Salt is Leaving

by J. B. Priestley

  Maggie found herself giggling. The last thing she could imagine was Dr Salt presenting them with a bill.

  ‘I don’t see anything funny about it—’

  ‘No, Mother, it’s a sensible question. And I’d say – no bill,’ Alan told her gravely.

  ‘Thank you, Alan dear. Y’know, I can’t really make out whether Maggie likes him or not. What about you, Alan? You know about clever people. Would you say he’s a clever doctor?’

  ‘I think he might be,’ Alan began slowly. And Maggie could not help waiting intently, ready in a flash, if need be, to confirm or deny what he might say next. ‘I know he’s extremely sharp and observant – and his mind works quickly.’

  ‘Isn’t that nice? Maggie never told me that.’

  ‘Well, now Alan’s told you,’ said Maggie. ‘So that’s better still, isn’t it? Dr Salt’s very clever – odd but rather sweet – and terribly obstinate. Alan, you’ll have to wait a few minutes. I’ve decided I can’t wear this stinker of a suit.’

  It was just after ten when Alan dropped them at Dr Salt’s. To Maggie’s relief they didn’t discover Dr Salt in a sports shirt and baggy old pants, still sorting out books and records. He looked like a respectable doctor, and his manner might have been borrowed straight from Harley Street.

  ‘Naturally you’re anxious to see your husband, Mrs Culworth,’ he began. ‘And I shan’t keep you from him more than a minute or two. But there are one or two things I must explain.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, Dr Salt – I understand.’

  ‘Your husband came to Birkden on Monday to make some inquiries about a girl, Noreen Wilks, who was missing. She was the daughter of an old friend of his – somebody he’d known in the Air Force. This girl was a patient of mine – that’s how I come into the picture – and I was making inquiries too. Last night, the police and I discovered her body in an empty house – she’d been murdered. Of course, your husband knew nothing about this. On Monday he met with an accident and was sent to a nursing home, suffering from some concussion and a heart condition he’d known about for several years. He couldn’t get in touch with you because he was being kept under sedation. Yesterday I brought him here. He’s made a splendid recovery, Mrs Culworth, and you’ll be able to take him home this morning and it’ll probably do him more good than harm if you let him pay a short visit to the shop this afternoon to see if all’s well, sign a few cheques, look at some bills – spend an hour there, let us say. So far, so good – but—’ And here he broke off to hold up a warning finger, at which Mrs Culworth stared as if she were already half hypnotized.

  ‘But – I must ask you to remember this. After the shock and then sedation his mind is naturally confused about events earlier this week. You must ignore them, Mrs Culworth. Don’t begin questioning him, reproaching him or in any way raising the emotional temperature. He’ll have to take care of himself from now on – you’ll have to watch that – and indeed I’ve suggested to him already that if he can afford to do it, he ought to give up the shop – though that doesn’t mean he ought to do nothing – he needs some occupation. Now Maggie’ll go in with you, just to say Hello to her father, and then she’ll leave you to it. Take everything easily and slowly – chat about this and that – help him to dress and pack up – keep him smiling – you know?’

  ‘I should think I do know,’ said Mrs Culworth, though not indignantly. ‘I understand perfectly – and thank you very much, Dr Salt. Come along, Maggie dear.’

  Maggie kissed her father, said he looked wonderful – though he didn’t – and then, sensing her mother’s impatience, hastily left them together and rejoined Dr Salt. ‘And I must say, though I’m rather cross with you this morning,’ she told him, ‘that speech to my mother was a masterpiece. You might have been dealing with her all your life.’

  ‘Not quite, but I’ve spent some years talking to anxious and suspicious wives. By the way, you’ll be glad to know I’ve got two men calling this afternoon – one to buy the books I don’t want, the other for the records. They’ll both swindle me, of course, but most of this clutter will be off my hands. All the rest of the stuff will go into store on Monday, when I hope I’ll have gone.’

  ‘Gone where? You don’t even know that, do you?’ She spoke sharply, trying to reject a sudden little sad and empty feeling.

