‘Perhaps Miss Mills will be able to help us,’ he said.
‘It’s very kind of her,’ Miss Rohan began, ‘but I think all the same-’
Her attention wavered, and she turned to the head of the stairs. Mr Applecheek peered round the corner.
‘Ah, Miss Rohan,’ he said. ‘I caught a glimpse of you a moment ago hurrying along at a great pace with every appearance of distress. I came to see if I could be of assistance – and, of course, to satisfy vulgar curiosity.’
Miss Rohan took two steps towards him.
‘Oh, Father,’ she said, ‘I’m in such trouble. You remember I told you I had put my ring in the pocket of my mackintosh – and that proves I did do it – well, I went to put on the coat just now and I found the ring had gone. I can’t understand it. I thought it would be safe there. I hadn’t told anybody where it was. How could they have known?’
Mr Applecheek smiled.
‘You told somebody what you had done,’ he said.
‘No nobody, Father.’
He wagged at finger at her.
‘You told me.’ he said. ‘And I thought to myself: if she has told me, sooner or later, she’ll tell everybody else and the ring will no longer be safely hidden away. So –’
He dipped two fingers into the pocket of his rusty black clerical vest.
‘So I took the liberty of anticipating the theft.’
The ring held up between two bony fingers. The emerald catching the light, glowing.
‘Oh, oh, I ought to have thought,’ said Miss Rohan.
She held out her hand for the ring. Impatience betrayed.
Mr Applecheek bowed slightly and handed it to her.
‘How silly I’ve been,’ she said. ‘I feel quite angry with myself.’
She held the ring in her fingers swivelling it round.
Abruptly she straightened her shoulders. A decision.
‘And I was silly to stop wearing it,’ she said. ‘You are quite right, Mr Utamaro. Self-consciousness. At my age.’
She smiled, and slowly slipped the ring back on to her finger. Settling into the red groove.
‘Oh,’ said Flaveen, ‘I’m so glad. Really I am.’
She looked quickly from side to side. An escape route. Then she pulled a frilly handkerchief from the top of her skirt and blew her nose with it.
‘I thought I was going to cry,’ she said.
‘It’s no time for tears,’ said Miss Rohan.
She patted Flaveen rapidly on the forearm and walked away along the corridor.
Her head carried high.
Mr Applecheek put his ha#ds together palm to palm. He looked at Mr Utamaro.
‘Between us,’ he said, ‘we seem to have done a good deed.’
He turned to watch Miss Rohan go round the corner at the far end of the corridor.
‘Though I wish all the same,’ he said, ‘that she would stop calling me Father.’
He wandered towards the stairhead, looking down into the hall below, scratched his left ear, shrugged and went down the stairs.
‘Well,’ said Flaveen, ‘so there wasn’t any theft after all.’
Mr Utamaro smiled slowly.
‘No,’ he said. ‘The good Mr Applecheek anticipated it.’
‘It gave me quite a turn at the time,’ Flaveen said. ‘And now it’s all over.’
She walked towards the stairs. Swaying on her high heeled sandals. When she got to the stairhead Mr Utamaro said:
‘Except that the sword is still missing.’
Flaveen stopped. Her hand on the carved newel post.
She giggled.
‘I was quite forgetting the sword,’ she said.
‘I do not think the sword is easily forgotten,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘Come here.’
The soft voice.
Flaveen stood her ground. On the newel post her fingers tightly gripping the carved wood. The gleaming dark oak and the plump white fingers with their splashes of deep pink nail varnish.
Mr Utamaro looked at her without speaking.
She walked back towards him. He opened the door of his room and held it wide for her.
‘I don’t have to –’ she said at the threshold.
She went back in.
Mr Utamaro closed the door and pointed to the chair near it. Flaveen sat down. She tucked her feet under the chair and held on to its sides.
Mr Utamaro sat opposite her.
‘We still have a lot to tell each other,’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ said Flaveen.
She glanced behind her at the door. Two steps away.
