by Alan Hunter
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Miss Huysmann deceived her father over the matter of the pictures. Do you know of any other way she may have deceived him?’
Susan placed a smooth, conical finger on her dimpled chin and appeared to consider deeply. ‘He was very strict,’ she said at last.
‘You haven’t answered the question, Miss Stibbons.’
Susan came back with her take-me smile. ‘We-ell, she used to read love-stories and other books that Mr Huysmann didn’t know about …’
Gently shrugged and extended an open palm towards Hansom. In his mind’s eye the figure of the deceased timber-merchant began to take form and substance. He saw the foxy, snarling little face, the sharp, suspicious eyes, the spare figure, the raging, implacable temper of a small man with power … the man whose son had kicked free at any price, whose daughter was in league with the maid to deceive him: who declared the cinema improper while he ruffled Susan in his study … An alien little man, who had spent most of his life in a new country without making friends, shrewd, sudden, tyrannical and hypocritical …
Hansom continued with the questioning. ‘What did you do after you had taken Mr Huysmann his coffee?’
‘I cleared away the lunch things and washed up, Inspector.’
‘What time would that be?’
‘I couldn’t say, exactly. I finished washing up about quarter past three, because there was a change of programme on the wireless just then.’
‘What programme was that?’
‘It was a football match.’
‘At what time did it finish?’
‘It was just before four, I think.’
‘Who won?’ put in Gently curiously. Susan flashed him another smile. ‘The Rovers beat the Albion two-nought,’ she said. Hansom snorted.
‘Did you hear the whole programme?’ he proceeded.
‘We-ell, I had to go and let Mr Peter in.’
‘What time was that?’
‘It was just as the Rovers scored their first goal.’
Hansom drew his fingers wearily across his face. ‘And what time would that be, if it isn’t too much to ask?’
The constable with the notebook cleared his throat. ‘Beg pardon, sir, but the Rovers scored their first goal in the twenty-ninth minute.’
Hansom stared at him.
‘If the kick-off was at three, sir, it would make the time exactly 3.29 p.m.’
‘Ah,’ said Hansom heavily, ‘so it would, would it? Thank you very much. Make a note of it. You’re a credit to the force, Parsons.’
‘I’m a student of soccer, sir,’ said Parsons modestly.
‘So am I,’ said Gently.
Hansom drew a deep breath and looked from one to the other. ‘Why don’t you get your pools out?’ he yapped. ‘Who am I to butt in with my homicide? Send out for the papers and let’s get down to a session!’
Parsons retired to his notebook, crushed, and Gently took out his peppermint creams.
‘Now!’ said Hansom, ‘you appear to have let in Peter Huysmann at 3.29 p.m. Greenwich. Who did he ask to see?’
‘He said he’d come to see his father, Inspector, and asked if he was in.’
‘Was there anything unusual in his aspect?’
‘He did seem a little off-hand, but Mr Peter is like that sometimes.’
‘Did you show him into the study?’
‘I told him his father was there, and then I went back to the kitchen.’
‘It must have been an exciting match,’ said Hansom bitterly. ‘What happened then?’
‘I got on with washing the salad for tea.’
‘How did it come about that you heard Mr Huysmann and his son quarrelling?’
‘Well, there wasn’t a salad bowl in the kitchen, so I had to fetch one from the dining-room. I heard them at it as I was passing through the hall.’
‘Time?’
‘I don’t really know, Inspector.’
‘Nobody scoring any goals?’
‘Not just then.’
Hansom rolled his eyes. ‘I wonder if I could pin anything on those boys for withholding assistance from the police … Was it much before the end of the programme?’
‘Oh yes … quite a long time before.’
‘Did you go down the passage to listen?’
Susan gave him a well-taken look of sad reproof. ‘No, Inspector.’
‘Why not? It should have been worth listening to.’
‘But there’d been so many of them before.’
‘And then, of course, the Albion might have equalized. Did you hear anything at all of what was said?’
‘We-ell, I heard Mr Peter say his father hadn’t got any human feelings left.’
‘And what did Mr Huysmann say?’
‘He said something that sounded nasty, but he had a funny way of speaking. You couldn’t always understand him.’
‘And that was positively all you heard of a quarrel following which Mr Huysmann was stabbed to death?’
Susan frowned prettily and applied her finger to the dimple in her chin again. ‘We-ell, when I was coming back from the dining-room I heard Mr Peter say something about he’d take it, but there’d be a time when he’d give it back.’
‘Have you any idea to what he was referring?’
‘Oh no, Inspector.’
‘You didn’t,’ mused Gently, ‘you didn’t hear anything to suggest that the object referred to … wasn’t … a five-pound note?’
Susan looked puzzled. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.
Hansom breathed heavily. ‘So you went back to the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Well – what did you do then?’
‘I finished the salad and cut some bread and butter.’
‘Did you hear nothing unusual while you were doing that?’
‘No, Inspector.’
‘Nothing resembling cries or a struggle?’
‘You can’t hear anything from that side of the house in the kitchen.’
‘How about the warning bell on the front door?’