  ‘Yes, I do. Paris first – to pick up a car from a friend of mine there – and then the Dordogne. But why are you feeling annoyed with me this morning, Maggie?’

  ‘After last night, of course. I mean – not letting well alone, wanting to go on and on about Noreen Wilks when it could be all over—’

  ‘All over but not done with. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with the mystery of Noreen Wilks. What I do want – unlike these other people – is to lay that poor ghost, clear away and tidy up, then leave Birkden with an easy mind, a clear conscience. How can I—’

  But he never finished the question because somebody was at the door.

  2

  ‘I’m Sims – Birkden Evening Post,’ Maggie heard the man say. ‘Like to have a word with you, if I could, Dr Salt.’ He could, and was admitted and introduced to Maggie. He was a middle-aged man with a fat, sagging face and a sad voice, and he smoked his cigarette with a hissing noise, as if he were a very polite Japanese. ‘You’re leaving Birkden, I understand, Dr Salt?’

  ‘I am, yes.’ Dr Salt, who was still standing, picked up a book from the nearest pile and looked at it as if he had never seen it before.

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘I’m tired of it. Need a change.’

  ‘No wife and family to bother about?’

  ‘No. All alone.’

  ‘Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.’

  ‘And sometimes I wish I had.’ Dr Salt replaced the book. ‘Now your next question is – What am I going to do? And the answer is – I don’t know. Haven’t made up my mind where to go next. Need a holiday first.’

  ‘You’ve been in practice here seven years, haven’t you?’ Sims now sounded bored as well as sad. ‘What do you think of Birkden?’

  ‘Not much. However, I’ve been in worse places – mostly on the Persian Gulf.’

  ‘What’s the matter with Birkden?’

  ‘Nothing – if you read the Evening Post. So just say that Dr Salt had found it a fascinating town, with a charm all its own, filled with varied life, colour, an eager friendliness and that civilized gaiety discovered in so many English industrial towns.’

  ‘Well, don’t think we won’t print that, though we have a few readers – just a few – who’ll write in to say you must be barmy.’

  ‘Just please yourself, Mr Sims.’ But then the telephone was ringing. As Dr Salt went across to answer it, Maggie was astonished to see Sims give her an enormous wink.

  ‘Yes, this is Dr Salt. Who? Colonel Ringwood? Right, put him on—’

  ‘Our Chief Constable,’ Sims told Maggie in a loud whisper, and then gave her another wink.

  ‘Yes, Colonel Ringwood? . . . No, I can’t come and see you . . . Possibly it is urgent – but if it is, then you can come here . . . Well, it’s equally inconvenient for me to leave this flat – and I don’t even want to see you.’ Dr Salt put down the receiver and looked at Sims. ‘Bad-tempered chap, isn’t he?’

  ‘He isn’t used to people talking to him like that. Is he coming here?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. But he seems to imagine I’m still in the army.’

  ‘Were you in the army once, then?’

  ‘As an MO – yes. Burma Campaign.’

  Sims nodded several times. ‘I’m getting the idea you’re a lot tougher than you look.’

  ‘Oh – he is,’ said Maggie. And then wished she hadn’t.

  Dr Salt lit his pipe and said nothing.

  Sims waited, cleared his throat, then said: ‘Well, now – what about Noreen Wilks?’

  ‘Ah – I’ve been waiting for that. The real reason why you came to see me, isn’t it, Mr Sims?’<
br />
  ‘You don’t know what goes on round here, Dr Salt.’

  ‘I’m beginning to learn.’

  ‘I can print all that guff about Birkden – taking the sarcasm out of it, of course,’ said Sims. ‘But there isn’t going to be any Noreen Wilks story in the Birkden Evening Post. You see, it’s owned by the Birkden and District Newspaper Company. And the chairman of that company—’

  ‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Sir Arnold Donnington.’

  ‘Right first time, Dr Salt.’

  ‘He’s a kind of Louis the Fourteenth round here, isn’t he? Let’s see – finance, industry, property, the Law, the Press. Every time I turn a corner he’s there.’

