his pipe with a stubby forefinger and sighted the stem at her.

  ‘As a result of that plan, Miss Lammas, your father had a very large sum of money with him when he was murdered … we are naturally interested to know who was aware of the fact.’

  There was silence. Pauline Lammas hung her head sullenly, an obstinate set to her mouth. Hansom tilted his chair back and gave his best impression of being bored. The Constable’s pencil hovered dutifully beside the last crossed stop.

  ‘Well?’ prompted Gently.

  Pauline Lammas hunched her shoulders. ‘I’ve said I guessed. What more can I say? You know it couldn’t have been me that killed Daddy.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting it … but I think you could be a little more frank.’

  ‘If I knew anything that would help I would tell you.’

  ‘It is your place to tell us everything, not just what you think might help.’

  ‘I am telling you everything! What else is it you want to know?’

  Gently lowered his pipe and laid it on the table beside him.

  ‘You must have known about your father and Miss Brent … when did that affair begin?’

  ‘Oh … she was engaged soon after I went there. I really can’t tell you when Daddy first took a serious interest in her.’

  ‘It was a serious interest, was it? I mean, it wasn’t merely a flirtation?’

  ‘Oh no. It was the real thing. If only he’d found someone like that to start with!’

  ‘I take it you approved?’

  ‘Yes. I was pleased about it. Daddy deserved a little compensation for all he had to put up with.’

  ‘You did not see it as your duty to warn your mother, for instance?’

  ‘Good heavens no! What right had she to know, after the way she had treated him? And what sort of a daughter would I have been to him if I had told her? You don’t understand, inspector!’

  ‘Would it have been possible for her to find out?’

  ‘I don’t think so, or we should have heard about it.’

  ‘What about the other members of the office staff?’

  ‘I suppose our head clerk, Mr Page, may have guessed something. But Daddy was always very careful in front of them.’

  ‘He wasn’t so careful in front of you.’

  She drew back her head proudly.

  ‘He knew he could trust me.’

  Gently brooded a moment.

  ‘They used to go away together, did they?’

  ‘Away? No – never! He used to take her out sometimes, but it was only to do a show at Starmouth or somewhere. He might have been recognized in Norchester.’

  ‘How did they get to these places?’

  ‘He’d drive her in the Hillman the traveller uses.’

  ‘Never in his own car?’

  ‘No. It would have gone straight back to Mother through Hicks.’

  ‘But Hicks knew Miss Brent, did he?’

  ‘I suppose he’d seen her. He used to drive us to and from the office.’

  ‘But he wasn’t friendly with her?’

  ‘No, that’s ridiculous! Linda is a cultivated woman. Hicks is just a – well, a yokel.’

  ‘Hmn.’

  Gently seemed lost for a short spell, as though his mind had wandered elsewhere. He picked up a pencil and doodled vaguely with it on his pad. Then, just as Hansom was beginning to jiffle, he asked:

&n
bsp; ‘If your father didn’t go away with Miss Brent, where did he go …?’

  ‘My father—?’ Pauline Lammas stared uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Yes … just lately he’d made some mid-week trips somewhere. If they were on business you ought to know about them.’

  She shook her head. ‘He didn’t always tell us.’

  ‘You agree that he made these trips?’

  ‘Oh yes. Why not?’

  ‘And Miss Brent did not accompany him?’

  ‘No. She was at the office as usual.’

  ‘Did he use his car?’

  ‘… No. I think he went by train.’

  ‘And neither you nor the office knew where he went … he was just On Business if anyone inquired?’

  ‘If you don’t believe me, inspector, you can always check at the office.’

  Hansom scribbled a little sketch on his pad, tore it off and pushed it across to Gently. It depicted a cottage with a ‘To Let’ notice, and the ‘To Let’ crossed out. Hansom grinned modestly all over his face. Gently crumpled it up and let it drop in the ashtray.

  ‘Well, Miss Lammas … that seems to be all we can accomplish for the moment.’

  ‘Thank you, inspector. I wish I could have been more helpful.’

  ‘So do I, Miss Lammas,’ returned Gently without expression, ‘but we do our best, don’t we …?’

  She flashed him her brightest smile and made an impeccable exit.

  ‘Har, har,’ said Hansom unhumorously, ‘she was always a one for acting, indeed to goodness!’

  Gently got up and went over to the french windows. ‘But it’s the casting that’s the problem, isn’t it …?’

  ‘What about my little house – that explains a few things.’

  ‘It might, if it exists.’

  ‘How do you mean – if it exists! It’s as plain as the nose on your face. Lammas is working on a vanishing act, so he buys himself a hideaway. His little train trips are spent furnishing it and maybe establishing a nice new character for himself.’

  ‘And that’s where we’ll find the secretary?’

  ‘You can bet your life on it!’