Salt is Leaving

by J. B. Priestley

  ‘I imagine he’s still asleep,’ Dr Salt told him. ‘And I certainly don’t want you to disturb him.’

  ‘I’d no intention of disturbing him,’ said Alan stiffly.

  ‘Well, what about Noreen Wilks?’ Jill inquired, not without a touch of malice. ‘I suppose she’s in London now, trying to get into a strip-tease act in Soho.’

  ‘No, she isn’t,’ said Maggie sharply. ‘That story was all nonsense. Dr Salt soon proved that.’

  ‘I’ll bet he did. No, don’t fly at me, dear – I mean it.’ Now she looked around. ‘But what’s been happening here – an earthquake?’

  ‘Alan, give me a hand,’ said Dr Salt. ‘We can at least clear all the chairs and the centre of the room. You girls needn’t do anything – except give yourselves and us a drink. I’m expecting Superintendent Hurst here any time, so we’ll need another chair or two—’

  ‘I’ll help,’ said Maggie. ‘I know about these things now. Jill – the drink’s in the kitchen – through there—’

  ‘What does everybody want? I might as well do some barmaiding,’ Jill told them. ‘I’ll be out of United Fabrics any moment now – and looking for a job.’

  Twenty minutes later, when they had all had enough of room clearing, they were sitting round the electric fire in something like comfort.

  ‘Hadn’t Alan and I better go when this policeman comes?’ Jill asked.

  ‘If Hurst doesn’t strongly object,’ said Dr Salt, ‘then I’d like you to stay. You’re all involved more or less in this Noreen Wilks thing, and I want you to hear what I have to say to Hurst. He won’t like what I have to say, and if there weren’t three other people here he might be tempted to shrug it all away.’ He looked at Jill, then at Alan, then at Maggie. ‘I want you to understand – even if Hurst won’t – that I’m not simply airing little theories, for my own amusement. Noreen Wilks is dead, has been ever since the night of September 12th, and I think I know where we can go to prove it—’

  ‘Not us?’ Jill cried in genuine alarm.

  ‘Of course not. Hurst and I – and anybody he wants to go with us. And not tomorrow – tonight.’

  ‘But how can you know—’ Maggie began.

  ‘No, Maggie, let’s wait. I don’t want to go over it twice.’

  The two girls exchanged a glance. ‘I’m not sure I want to hear it even once,’ said Jill, stretching a hand out to Alan. ‘Just to hear you talk like that gives me the creeps. Oh – what’s that?’

  ‘The bell – and Superintendent Hurst, I hope,’ said Dr Salt, getting up. ‘Excuse me, ladies.’

  ‘Women, you mean,’ said Maggie, with a nervous laugh. ‘He told me earlier that he likes women, but doesn’t like ladies.’

  2

  ‘Now I’ll play fair with you, Doctor,’ said Hurst as soon as he had been settled into the largest armchair. He had not objected to the others being there. After all, Maggie and Alan had been there when he had told the Comdon Bridge story – and had tried to make Dr Salt look silly – and it appeared that he had already met Jill at some United Fabrics function. ‘Yes, I’ll play fair, though I know some police officers who wouldn’t. I’ll admit we were taken in by those three at Comdon Bridge – lying their heads off. You were right about them, but that doesn’t prove you’re right when you say Noreen Wilks is dead.’

  ‘Possibly not. But let’s take one thing at a time, Superintendent.’

  ‘Go on. Anything you know that I don’t, I’ll be glad to hear about, Doctor.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’ll tell you all I know, but don’t ask me How and When and Why or we’ll be here all night. Now we’ll start with the Comdon Bridge story. Corrigan was employed by United Fabrics as a caretaker-cum-watchman for the old Worsley place. On Monday night, probably half drunk, he knocked a man out, a man who had to be rushed into a nursing home—’

  ‘Hold on a minute, Dr Salt. All this is new to me—’

  ‘Just take my word for it. Otherwise, as I said before, we’ll be here all night. Corrigan, who was frightened anyhow, was told to clear out, and he went to stay with his sister, Mrs Duffy, in Comdon Bridge. A day or two later, he and his sister and his niece were bribed to come up with this nonsense story about Noreen Wilks staying with them—’

  ‘I’ll grant you the nonsense story, Doctor. But who bribed them – and why?’