  Sims grinned. ‘And sometimes he’s just behind you telling you not to turn corners. But now you can understand why anything you tell me about Noreen Wilks will be off the record.’

  ‘In Birkden. But what about London – or Birmingham?’

  ‘We’re under contract not to do anything for the nationals or the agencies. The last chap who tried it was sacked at once. And I’ve got four children and a mortgage. So I’m just curious, that’s all. Now the rumour’s going round that late last night it was you who led the police to the body, but that then you told Hurst that his account of the murder didn’t satisfy you at all. Now – off the record – is that right?’

  ‘Quite right, Mr Sims.’

  ‘Are you going to do anything about it?’

  ‘Well,’ said Dr Salt in a mild, half-ruminating manner. ‘Having established, after some opposition, that the girl wasn’t merely missing but had been murdered, I’d certainly like to know who killed her. Before I leave the town, y’know.’

  ‘And when do you think that’ll be?’

  ‘Sunday – or Monday.’

  ‘You’ll have to work fast, won’t you?’

  ‘Work fast? I don’t intend to work at all.’

  ‘Just sit around and think – is that the idea?’

  ‘More or less,’ said Dr Salt. ‘Not much thinking, though. You’re looking sceptical, Mr Sims.’

  ‘I think you’ll have your work cut out just keeping out of trouble, Dr Salt.’

  ‘And I’m sure that’s true,’ Maggie told them both, earnestly. But somebody else had arrived.

  Colonel Ringwood had a beaky nose and fierce moustache, but the remainder of his face suffered from a droopy old-hound effect. He was obviously out of temper, and his bark was almost that of a young hound. ‘’Morning! Dr Salt, eh?’ He marched in and then stopped to glare at Sims. ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, Chief Constable. I’m Sims of the Evening Post.’

  ‘Good God!’ He turned angrily to Dr Salt. ‘You’ve brought the confounded Press in already.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Dr Salt mildly.

  ‘I came to interview Dr Salt on his leaving Birkden – what his plans are – how he’s liked Birkden – that kind of thing. Any objection?’

  ‘If that’s all it is – no. Why should there be?’

  ‘That’s what I was wondering,’ said Sims, who was now sauntering towards the door. ‘Well – thanks, Dr Salt – and have a good holiday. Bye-bye!’

  ‘What’s this about a holiday?’ said Colonel Ringwood very sharply, as soon as Sims had gone.

  ‘I’m about to take one.’

  ‘When are you going?’ It was another bark.

  ‘As soon as I can.’ Then he suddenly started barking too. ‘What do you have for breakfast?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me,’ barked Dr Salt. ‘What do you have for breakfast? And why?’

  Maggie began giggling.

  ‘What the devil has it got to do with you, man?’ Colonel Ringwood was furious. ‘And why are you taking that tone with me?’

  Instead of replying, Dr Salt gave him a long, slow smile, compelling him to understand the point of the burlesque.

  ‘I see. Bit brusque with you, was I? Sorry!’

  ‘Not at all, Colonel. Oh – this is Miss Culworth, who’s acting as – er – my confidential assistant—’

  ‘How d’you do? Though I don’t pretend to understand this confidential assistant business.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Maggie sweetly.

  ‘Having a worrying sort of morning, partly thanks to you, Dr Salt.’

  ‘But if young girls disappear,’ said Dr Salt, mild as milk, ‘somebody ought to try to find them, don’t you think?’

  ‘Well, she’s been found. And now you ought to feel satisfied and go and enjoy your holiday. What you won’t do, if you’ve any sense, is to hang about here playing detective and interfering with legitimate police work.’

  ‘And what would that work be – in the case of Noreen Wilks?’

  ‘None to speak of. We consider the case closed.’

  ‘Well then, if you’re not doing any work, I could hardly interfere with it, could I?’

  ‘There’s nothing to be gained by mere quibbling, Dr Salt. You know where we stand. Superintendent Hurst told you last night. This girl was undoubtedly killed by her lover, Derek Donnington, who had the motive, the opportunity, the means. And as young Donnington’s dead, that’s an end to the whole wretched business. This is Hurst’s view. It’s my view. And it ought to be yours.’