‘I haven’t got anything to tell you, I’m sure,’ she said.
A toss of the head. The pale red hair changing colour as it swirled.
Mr Utamaro grinned suddenly. Stubby teeth.
‘So you were glad that Miss Rohan found her ring so quickly?’ he said.
Flaveen looked puzzled. A neat frown on the smooth skin of her forehead. The child faced with the unexpected question.
‘I was glad,’ she said.
Feeling her way.
‘All right, I was glad,’ she went on. ‘She’s not my type, but you could see she was hit by losing that ring. And I felt it was my fault in a way. With me drawing attention to it and everything. Anyhow, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have been glad. You can see she hasn’t been used to things not being easy.’
‘So you admire Miss Rohan,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘And you admire Mr Stuart.’
‘Mr Stuart,’ said Flaveen. ‘I don’t know about that. I can’t quite make him out. One moment he’s ever so friendly and the next he’s chewing your head off. No, I don’t really like him, if you want to know.’
‘You think he has resisted you?’ said Mr Utamaro.
Flaveen smiled. Eyelashes fluttered briefly.
‘If you like,’ she said. ‘He didn’t look as if he wanted to at first, but if he isn’t interested that’s okay by me.’
‘There are other fish?’
‘I should hope so.’
‘Mr Henderson?’
‘I like him,’ said Flaveen. ‘He’s the quiet type. But he notices a girl. And he warms up all right after a bit. Actually, I admire him, if you want to know who I admire. Underneath he’s ever so romantic.’
‘But Mr Manvers is not the quiet type,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘Hey,’ Flaveen said. ‘You’re very interested in my private life, aren’t you?’
‘I am very interested in everybody’s lives,’ said Mr Utamaro.
Flaveen sat silent for a moment. Counting the score. Then she said:
‘That’s all very well. If you found out I had a record or anything, I could see what you were getting at. But all these questions about who notices a girl and who doesn’t, I don’t see where they fit in. You’re not going to get your old sword back that way, not in a million years.’
Mr Utamaro did not answer.
‘Well,’ said Flaveen, ‘aren’t I right?’
‘If your secret isn’t to do with you and the other people on the course – and you insist so strongly that it isn’t – then perhaps it is to do with you and the sword,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘Who said I had a secret?’
‘Come, we don’t have to go over all that again. You thought you knew who had stolen Miss Rohan’s ring. No doubt you think the same person stole the sword.’
‘But Miss Rohan’s ring wasn’t stolen.’
‘Whether it was stolen or not is not the point. You thought it had been, and you thought you knew who by. Now tell me.’
‘I can’t,’ said Flaveen.
An air of primness.
‘You could if you would, but you can’t?’
‘That’s about it, I suppose.’
Mr Utamaro smiled.
‘You know who stole the sword,’ he said. ‘Or at least, you think you do. Good. Here we are sitting quietly opposite each other in this little room. You have a tongue: I have ears. And you cannot tell me.’
‘No,’ said Flaveen, ‘I
can’t.’
She smiled slightly. Cat and cream.
‘You think you can’t,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘But if I did I’d have to tell you who told me, and I swore I wouldn’t. I can’t just go and break my word.’
‘You can,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘It is only a word.’
Flaveen’s mouth set in a stubborn line. The full lips generously reddened.
‘But you don’t have to,’ Mr Utamaro said. ‘You can tell me what you know and we will leave how you got to know it until you begin to see things in a different light.’
‘Suppose I won’t tell you a thing.’
‘You will tell me.’
Flaveen pouted.
‘How do you know?’ she said. ‘I don’t have to if I don’t want to.’
‘No, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ said Mr Utamaro.
He leant an inch towards her.
‘But, of course, you do want to,’ he said. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have given me all these mysterious hints. They are intended to whet my appetite, you know. So I am sure there is a good meal coming.’
‘Well, I can tell you who stole the sword, if that’s enough of a meal for you,’ Flaveen said.
‘It will last for the time being like any other meal.’