‘I didn’t hear it ring.’
‘After the sports interlude – did you turn the wireless off?’
‘Oh no, it was dance music after that. I had it on all the while. It was Mrs Turner who switched it off when she came in.’
‘How long did it take you to finish preparing the tea?’
‘I’d done by ten past four. After that I made a cup of tea and some toast, and sat down for a bit till Mrs Turner got back at five. It should have been my evening off,’ she added glumly.
‘What happened when Mrs Turner got back?’
‘Well, she took her things off and looked to see if I’d done the tea properly, then she went to ask Mr Huysmann when he’d be wanting it.’
‘And then?’
‘She came back a minute or two later looking as white as a sheet. “Oh God!” she said, “there’s something terrible happened to the master. Don’t go near the study,” she said. It was awful, Inspector!’
‘Mrs Turner sent you for some brandy. Where was it kept?’
‘I got the decanter from the dining-room.’
Gently leant forward. ‘When you passed through the hall to the dining-room, did you see anybody?’ he enquired.
‘No, nobody.’
‘Did you hear or see anything unusual?’
‘I can’t remember anything.’
Gently brooded a moment. ‘Mrs Turner then sent you to telephone the police. Which telephone did you use?’
‘I used the one in the little place under the stairs.’
‘As you entered the hall you met Miss Gretchen. Where did you first see her?’
‘She was just come in. She was taking her hat off.’
‘Was the door open or closed?’
‘It was closed.’
‘Did you hear the warning bell just before or as you were leaving the kitchen?’
‘We-ell … I might have done.’
‘Can you say for certain that you did?’
&
nbsp; Susan bathed him in her dissolving smile. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think I can.’
Gently eased back in his chair and studied illimitable realms of space. ‘Do you not think it strange,’ he said, ‘that Miss Gretchen should re-enter the house by the front door with its warning bell, which she was at such pains to avoid when she went out?’
For a brief second the blue eyes stared at him in complete blankness. Then they swam to life again. ‘She’d got an evening paper,’ said Susan, ‘I dare say she’d have said she went out to buy one.’
‘Ah!’ breathed Gently, ‘an evening paper. That’s the second one that’s cropped up in this case.’ He waved her back to Hansom.
‘The Chief Inspector has forgotten to ask you his most telling question,’ said Hansom acidly.
Gently inclined his head.
‘He wants you to tell him if you entered this room any time after lunch yesterday.’
Susan glanced at Gently in puzzlement.
‘Well, go on,’ said Hansom, ‘tell him.’
Gently said: ‘Not after lunch but after you cleaned the room out.’
Susan wrinkled her snow-white brow. ‘I put the flowers in the window. I didn’t go in after that. I don’t think anybody did.’
‘You’ve made him happy,’ said Hansom, ‘you’ll never know how happy you’ve made the Chief Inspector.’ And he laughed in his semi-handsome way.
CHAPTER FIVE
HANSOM WAS SMOKING again: the air was thickening with the fulsome smell of his Corona. Gently, too, was adding smoke-rings to the upper atmosphere. The constable sniffed in a peaked sort of way. ‘Go on,’ said Hansom, ‘be a devil. Have a spit and a draw.’ The constable said, ‘Thank you, sir,’ and fished out a somewhat tatty cigarette. Hansom gave him a light. He said: ‘The super doesn’t smoke, and he’s the one person around here who can afford to.’ Gently said: ‘You’ll have to transfer to the MP and get the London scale.’ Hansom grunted.
They could hear the rain still, outside. There was a drain by the pavement just outside the big window which made little, ecstatic noises. To hear that made the room seem chill. ‘There’s the chauffeur and the manager and Miss Gretchen,’ said Hansom. ‘Who’d you like to have in next?’
Gently said: ‘Was there anyone in the yard yesterday?’
‘Nope,’ Hansom said. ‘Saturday.’
Gently blew a few rings. ‘Let’s have the chauffeur,’ he said. ‘He’s probably sweating on his pint before lunch. After him I’d like to see Miss Gretchen. We’ll keep Leaming for dessert.’
Hansom called in the constable from outside.
The chauffeur’s name was Fisher. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, athletic-looking man of thirty, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a strong but rather brutal face and lop-ears. He had a small moustache, carefully trimmed. He wore a beach-girl tie and a cheap American-style jacket in two patterns.
Hansom said: ‘What time did you go off duty yesterday?’
‘About twelve or just after,’ Fisher replied slowly. ‘I’d just cleaned the car down.’ He had a hard but slovenly voice.
‘What did you do when you went off duty?’
‘I had a beer in the “Lighterman”.’
‘And after that?’
‘Had something to eat in the snack-bar – Charlie’s, they call it.’
‘What time did you leave the snack-bar?’
‘I dunno. Might’ve been half-past one.’
‘Where did you go then?’
‘I went back to my place and had a lie-down.’
‘Where’s your place?’
‘5A Paragon Alley. It’s up the hill towards Burgh Street. It’s a flat.’
‘Do you live alone?’
‘There’s a woman comes in of a morning.’
‘Did anybody see you there?’
