Gently Between Tides

by Alan Hunter

  ‘Something to eat, Mr George?’

  Mrs Jarvis had followed him, perhaps concerned by her chilly reception.

  ‘Just coffee and a wedge of parkin.’

  In half an hour, he was due to make his call to Gabrielle.

  He went through to the kitchen for his coffee and tried to interest himself in the TV programme, at the same time wondering, for the umpteenth time, why the BBC classified its patrons as morons. And wouldn’t it have to be Claydon! That unattractive moppet whose only enthusiasm was for his account books, a shrivelled soul: why must he pester Gently, and at this end of the evening?

  As though it had been arranged, the doorbell rang just as Gently was picking up the phone. For an exasperated moment he remained undecided, then strode to the door and flung it open. Claydon stood blinking at him, his foxy face apprehensive.

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I’ve got to talk to you . . . I’m sorry it’s so late.’

  ‘Won’t it do tomorrow?’

  ‘No, it won’t. I promise not to take up very much of your time.’

  ‘If it’s about the investigation you should talk to Leyston. My capacity is advisory.’

  It’s because of that I’ve come to you. There is something I would like you to understand.’

  In the end, Gently took him into the lounge and sat him down. Certainly the fellow was looking upset; his first act was to jerk off his glasses and give them a polish.

  ‘Look – I can’t give you very long.’

  ‘I’m sorry. My glasses were misted . . .’

  ‘Just why have you come here?’

  ‘Because . . . but I don’t want you to think that I’m afraid.’

  ‘Afraid of what?’

  Claydon blinked rapidly. ‘That man Shavers came back to the shop. He was alone this time, but his manner was threatening, and he more or less accused me.’

  ‘He did, did he?’

  ‘Yes. He swore that if I’d done it, he’d have me. He said that his own head was on the block, and that he would stop at nothing to clear himself. Well, I’m not a coward, but I don’t mind admitting that a character like that could beat me up. He’s a criminal of some sort, of that I’m certain, and I gathered he’d been through your hands before . . .’

  Poor little man. On the edge of a chair, he sat quivering and trying to talk bold, while behind the glasses his eyes jittered and a bony hand gripped each knee.

  ‘Smoke if you want to.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He wasted no time in lighting up. Gently found him an ashtray, then himself lit a pipe.

  ‘Are you asking for protection?’

  ‘No . . . that is, perhaps you could have a word with him. I mean, if he comes there when the shop is open, making accusations and behaving violently . . .’

  ‘Did he act violently?’

  ‘He was threatening. He talked of smashing me and breaking my neck. He didn’t actually get hold of me, but he stood over me making threatening gestures.’

  ‘What gave him the idea that you might be the man?’

  ‘Because I was Hannah’s employer, I suppose! He’d got to know that my wife is an invalid, and in his stupid brain that meant I’d be keeping a mistress. Keep a mistress – I can scarcely keep myself. By the end of the month I could be insolvent. And he couldn’t have known Hannah very well to make an absurd suggestion like that . . .’

  ‘He claims to have been fond of her, too.’

  ‘That’s sickening, and I don’t believe it. What would Hannah have to do with a vulgar criminal, which I’m pretty certain is what he is? No, if anyone’s guilty, it’s Shavers, he fits the part like a glove. Though I’m making no accusations, mind . . . I daresay you’ve got this little matter in hand.’

  It was almost comedy. Finding Gently with Claydon, Shavers had jumped to the conclusion that Claydon was the culprit, while Claydon, listening to their exchanges, had jumped to the conclusion it was Shavers.

  And now Gently had to keep the peace between these two alarmed people . . .

  ‘Why didn’t you go to Leyston?’

  ‘Obviously you were the man in charge. I won’t say I doubt Inspector Leyston’s ability, but in the past I have never found him very sympathetic.’

  ‘If you want protection he’s the man to give it.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t want to go to him for that. I’m not scared personally, please understand. It’s the effect on the business I’m bothered about.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m in enough trouble, and this sort of thing is scarcely good for trade. Will it get into the papers?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Claydon sucked nervously, his face twitching.