  Dr Salt smiled at him. ‘I’m sorry, but it isn’t. In fact it’s quite ridiculous. You and Hurst are trying to paper over this case just as somebody papered over that hole in the wall where we found the body last night. You’re not solving the riddle. You’re just giving it up.’

  ‘But if young Donnington didn’t kill the girl, then who did?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m sure he didn’t.’

  ‘Have you any evidence that would stand up in a court of law?’

  ‘None whatever,’ Dr Salt replied cheerfully. ‘But, then, I never have had. Nevertheless, now you have the body.’

  ‘You’re being frank with me, Dr Salt, so now I’ll be equally frank with you. You’ve probably got some fine-spun theory, a typical intellectual amateur approach, that any experienced police officer would reject at once. And for the sake of that theory, you’re probably prepared to let loose a lot of dangerous stuff that might do a great deal of harm to this town. I live in Birkden. You’re about to leave it. Well, I’m here to make sure you don’t do it any harm.’

  ‘But I don’t want to do it any harm. I’m sorry for it.’

  ‘I don’t know why you should be.’ Colonel Ringwood looked and sounded outraged.

  ‘Let’s not bother about that, then.’

  ‘Very well, then listen to me. To begin with, Sir Arnold Donnington is a friend of mine, I’m proud to say. He needn’t live here – he could live anywhere – but he stays on to do what he can for Birkden—’

  ‘And I think it’s time he stopped. Let Birkden do what it can for Birkden—’

  ‘Will you kindly listen to me? Sir Arnold felt the death of his son very deeply. If that wound is reopened, it’s going to hurt him like hell. Then – United Anglo-Belgian Fabrics are our biggest employers. Any scandal involving them won’t help Birkden. And if we all find ourselves splashed across the pages of the sensational Sunday Press, a lot of innocent people will suffer—’

  ‘That really is true,’ said Maggie, giving Dr Salt an appealing look.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Er,’ the colonel continued. ‘And all because Dr Salt, who’s leaving the town anyhow, has a fancy theory about a murder case that’s already solved itself.’

  ‘But it hasn’t, y’know,’ Dr Salt told him.

  ‘Why the devil can’t you attend to your own affairs and leave us to attend to ours? What would you feel if I marched into your surgery one morning and told you what was wrong with your patients?’

  ‘Some mornings I’d hate it. Some mornings I’d love it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want you meddling with police work. And I warn you, Dr Salt, that I’ll tell my men not only to offer you no assistance whatever—’

  ‘Oh – that re
minds me,’ Dr Salt cut in coolly. ‘What was your police surgeon’s report on the body?’

  ‘Hurst told you that you couldn’t see that report. Damned impudence asking me now! I’m telling you, as plainly as I can, that not only will you get no help from the Birkden Force but that if there’s the slightest infringement of the law on your part, you’ll take the consequences.’

  ‘Better keep away from my car, hadn’t I?’

  ‘You’ll do your preposterous amateur detecting entirely at your own risk—’

  ‘You mean – that if I should be beaten up—’

  ‘It’s not a question of beating up. This isn’t Chicago.’

  ‘No, but it’s doing its best,’ said Dr Salt. ‘Where have you been, Colonel Ringwood? I don’t work in casualty wards, and even I’ve attended at least eight men who were badly beaten up – one of them shot in the leg – three of them probably maimed for life. Ever since we never had it so good, this has been a rough town.’

  ‘If you believe that,’ Colonel Ringwood told him, ‘then the sooner you leave Birkden, the better.’ He was now on his feet. ‘And I’ve said all I want to say – so—’

  ‘But wouldn’t you like to know why I’m sure young Donnington couldn’t have killed her?’

  ‘No,’ the colonel bellowed. ‘Lot of damned nonsense!’ And he banged out without offering a word or even a look to Miss Er, who pulled a face but then unpulled it to give Dr Salt a stern look. It missed him, however, because he was busy re-lighting his pipe. So finally she had to say something.