‘Or the door into the flat,’ Pollard remarked grimly. ‘How do you think Ernie would make out in the box?’
‘I don’t think he’d be all that easy to shake,’ Toye replied, after further consideration.
‘Nor do I. Where the prosecution would press him though, would be how long it was after the door shut that he first thought he heard a car.’
‘Mrs H. beating up eggs?’
‘This is it.’
They relapsed into silence.
‘If anything in the way of a motive turned up, it seems to me the lady would be in a spot,’ Toye said presently. ‘Do you think Mr Habgood could be in on Brown’s death?’
‘No.’ Pollard was decisive. ‘For one thing, there doesn’t seem any doubt that he’d been ill all day. Then there’s his permanent disability: he’d never have gone to tackle a burglar. And if he arrived in the gallery to see his wife send Brown flying, he’d have had the wits to assume it was an accident and ring for the police ... well, to come to the outcome of my attempts to think straight, it seems to me that there are two immediate priorities. One is to clear up this Escott-y business and see if there’s anything for us in it. The other is to find X. Here, we’d better get cracking.’
The dining room was filling up. Pollard realized that their table was attracting interest, and that the Sunday papers were much in evidence. ‘I hope to God we haven’t overlooked anything vital,’ he said, aware of sudden tension in himself. ‘I’ve got a beastly, nagging feeling that we have.’ Toye followed him soberly out of the room. Past experience had taught him to respect Pollard’s hunches.
They had sat for a long time over breakfast, and arrived at the police station only a few minutes before the car bringing Evelyn Escott from Southcliffe. As she was escorted to Inspector Cook’s room, Pollard, who was talking to Acting-Inspector Harris, looked at her with interest. His immediate reaction was that her face seemed familiar. Rather a large face, with a good brow and square chin, but unmarred by the bulldozer expression of some women of her age and physical type. Just now it bore signs of both severe stress and unmistakable jubilation.
He watched the short, sturdy figure disappear, then turned to Inspector Harris.
‘That’s Miss Evelyn Escott,’ he remarked, and decided on a long shot. ‘Not much like her Ramsden cousins, is she?’
Comment was easily forthcoming. The Colin Escotts were the prosperous branch of the family: Escott & Co., the estate agents. They’d made a proper packet out of the property boom since the war, on top of what they’d got already. Bought a lovely old place a couple of miles out, and done it up regardless.
‘There’s a son, isn’t there?’ Pollard asked, stemming a flood of information about one of Colin Escott’s more spectacular property deals of recent years.
He learned that young Peter Escott was in the family firm, and none too pleased about it, from all accounts. He’d been away at a posh school, then at Cambridge, where he’d ended up with a poor degree and come away without an idea in his head about taking up a worthwhile career. It seemed his father had had enough of it, stopped his allowance and told him that he could come into the firm and work his way up — or else. Mr Colin Escott might do himself well, but he was a worker, all right. Built up Escott’s into a lot more than just a Ramsden firm he had, over the years. Why, Escott’s handled property all over the country: real big deals, too, and you even came upon their adverts in the national newspapers.
Pollard returned slowly to his room, once more thinking about Peter Escott. He had certainly been up to the flat on the night of the party and would probably have some idea of the lie of the land — seeing how the family was involved with the place. Was it possible that he was X — at any rate, as far as the book theft was concerned? Valuable books, always provided they weren’t too valuable, could be converted into ready cash without excessive difficulty. But there remained the problem of how and when the boiler house key was used...
Still meditating, Pollard arrived and began to put his speculations to Toye. He was still doing so when a knock on the door announced Inspector Cook, with Evelyn Escott in tow.
The jubilation had almost faded from her face; she was looking white and, in a controlled manner, frightened. Almost as if she were preparing to face a firing squad with dignity, Pollard thought. As well as a handbag over her arm, she was gripping a second one tightly. He eased her into a chair drawn up by Toye, and began by congratulating her on the safe return of her property.
‘I hear that even your pen has been found,’ he said.