  ‘It’s this recession . . . I’ve had a terrible summer, even the Festival let me down. Usually it sees me through to the Christmas trade, but this year— I don’t know!’

  ‘Is that all you have to tell me?’

  ‘No – not exactly.’

  He crushed the cigarette and started on another. Whatever his problems with VAT, he was taking the tobacco tax in his stride.

  ‘Before I set out, the telephone rang.’

  He edged forward on the chair.

  ‘It was the Group Captain. I gathered you’d been out there. He wanted to ask me a lot of questions. And I can’t help it, I’m feeling guilty, because I’m certain it’s what I said that put you on to him.’

  He glanced pathetically at Gently, who sat puffing at his largest pipe.

  ‘Wasn’t it that?’

  ‘Not entirely. We do make up our own minds.’

  ‘But what I said must have settled it. If it was him who was seen there, then you couldn’t not ask him what he was doing. Stupidly, I came out with his name . . . I could have kicked myself. He’s a good customer.’

  ‘Why did you come out with it?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . because we’d been talking about him and Hannah. It was out of my mouth before I realized. And the description could have been of anyone.’

  ‘The description fitted him.’

  ‘But it was vague.’

  ‘Yet at once you thought of Riddlesworth.’

  Claydon was becoming agitated. He jerked his cigarette, dropping ash on the lounge’s new carpet.

  ‘I can’t explain it. It just came out because you’d been asking questions about him.’

  ‘It wasn’t because, for example, you knew more about Riddlesworth than you’d chosen to admit – about a good customer?’

  ‘But what more could I know?’

  ‘Perhaps you’d seen them together on more than the one occasion, and when their demeanour was rather different. Or perhaps Hannah talked, back there in the office.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s a cosy little office. In there you’re sitting knee to knee. Just the place for a confidential chat . . . especially when the girls were occupied with customers.’

  ‘That’s a stupid insinuation!’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have talked to her?’

  ‘But it didn’t need to be . . . what you’re suggesting.’

  ‘What am I suggesting?’

  ‘What . . .? The same thing that Shavers was hinting at, earlier!’ He seemed thoroughly upset, his lips quivering so that he had to remove the cigarette. ‘I had to take such talk from Shavers, but I hardly expected to hear it from you.’

  ‘Calm yourself, Mr Claydon.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry. But it really is too much.’

  ‘I only wished to know if she confided in you about Riddlesworth.’

  ‘She didn’t mention him at all.’

  ‘In fact, all you know about him you’ve told me.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything I remember.’

  He pulled the glasses off again, and, after wiping them, dabbed his eyes. Without them his face looked oddly incomplete, rather like a plant that had been growing behind a stone. He jammed them back on with a little jerky movement, then rescued his ciga
rette.

  ‘What you don’t understand is that I feel shocked about it. Hannah meant a good deal to me. Perhaps that’s why it hurts when people go about suggesting . . .’

  ‘There was never anything of that sort between you.’

  ‘Never. I treated Hannah with every respect.’

  ‘Just . . . friendliness.’

  ‘You believe me, don’t you?’

  ‘What were the questions that Riddlesworth was asking?’

  ‘Oh – those.’

  He seemed put out afresh and, as usual, took refuge in hearty puffs. His every reaction was slightly eccentric, as though he were governed by some chronic inhibition.

  ‘Well, he asked me very much the same as you did. Whether I knew the name of Hannah’s lover. Whether I had suggested any names to you, and if you were sure of the exact spot where it happened.’

  ‘He asked that specifically?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  Claydon puffed rapidly. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have answered that, but I was feeling guilty about having put you on to him. I repeated what the fisherman told you about seeing the two boats and the man.’

  ‘Did you tell him the fisherman’s name?’