Flaveen looked wary.
‘Listen. I won’t say a thing if you try and find out how I knew. I promised I wouldn’t say, and I won’t. It might get someone into trouble for all I know.’
‘I would like to get the sword back, that is all,’ said Mr Utamaro
‘Oh, you’ll get it back all right.’ said Flaveen.
Careless confidence.
‘You’ll get it back, only you might have to wait a bit. Depends what happens.’
‘So you feel you have influence over the thief?’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘Never mind what influence I’ve got,’ F’aveen said. ‘You’ll get your sword all right. I promise you that. And don’t go thinking you can work out who took it by who I could make give it back.’
‘That won’t be necessary. You are going to tell me that.’
‘I might not, you know.’
‘Now, stop playing. The name?’
No question of refusal.
Flaveen tossed her head. The shimmer of pale red hair.
‘It was Jim Henderson, if you want to know,’ she said.
‘Ah,’ said Mr Utamaro, ‘the admirable Mr Henderson.’
‘Well,’ Flaveen said, ‘he’s got guts to do a thing like that.’
‘Yes, if by “guts” you mean what I think you do, he has admirable qualities. But tell me, what exactly did he do to get ho¡d of the sword? How did he defeat the locksmiths?’
‘I don’t know exactly,’ Flaveen said. ‘But I do know that he did do it.’
Fagerness to convince.
Mr Utamaro raised his eyebrows. The tangle of coarse black hair.
‘He was seen as a matter of fact,’ Flaveen said. ‘Seen coming out of the sword room holding something under his jacket.’
‘I see. And whoever it was who saw him swore you to secrecy about the business?’
‘Yes.’
‘They caught a glimpse of the sword itself, did they?’
‘Yes, they did, as a matter of fact.’
‘I see. So that seems to prove it doesn’t it?’
‘Well, aren’t you convinced?’
‘I would like to know how the alarm device was beaten.’
‘Well, I can’t tell you that. But Jim’s got brains, anyone can see that. And he’s practical too. He’s not one of the ones who’s all cleverness until it comes to doing something.’
‘No, I think I agree with your description. Mr Henderson is a man of intelligence and action. Perhaps one day he will tell us how they combined to defeat the alarm.’
‘Now listen,’ said Flaveen. ‘Don’t go asking him or anything, You’re going to get your sword back, I’ve told you that. And you know who took it. But I’ve got one or two things to do before the whole thing’s finished, so you just sit tight. You owe me that.’
‘Mr Henderson will expect me to see him,’ Mr Utamaro said. ‘I am seeing everybody in turn. He is the last one.’
Flaveen considered.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But you’re right. If you don’t see him now he’ll suspect you know he took the sword. And I don’t want him to suspect anything for a bit. But you must promise you won’t tell him what I’ve told you.’
‘I won’t tell him what you’ve told me,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘You do not have to worry about that.’
Flaveen bounced up.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘that’s about the lot then. I liked our little chat. I didn’t expect to, I must say. But it was very nice really.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘The sword may not always cause you so little trouble.’
Chapter 10
Tap, tap, tap. Along the corridors scurrying feet.
Coming round a corner the two German girls met.
‘I am looking for Mr Henderson,’ said the dark one.
‘Oh, I am looking for Mr Henderson too. Everybody is looking for Mr Henderson.’
A toss of the flaxen plaits.
‘Mr Utamaro was very – very entschieden,’ said the dark one.
Expression unrelievedly serious. A sense of mission.
‘Entschieden is “peremptory”,’ said the blonde.
‘Oh, such a word. How did you know it?’
‘Just yesterday I read it in a novel. I looked it up this morning.’
‘You are always so lucky.’
‘No, I am not lucky. I thought when Mr Utamaro asked me to find Mr Henderson I would at least find Mr Gerry. But I had no luck. All I have found is Miss Mills. I haven’t even found Mr Henderson.’
‘I too have found Miss Mills, but not Mr Henderson. Mr Henderson is much more correct than Mr Gerry.’