‘Yes, it has,’ she replied briefly.
‘Well now,’ he said. ‘I expect you’re tired of being asked about leaving the Athenaeum with Annabel Brown last Wednesday night, but I hope you won’t mind just going over the ground once more for our benefit. By the way, were you taken aback to hear that her name was Brown, not Lucas?’
Evelyn Escott looked surprised at this turn in the conversation.
‘I — I don’t really know. A good many young people are casual about marriage these days.’
‘What was your personal opinion of her?’ He sensed a reluctance to commit herself.
‘I had very little to do with her. When I am working in the library and need help, I naturally go to Mr Habgood. She wasn’t a librarian: only his secretarial assistant on certain days of the week.’
‘All the same,’ Pollard persisted, ‘you must have formed an opinion of her over the past months.’
‘I didn’t find her congenial. Her attitude to the older members of the Society like myself left a good deal to be desired.’
There was a pause. Evelyn Escott sat as though carved in stone. Acting on impulse, Pollard plunged. ‘Don’t look like that, Miss Escott. We know you didn’t kill her.’
She started, as if from an electric shock. Without looking at Toye, Pollard knew that he had startled him, too.
‘You couldn’t have, you know,’ he continued conversationally. ‘The post-mortem established that she was dead before eight o’clock on Wednesday night, and after the police left you at about twenty past six, they parked in the road outside until after seven. If you had come out of your house they would have seen you. By quarter past, the yard doors at the Athenaeum were shut and you couldn’t have got in. But we do know that you went round there, either at some time during the night or early on Thursday morning, after the gale had blown the doors open again. Why did you go?’
Evelyn Escott began to shiver uncontrollably. She made no attempt to deny her visit.
‘Her cheek was cold,’ she said, almost inaudibly. ‘I touched it.’
‘You could do with a cup of hot coffee,’ Pollard said prosaically. ‘Toye, see what you can do in the canteen, will you?’
When they were alone, she sat for a few moments, still clasping the second handbag, then suddenly looked up.
‘You seem a kind man,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘I’ve never had anything to do with the police before ... until I was knocked down, that is ... I just don’t know what to do. I’m in a dreadful position.’
‘You could tell me about it, if you like. Two heads can be better than one.’
‘It’s such a long muddly story ... I’m sure you’ll think a lot of it very silly...’
Using his powers of persuasion, Pollard managed to get her to talk. His opinion of Evelyn rose as he listened. She touched only briefly, and without self-pity, on her early frustrations. All her working life, she told him, she had wanted to retire to Ramsden and be reinstated as an Escott, in Old Evelyn’s tradition. The welcome and encouragement she had found at the Athenaeum had far outweighed the cold-shouldering by the Colin Escotts.
‘You see, they’re ashamed of me and think me a bore,’ she said frankly. ‘I just don’t fit into their world. My clothes are wrong, and I’ve had next to no social life of their sort.’
‘I shouldn’t lose any sleep over that,’ Pollard replied. ‘You’re making a thoroughly worthwhile life of your own here.’
&nb
sp; ‘Up to last Wednesday, I thought I was. Now I seem to have messed everything up. I’d better tell you what happened, I suppose...’
Pollard listened with mounting astonishment to the story of the interference with her papers; Annabel Brown’s search of the volumes of the Extinct Mammalia; and, finally, Evelyn’s extraction of the packet of stamps from the girl’s handbag. Toye, returning quietly with cups of coffee, placed one beside her and resumed his seat.
‘I still feel I did the right thing,’ Evelyn Escott said, rather unhappily, but with what Pollard recognized as unshakeable conviction. ‘She had appropriated something which was the Society’s property, and I’m a member. Perhaps I ought to have challenged her, there and then. But I just had to do something. If only Mr Habgood hadn’t been ill I should have taken the packet straight to him, of course; but as it was, it seemed the most sensible thing at the time to take it home for the night and find out whether it was anything valuable or not. Then I was knocked down, and my bag stolen, as you know.’