  ‘I didn’t remember it. But I did say that his evidence was suspect. So I had to mention Shavers too, and he wanted to know all about him. Then . . . I don’t know! He began to question me and make insinuations, just like Shavers – asking me to account for my movements, and trying to catch me with trick questions. I suppose it was a quid pro quo, because he must have guessed that it was me who mentioned him to you, but by the time he had finished I was quite limp. I’d sooner answer your questions than his.’

  ‘Were you able to convince him?’

  ‘Well . . . yes! My movements yesterday are quite accountable. I was at the business as usual, and out buying in the afternoon.’

  ‘Out buying . . .?’

  ‘At Russell’s, of Southgate. He had some local books to sell. They included a Suckling’s Suffolk.’ Claydon flickered him a look. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be interested?’

  ‘When were you there?’

  ‘When?’ The bookseller’s eyes widened. ‘Look . . . you can ring Russell, and ask him. Here’s his appointment, for four p.m.’

  He pulled out a wallet which was bulging, not with notes, but with letters, one of which he selected and held out to Gently. It was a letter from an antique dealer, and confirmed the appointment.

  ‘Look, if I’m under suspicion too, perhaps I shouldn’t be talking so openly.’

  ‘All Hannah Stoven’s contacts have to be checked out, Mr Claydon.’

  ‘At the same time . . . well, you can check me! The Group Captain certainly did. But in the end he came back to my conclusion, which is that Shavers is the man you want.’

  His gaze was between fearful and indignant, with the shrewd little face tight and twitching. He seemed to be chiding Gently as for an unexpected act of treachery. Then he remembered the cigarette and began to punish it again.

  ‘If I may I’ll keep the letter.’

  ‘Please do. You could ring Russell now.’

  ‘At what time did you leave your shop?’

  ‘It is exactly half an hour’s drive to Southgate.’

  ‘Then at three-thirty?’

  ‘That’s simple arithmetic. And you can ask Elizabeth, who I left in charge.’

  ‘Then you have no more to worry about, Mr Claydon. Either from the Group Captain or myself.’

  But Claydon scarcely seemed reassured.

  ‘I have to repeat, that all this is a shock . . . first the accounts, then Hannah, and now accusations from all directions. Thank God my wife knows nothing about it – she thinks I’m out now at a bridge-club committee.’

  ‘She is a total invalid?’

  ‘She never goes out. She had some back trouble several years ago. According to Dr Capel she’s as well as she’ll ever be, but that’s not saying much . . . I don’t want her worried.’

  Gently knocked out his pipe and rose.

  ‘Now . . . if you’ve nothing more to tell me . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry. It was Shavers principally . . . I can’t let that fellow make a scene at the shop.’

  ‘I’ll take care of Shavers.’

  ‘You do understand. A scandal at the shop would be the last straw.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Claydon stood tremulously blinking at him, still wanting to linger, to say something.

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t know . . . or you, yourself . . . in the normal way, it’s a healthy business. If I could only hold on through this recession . . . by Christmas, even, I’d be back in profit.’

  ‘Are you asking me to lend you money?’

  ‘Could you? I swear it’s only a temporary embarrassment. Suddenly, out of the blue, I find I’m liable at the end of the month . . .’

  It was pitiful, the more so because clearly he wasn’t expecting the bid to succeed, just that it was dragged out of him by a sort of compulsion, like that with which he snatched out a fresh cigarette.

  ‘I’ll buy your Suckling.’

  ‘The Suckling, yes – I can let you have it worth the money . . . a fine copy, extra-illustrated . . . a house like this should have one. . .’

  ‘And meanwhile, here’s a bit of advice. Don’t let Riddlesworth pump you again.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. But I was feeling guilty . . .’

  ‘And the same applies to reporters.’

  He steered Claydon firmly back to the hall and opened the door for him. Outside the moon, now high, was making ghosts of the shrubs and trees. Also there was an owl hooting, somewhere over the heather.

  ‘I left my car outside . . .’

  Even now the bookseller wanted to cling. He halted outside on the gravel to puff smoke into the keen air. Finally, with a jerky nod of his head, he set off towards the gates; and shortly afterwards Gently heard a door clunk and a car pull away.