  ‘Who? I’d say Aricson of United Fabrics, acting on behalf of Sir Arnold Donnington—’

  ‘Now, now, wait a minute—’

  ‘I’m not waiting a second, Superintendent. If you interrupt me every time the sacred name of Sir Arnold is mentioned, we’ll never get anywhere. Now you asked me why they were bribed. Well, just remember how you behaved when you told me their story. Noreen Wilks was alive and I was making a fool of myself. There was nothing for you to investigate and I might as well clear out of Birkden and forget about Noreen. That story was never meant to stand up as evidence in a court. It was cooked up to stop me going round asking questions. If the rough stuff wouldn’t work, then this might. It was worth trying. But it didn’t work just because Noreen had been my patient—’

  ‘And she’d have to have medical attention, as you told me right at the start. And I believed you, of course, but I also knew these little fly-by-nights can easily forget what they’ve promised their doctors.’

  ‘I know that, of course – I ought to, by this time – but even so, I knew that I’d thoroughly frightened Noreen. I also knew she’d never gone back to her lodgings for clothes and other things. She could be silly, but she wasn’t a complete idiot and I couldn’t see her going away with nothing but the party dress she was wearing.’ He glanced at Maggie and Jill, and they offered him an immediate murmur of agreement.

  ‘All right,’ said Hurst. ‘You didn’t believe that Comdon Bridge tale and then made us look a bit silly. But now what?’

  ‘On Tuesday morning, when you and I were talking in your office, Sir Arnold Donnington marched in and asked you to tell your man on the beat up there to keep an eye on the Worsley house. Remember?’

  ‘Of course I do. And you’re saying that’s because this man Corrigan had been taken off the job – eh?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s by the way.’ Dr Salt stopped to relight his pipe. ‘While I was listening to Sir Arnold, I asked myself two questions. First – why was he worrying about the old Worsley place, which was going to be a sort of extension or annex of the Club, when he’s not supposed to be interested in the Club at all? Jill, you know about that.’

  ‘I know he was against our having the Club at first, and that even when he finally agreed, he never took any interest in it.’ She looked at the superintendent. ‘And that’s the truth.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, if you say so, Miss Frinton. But after all, his firm had bought the place—’

  ‘Next question,’ Dr Salt cut in sharply. ‘I asked myself why this important man, talking about an unimportant matter, was obviously in a state of great tension.’

  ‘Was he?’ Hurst sounded very sceptical. ‘He seemed all right to me. A bit high and mighty as usual, that’s all.’

  ‘He has a high blood pressure, I imagine,’ said Dr Salt coolly, as if Hurst had not spoken, ‘and suffers from hypertension. He was doing his damnedest to appear casual, and his tone wasn’t bad, but his eyes and his hands were all wrong. So I asked myself why he was feeling so excited. And I came up with two answers. First, he was making himself talk about the old Worsley place. Secondly, he was talking about it in front of me.’

  ‘Now, now, Doctor, Sir Arnold hadn’t to bother about you.’

  ‘Yes, he had. You’re forgetting that you’d just introduced me to him as a doctor who was making inquiries about a patient called Noreen Wilks. And he was about to talk to you about the Worsley house. Could he risk it? He decided that he could, after first letting off some steam about industrialists and working women who behave so badly. You remember? No – let me go on. That outburst helped to relieve some of the pressure, so then he felt able to talk to you a
bout the Worsley place, after telling you he hadn’t been near it for months. Then, feeling he’d carried it off very bravely, suddenly bursting with a kind of impudent self-confidence, as he was about to go he said to me: “Dr Salt, I hope you find your patient – Dora Jilkes,” and I had to tell him he meant Noreen Wilks—’

  ‘I remember that, but aren’t you making a lot out of nothing—?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Superintendent. Don’t forget, you were seeing him as a familiar and important figure. I wasn’t. I was watching and listening to a man who thought he was covering himself up nicely when in fact he was giving himself away. When he insisted upon telling you he hadn’t been near the Worsley place for months, I felt sure he’d not only been near it but inside it quite recently. And when he insisted upon calling my missing patient “Dora Jilkes”, he was really telling me he’d never heard of the girl before, and I knew he was lying.’