‘I’m not an authority on stamps,’ Pollard said, ‘but I know enough about them to be able to tell you that some, at least, of those in the packet are very valuable, and RLSS is going to be very grateful to you.’ He watched a look of astonished delight come into her eyes.
‘Tell me now,’ he went on, ‘did you go round to the Athenaeum very early the next morning to tell Mr Habgood what had happened?’
‘Yes, I did. I got there at about a quarter past seven. Of course, I realize now that I ought to have told the police, who came when I dialled 999 on Wednesday night, all about the stamp business. But I just funked it, I’m afraid. You see, I wasn’t sure... It seemed so awful to make everything public when it mightn’t be necessary after all. I felt I’d come out of it so badly and it would be the end of everything I’d lived for where RLSS was concerned... Moral cowardice... I’m so ashamed, looking back on it ... I pretended to myself that the bag would be found, and whoever took it would only be bothered about the money in it...’ Her voice trailed off, with an ominous hint of tears.
‘It’s important to remember that one’s got a body as well as a mind,’ Pollard said, ‘and they interact. You’d just had a nasty, painful physical attack and were hardly in a state to make difficult decisions. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Miss Escott... When did you decide to go round to the Athenaeum?’
‘During the night: I didn’t sleep much. But I came to my senses and realized that whatever happened to me, personally, I must tell the authorities about the whole business. And Mr Habgood seemed the obvious person: he’s responsible for the library, you see.’
‘You went very early,’ Pollard commented, by way of encouraging her to go on.
‘Yes. I knew that the cleaner arrived at half-past seven, so the front door would be open; and I thought that I could slip in and up to the flat. But I was too early, and as I could see that the gale had blown open the doors into the yard, I thought I’d stand just inside to get some shelter.’
‘What made you go down to the boiler house?’
‘The door was banging in the wind. It’s always kept locked, and it seemed so extraordinary that I went to see what could have happened.’
‘And you went in?’ Pollard prompted.
‘Yes ... I went in. The boiler seemed all right, so I — I went on into the library. I had a torch, and shone it round. Everything looked quite normal at first; then ... I saw Annabel ... I could see she’d fallen down the spiral staircase, and thought she might still be alive. So ... so I just touched her cheek...’
‘Quite right of you,’ Pollard said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘And you found it was stone cold, of course?’
‘Yes. Then I behaved disgracefully ... panicked ... and ran away. I planned to leave Ramsden altogether... Shall I get into trouble for not reporting it to the police?’
‘The fact that you didn’t will be included in my report, of course, but I don’t think you need worry about it too much, Miss Escott. We’re grateful to you for being so frank. Now, could you switch your mind over to something quite different? Think yourself back into the party at the Athenaeum last Tuesday, if you can manage it. Did you notice anyone going through the trompe-l’oeil into the boiler house?’
‘Oh, yes. Several people. Mr Westlake — he’s Chairman of RLSS — was showing a lot of people how it worked. But I didn’t know any of them.’
‘And did you, by any chance, go up to the flat during the evening?’ Pollard asked.
‘Yes, I did. I took a Mr and Mrs Langley to see the ceilings.’
‘Were there any other people there?’
Evelyn Escott wrinkled her brow momentarily... ‘Yes. Professor Thornley was sketching one of the ceiling motifs in the sitting room. About half a dozen other —’
‘Just a moment,’ Pollard cut in. ‘Was Professor Thornley alone?’
‘My cousin, Peter Escott, was just going into the room. Mr Westlake had told me that he — Peter — had taken the Professor up to the flat. I didn’t know the other people, but three or four of them joined on when I was explaining about the plaster-work to the Langleys. My party all went back to the library together, as far as I can remember. I don’t think anyone was in the flat when we came away.’
Pollard was silent for a few moments.
‘Now that the stamps are safely back, Miss Escott, what are you going to do about them?’ he asked her.
‘I suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘I’d better face it at once and go round to see Mr Habgood.’