  The ridiculous fellow! Yet you couldn’t help feeling sorry for him and his apparently genuine troubles. Adding two and two together, they probably included a wife who knew how to keep him under her thumb . . .

  He returned to the lounge, collected the phone, and carried it across to a chair by the hearth. But clearly this wasn’t going to be his night, because just as he sat, the phone rang.

  ‘Gently here.’

  ‘Chiefie, listen—’

  He could have thrown the phone across the room! Out of it, beside Shavers’ voice, was coming the tinkle of a piano and a drone of conversation. The ex-con was ringing from the bar of the Eel’s Foot, where doubtless he’d been questioning all and sundry: likely, he’d got one or two lined up, all ready to swear to his snowy innocence.

  ‘Get off the line, Shavers!’

  ‘Chiefie, you can’t blame me for trying to put myself in the clear—’

  ‘I don’t want to know.’

  ‘But I’ve got a right to do the best I can for myself—’

  ‘Does that include threatening Mr Claydon?’

  ‘Who says I threatened him? Just a friendly little chat was all! And if it comes to that, he’s the sort of drip who might have pulled a job like this. His wife’s no good to him, did you know that?’

  ‘Never mind his wife – lay off him.’

  ‘Well, if you say so, Chiefie, but I’m not going to take the rap for a little wet like him. Can’t you imagine him sniffing round Hannah?’

  ‘I can imagine you far better.’

  ‘Chiefie, how many times have I got to tell you—’

  Gently held the phone and the babble towards the hearth.

  Yet something he might learn from the anxious ex-con – Riddlesworth, evidently, wasn’t letting grass grow under his feet. His call to Claydon might have been the act of an innocent man seeking information . . . but equally that of a guilty man, seeking out the holes he would need to stop. And one of these . . .

  ‘Can you hear
me, Chiefie?’

  ‘Shut up, Shavers, and listen to me.’

  ‘But I’ve got some info—’

  ‘What I want to know is whether Group Captain Riddlesworth has been in touch with you.’

  ‘Well, stone the crows!’

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘He was on the blower an hour ago. Came the bleeding heavy with me, pretending you were just going to pick me up. You aren’t, are you?’

  ‘Did you put him on to Moulton?’

  ‘Chiefie, I may look stupid—’

  ‘Is Moulton in the bar?’

  ‘He’s here.’

  ‘Get hold of him and put him on.’

  Shavers laid down the phone, but Gently could hear his muted voice calling distantly; also a sharp, scolding female voice raised in interrogation. Myrtle . . .

  ‘Hullo – Moulton?’

  ‘That’s me . . .’

  ‘Pay attention to what I’m going to tell you. Tomorrow you’ll be making a statement to Inspector Leyston, and in the meantime you’ll keep your mouth buttoned. Is that understood?’

  ‘But look here, old matey—’

  ‘You’ll answer nobody’s questions but ours. And that means nobody’s. If I hear different, I shall have you picked up straight away.’

  Heavy breathing from the other end!

  ‘Right you are . . . I’ll do what you say.’

  ‘You’d better.’

  ‘I’ll do it . . .’

  ‘Now put Shavers back on.’

  The phone changed hands, and there were grumbling words that died away in the sound of the piano.

  ‘Shavers?’

  ‘I’m here, Chiefie . . . you didn’t need to be so tough on Ted.’

  ‘From you, I want to know what Riddlesworth was asking.’

  ‘So it is him . . .’

  ‘Just answer the question!’

  ‘All right, all right! It was all about Hannah, how long I’d known her and when we’d met.’

  ‘About names she may have dropped?’

  ‘You must have been listening. Then he wanted my movements, too. Tried to sell me the idea that if I didn’t cough up, you’d be round to pinch me before I could blink.’

  ‘And you coughed?’

  ‘Do me a favour. I told him to mind his sodding business. All he got out of me was that he’d better watch his step, never mind mine. But that wasn’t why—’