  ‘And I’ll bet he was,’ cried Jill. ‘Because somebody must have told him that Derek was going around with her.’

  ‘Right, Jill,’ said Dr Salt. ‘But I’m coming to that in a minute. Now, Superintendent, I may be making a lot out of nothing – and in terms of your kind of evidence, probably I am – but I’m trying to explain how I came to certain conclusions. And I left your office on Tuesday convinced that Sir Arnold Donnington was deeply concerned about Noreen Wilks and the old Worsley place, and that quite possibly they were linked together in his mind. And everything I’ve learnt since, with a lot of hocus-pocus you know nothing about, has told me I was right. Now let’s leave Sir Arnold to consider his son, Derek. And don’t let’s have any nonsense about accidents. He shot himself. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it. And he killed himself early in the morning of September 13th, at the end of that night of the 12th when Noreen Wilks vanished.’ He stopped, looked round and then added: ‘I think we all need a drink. Superintendent, you’ve had a long day and needn’t consider yourself on duty now, listening to me making a lot out of nothing. What about a little whisky? Girls – wait neat-handedly upon the weary men!’

  ‘My God – he’s a bossy type, isn’t he?’ said Jill as she and Maggie made for the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve already told him so,’ said Maggie.

  Alan had included himself among the weary men to be waited upon, and now, perhaps feeling he had been silent too long, he spoke to the superintendent. ‘I just want to say this. I’ve kept thinking – and it’s happened several times – that Dr Salt must be wrong. But so far he’s always been right. I hate to admit it, because I like to think I’m as clever as he is, but his mind works faster than mine—’

  ‘Only in a very different field, Alan,’ said Dr Salt. ‘But thank you for the testimonial.’

  ‘I’ll admit he’s made me look a bit silly tonight,’ said Hurst. ‘I mean, over that Comdon Bridge story. But sooner or later, if he’s carrying on with this Noreen Wilks business, he’ll have to come into my field where he doesn’t belong – police work and real evidence – and then we’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong. With all due respect, Doctor.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t forget, Superintendent, I’m not trying to put somebody in the dock – that’s your business – I’m only trying to find out, for my own satisfaction before I leave Birkden, what really happened to Noreen Wilks. That’s all.’

  ‘Here you are, you lazy stinkers,’ cried Jill, returning.

  ‘And don’t waste too much time boozing,’ said Maggie. ‘I’m half frightened, but I’m dying to know the truth about poor Noreen Wilks.’

  After they had settled down again, Dr Salt pointed his pipestem at the superintendent. ‘Noreen and young Derek Donnington weren’t just messing about with each other. They were in love. I’ve now read some of his letters and notes to her—’

  ‘You would, wouldn’t you!’ Jill sounded disgusted.

  ‘Well, why shouldn’t he, if they’re both dead?’ This was Maggie, in a flash.

  ‘I’d be obliged if you young ladies would leave this to Dr Salt and me.’ The superintendent was not heavily disapproving – after all, he had just been given some whisky – but clearly he meant what he said. ‘I might want to see those letters – you got them from her landlady, I take it – but go on, Doctor. They were in love.’

  ‘They were in love and were busy making love, as you can imagine—’

  ‘I couldn’t at one time, but there’s nothing in that line I can’t imagine now. Straight to bed, these days.’

  ‘Now they had to go somewhere to make love,’ said Dr Salt.

  Hurst interrupted him again. ‘Nothing in that. Young Donnington had a car. And they were meeting when nights were still warm. They could have gone anywhere.’

  ‘But they didn’t. That’s clear from what he wrote. They had “a place”, the same one each time. Now Derek was hard up – I know that because his sister, Erica, called to see me, and I extracted a little information out of her – and he couldn’t afford to rent a room—’

  ‘He might have borrowed a pal’s flat,’ said Hurst. ‘It’s been done before – often.’

  ‘But it’s not always easy,’ Dr Salt objected. ‘And especially if it has to be used late at night – say, after a party at the Fabrics Club. But there was one place they could use any time, quite close to the Club – the empty Worsley house that Sir Arnold was so concerned about. Now Noreen Wilks was never seen again after she left that Club party with him on the night of September 12th. All we know for certain is that Derek, who was in love with her, went home and killed himself early next morning. Why? Nobody knows. And if Noreen Wilks is dead, as I believe, it’s not unreasonable to assume that she met her death that night in the old Worsley place. It’s highly unlikely she died a natural death. She may have lost her life as the result of an accident of some kind. It’s just possible. But I can’t help believing she was killed – yes, murdered.’