Toye fidgeted unnecessarily with some papers.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to hand them over to Mr Westlake? He is, after all, the Chairman,’ Pollard suggested.
Evelyn Escott looked started. ‘Perhaps I ought to, then.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Toye intervened. ‘I chanced to notice Mr Westlake just now when I went for the coffee. He may still be on the premises.’
‘Quite a coincidence,’ Pollard remarked, completely deadpan. ‘I wonder if you’d like me to put him very briefly into the picture, Miss Escott? Inspector Toye could be typing out a statement for you to read over, then sign, if you agree it’s accurate.’
‘I’d be very grateful,’ she said, with feeling.
James Westlake was sitting in his car. He leaned over and opened the passenger door.
‘This,’ Pollard said, ‘is a highly condensed version of an almost incredible story...’ When he came to an end, James Westlake remained completely silent for several moments. He finally reacted personally, rather than as Chairman of the Ramsden Literary and Scientific Society.
‘She’s been through sheer hell, you know.’
‘Well, over to you,’ Pollard replied. ‘These stamps and whatever. By the way, I’m certain one of them is a Mauritius twopenny blue. In damn good condition, too.’
‘Good God!’ James Westlake stared at him incredulously. ‘Well, if it is, my fellow Trustees aren’t likely to waste much time bothering about exactly how it turned up. I suppose there might be some legal complication, though...’
‘Do you feel equal to taking over Miss Escott?’ Pollard asked, firmly bringing him back to the immediate present. ‘As far as we’re concerned, it’s a case of a large-scale rethink, of course.’
‘Most certainly, I’ll look after her,’ James Westlake replied, proceeding to get out of the car. ‘This selling the house must be called off: it’s complete nonsense. I’ll deal with Moggs for her.’
Pollard accompanied him back into the building, suppressing a grin, and watched him advance, with hand outstretched, on an apprehensive Evelyn Escott.
‘My dear,’ he said to her, ‘I hear you’ve made what may be a quite staggering discovery for RLSS. Heartless of me to want to see these stamps before commiserating with you over the wretched time you’ve been having, but it really is rather exciting. History possibly repeating itself, in fact.’
‘First, the spectacular find of the Donne sonnet, and now this, in fact,’ Pollard remarked, giving James Westlake f
ull marks for tact as Evelyn Escott fumbled in the handbag she was clasping and extracted the small envelope. Toye helpfully produced a sheet of white paper, and half a dozen stamps were carefully laid out on it.
A couple of minutes later James Westlake looked up from a careful scrutiny through a pocket lens.
‘You’re quite right, Super,’ he said. ‘This is a Mauritius twopenny blue. One fetched £15,000, or thereabouts, at auction recently. And this one here’s a comparatively rare Hawaiian Missionary stamp... Well, I’m blessed!’
All four occupants of the room gazed reverently at the tiny, coloured rectangles on the sheet of paper. James Westlake picked up the envelope that had contained them, and turned it over. He gave an exclamation.
‘There’s something written on this. The ink’s faded — we may have to use a violet lamp... Oh, thanks, Inspector. A bit of white paper inside may bring up the writing.’
He peered once again through his lens.
‘Wait a bit. This is better. Old-fashioned handwriting with Greek e’s... Property... Great heavens... Property of Evelyn Escott, Esquire! The old boy himself! He left his stamp collection to RLSS with his books, as you found out, my dear. I suppose for some reason he’d taken these out of his album, and died before putting them back. He went out at the drop of a hat, you know, Super.’
‘Perhaps,’ Pollard suggested, ‘you and Miss Escott would like to discuss further this staggering piece of luck?’
James Westlake was instantly apologetic. ‘Abominable to take up your time like this. Treasure trove just goes to one’s head. There’s quite a bit to discuss, you know,’ he added, turning to Evelyn. ‘I’d feel happier if this little lot were dropped into the night safe at the bank. Would you come along with me while we fix that, then back to my place for lunch?’
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