Expression pious.
‘Oh yes, Mr Henderson is correct, so correct all the time. He walks past you and you might as well be a statue. Very correct. But he doesn’t think Miss Flaveen Mills is a statue. Der Heuchler.’
‘Ah, you should say “hypocrite”.’
‘No, thank you. The English doesn’t let you put any feeling into the word. Der Heuchler. That is what I mean.’
*
Jim Henderson knocked at the door of Mr Utamaro’s room.
‘Come in.’
Mr Utamaro was sitting on the scratched old kitchen chair facing the door. The other chair awaiting an occupant stood opposite him.
Jim looked round the room. Incuriously. The utilitarian man and the utilitarian place.
‘I hear you wanted to see me,’ he said.
‘Please sit down.’
Jim sat on the second chair without looking at it. A surface of the right height made use of.
‘Well?’he said.
‘Are you going to tell me what the sound of one hand clapping is?’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘Sure, I heard you wanted me urgently,’ Jim said. ‘I have to get away about five and twenty after twelve.’
‘And what is the time now?’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘I don’t carry a watch, you know.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Jim. ‘Never been able to pay for one. I rely on public clocks. It just struck twelve before I came in.’
‘So we have twenty minutes or more, a long time.’
‘Not so long as all that.’
The clipped words.
‘Yes, a very short time.’
‘All right,’ said Jim, ‘go ahead with that stuff, if you must. But don’t forget I’ve read my Kant and your man Bergson. If you really want an answer to your one hand clapping I can give it you.’
‘I wonder,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘Matter of simple symbolism,’ said Jim. ‘One hand clapping represents the universe, the unconditioned, if you like. The whole which has nothing to oppose it.’
Mr Utamar
o shook his head.
‘Not a matter of symbolism,’ he said. ‘Zen is not metaphysics.’
‘If it’s not that, it’s nonsense,’ said Jim.
‘Exactly, Zen is non-sense.’
Jim’s look of baffled fury.
‘And yet it has a social application,’ he said. ‘A philosophy – call it that anyway – which teaches people to ignore conventions could be a very useful tool in the right hands.’
‘You have already expressed your admiration of the poet Yuan-Wu,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘That about a real man taking the farmer’s ox,’ Jim said. ‘It was an expression of what I mean.’
‘And so you stole the sword?’
‘I what?’
Outrage.
Jim jumped up and looked down at Mr Utamaro.
‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘I never stole a penny piece in my life. I’ve had need to often enough. I’ve gone hungry for want of a penny to buy a cake at school. But I happen to have a certain sense of personal integrity. I’m not a thief. Just that.’
He whirled round, snatched at the door and marched out leaving it open behind him.
Mr Utamaro sat without moving. Minutes passed. He saw Alasdair Stuart hurry past and heard his heavy steps going up the stairs to the bedrooms. Almost running. When the sound of a door slamming came faintly down the corridor Mr Utamaro walked quietly out of his room and went down the main stairway into the hall.
He stopped and looked at the grandfather clock. Its hands pointed to 12.28. As he looked at it there came the whirr of the striking mechanism. Mr Utamaro counted the strokes. One, two, three, four, five, six.
When he turned round he found Miss Rohan standing beside him.
He grinned at her.
Miss Olive Rohan. Iron grey hair militarily in place. Unvarying tweed suit neatly pressed. Shoes thoroughly polished with a trace of wet darkening the toes.
‘Is it six o’clock?’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘Or is it nearly half past twelve?’
Miss Rohan looked at her watch.
‘It is one minute to half past twelve,’ she said. ‘My watch is old, but very good. It never loses a minute.’
‘But what time would it have been if you had not had your watch?’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘One minute to half past twelve,’ Miss Rohan said.
Easily answered.
‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘There are times when I do not know what I should do if it weren’t for the simple certainties of life,’ Miss Rohan said. ‘Do you know what part of the newspaper gives me most pleasure?’
Zen there was Murder Page 10