  ‘You’ve no real evidence,’ said the superintendent very sharply. ‘It’s just a tall story to me, Doctor.’

  ‘But all the facts surrounding it would seem a tall story if I didn’t know they were facts. Ever since I started asking questions about Noreen Wilks, I’ve been elaborately lied to, threatened, told to shut up and go away. Now I went to see Aricson – you know him, Sir Arnold’s dog’s-body at United Fabrics? – and he practically admitted he was trying to shut me up. Not because he knew anything about Noreen Wilks – he told me that, and I believed him – but because Sir Arnold was afraid of a scandal in which his son would be involved—’

  ‘Well, I can understand that,’ said Hurst. ‘Can’t you?’

  ‘No, I can’t. Like Aricson, who’s no fool, you’re accepting the scandal excuse because you’re refusing to take a long close look at it. You’re both saying in effect, as I told Aricson, that there can’t be anything wrong, but it mustn’t get out. If Noreen simply cleared out that night, then there’s no scandal. If she didn’t, then there’s something terribly wrong that has to be uncovered.’

  ‘No, no, Dr Salt, that doesn’t follow. For instance, suppose Sir Arnold discovered that night that the girl was pregnant and made arrangements at once for her to go away—’

  ‘I was her doctor, Superintendent, and in her confidence, and I’d seen her that very morning. Pregnancy’s out. But what stays in is Donnington’s peculiar state of tension on Tuesday morning. And also, all the attempts, made on his behalf chiefly by Aricson, to confuse or block my inquiry.’

  ‘An inquiry entirely in a private capacity,’ said Hurst heavily. ‘Remember that, Doctor. I doubt if you could bring a single charge—’

  ‘I don’t want to bring charges,’ Dr Salt shouted, suddenly out of temper. ‘I’m a doctor, not a policeman. Now I’ll say it again – and I hope for the last time. Noreen Wilks was my patient, in my care, and I want to know exactly what happened to her. And now I’ll make a lot more out of nothing for you, Superintendent. I say that Noreen died in that house and that Sir Arnold Donnington knows all about it.’

  ‘Doctor, you
’re going too fast—’

  ‘If I slow down, I’ll be run out of Birkden before I can prove anything. I think she was murdered.’

  ‘You’d have to show me a body before I believed that—’

  ‘Well, I’m going to have a look,’ said Dr Salt, now on his feet. ‘I’m not asking you to come with me—’

  ‘If I didn’t, our man up there wouldn’t let you go near the house. Besides, this is police work, no business of yours.’

  ‘So—?’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’ The superintendent finished his whisky and pushed himself out of his armchair. ‘Goodnight, ladies. Yes, Mr Culworth?’

  Alan gave a quick glance at Dr Salt’s retreating back. ‘Do you believe he’s right, Superintendent?’

  ‘I do not. I think it’s all moonshine. But there’s never any harm in taking a look. And if he can’t convince me, perhaps I can convince him. But I’d be obliged – and this applies to you too, ladies – if you’d keep this caper to yourselves – eh?’

  3

  ‘Now, Pickles,’ said Superintendent Hurst to the young constable, ‘Dr Salt and I are just going to take a look round inside, and you can come with us.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But the doors are locked, front and back, and I haven’t any keys. But perhaps you have, sir.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. But there are usually ways and means of getting into a house this size that’s been empty a long time. Wood gets warped or rotten and catches don’t work. Go round and try some windows, Pickles, then give us a shout if you can get one open.’

  After a few minutes they climbed in by way of a small side window. The electricity had been cut off but all three of them were carrying large torches, and if there had been anything worth seeing on the ground floor they would have seen it. The house was not really old; it had probably been built – and very solidly built too – in the 1890s; and it had more than its share of coloured leaded lights, Dutch tiles, cosy corners in light oak. A stag’s head, which nobody had thought worth taking away, mournfully presided over one room. There was a sad reek of damp and decay. If the Worsleys, whoever they were, had been happy in this house of theirs, they had left no trace of it to lighten the mouldering air.