‘I dunno. There may’ve been someone about, but it’s quiet up the Alley.’
‘How long were you lying down?’
‘Hour, maybe.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I got on with my model.’
‘What’s that?’
Fisher moved his long, sprawling legs. ‘I make scale model planes – it’s a hobby. I’m making an S.E. 5.’
‘How long were you doing that?’
‘Till four o’clock.’
Gently said: ‘You remember that time very precisely. I wonder why?’
Fisher stirred again, uneasily. ‘I just thought I’d work on it till four, that’s all. There wasn’t any reason. I just thought I’d work on it till four.’
Hansom continued: ‘What did you do after four?’
‘I went up to the fair.’
‘Did you meet anyone you recognized?’
‘I saw Mr Peter go across to the Wall from his caravan.’
‘Time!’ snapped Gently, beating Hansom to it by a fair margin.
Fisher jumped at the suddenness of the question. ‘It was twenty-five past four.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just looked at my watch.’
‘Why?’
‘I dunno – I just looked at my watch!’
‘Do you often just look at your watch, or is it only when you know you may have to account for your movements?’
‘I didn’t know anything – I just looked at it!’
Gently paused like a stalking jaguar. Fisher’s brow was tight and moistening with perspiration. ‘What was he wearing?’ purred Gently.
‘He was going to the Wall – he’d got his overalls on.’
‘You mean the red leather ones he rides in?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And he was going to the Wall?’
‘I said he was!’
‘Then how do you account for the fact that the overalls are kept at the Wall and not at the caravan?’
‘I dunno – perhaps he wasn’t coming from the caravan—’
‘But you said he was.’
‘I thought he was – he was coming from that way—’
‘How many things have you thought up to tell us?’
‘I haven’t thought anything – it’s the truth!’
‘When did you hear about the murder?’
‘They told me when I came in this morning.’
‘Who’s “they”?’
‘Mrs Turner.’
‘When did it take place?’
‘About four.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She told me!’
‘But Mrs Turner didn’t find the body till five. How did she know that the murder took place at four?’
‘I dunno – she just told me!’
‘And you just happened to be looking at the time and deciding to go out at four?’
‘Yes, I did!’
‘Would you describe that as being coincidental in any way?’
‘I dunno, but it’s true!’
Gently swam forward in his chair. ‘It’s true that you can give no verifiable account of your movements between 1.30 and 4.25 p.m. yesterday. It’s true that you know the approximate time at which the murder took place and that Mrs Turner could not have done. And it’s true that you’ve taken care to give your movements precise times at and immediately after the murder took place. All these things,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘would be equally true of the murderer himself.’
Fisher jumped to his feet. ‘But I didn’t do it!’ he cried, ‘I didn’t – and you can’t say I did! You’re asking me all these things and twisting them round to make it seem like I did it, but I didn’t, and you can’t prove that I did!’
‘I haven’t suggested that you did,’ said Gently smoothly. ‘I’m merely establishing that you could, perhaps, be more helpful to this enquiry than in fact you are.’
Fisher stood breathing quickly and staring at him. ‘I don’t know anything,’ he said, a note of sullenness in his voice. ‘I’ve told you what I know, and you can’t prove anything else.’
Gently looked from Fisher to the chair on which he had bee
n sitting. ‘Your chair,’ he said, ‘we had it finger-printed last night.’
The chauffeur moved away from it involuntarily.
‘Do you think it possible that we shall find your prints on it?’
‘You’d find them there now, wouldn’t you?’
‘But would they have been there last night?’
‘They might be there any time. I’m about the house. I move the furniture for them sometimes.’
Gently sighed and extended his palm towards Hansom, who had been following the proceedings very attentively.
Hansom said: ‘Were you or were you not in this house at the time of the murder?’
‘I told you I wasn’t.’
‘Did you witness the murder by standing on that chair and watching through the transom lights?’
‘No! I was nowhere near the place.’
‘The answers you have given to Chief Inspector Gently suggest to me very strongly that you had knowledge of the crime prior to this morning. Think carefully, now. Are you sure you’ve nothing to add to what you’ve already told us?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘You’ve told us the whole truth?’
‘Yes!’
‘You wouldn’t like to reconsider any part of it?’
‘It’s the truth, I tell you!’
‘And it had bloody well better be, for your sake!’ bawled Hansom, suddenly dropping his official mask in exasperation. ‘Now get out of here and hold yourself ready for further questioning.’
Fisher flushed angrily and turned towards the door.
‘Just a minute,’ said Gently. Fisher paused. ‘Why did you put it in the chest?’ enquired Gently confidentially.
The chauffeur stared at him with complete lack of understanding. ‘Put what in the chest?’ he asked.
Gently swam back into the depths of his chair. ‘Never mind,’ he said, ‘run along. Do what the Inspector tells you …’
Hansom blasted the butt of his cigar in the ashtray and took one of his very deepest breaths. He said: ‘I’ve got to hand it to you. I never thought there was much in that hoo-ha about the chair, but I’m beginning to have my doubts.’
‘It’s just guess-work,’ replied Gently deprecatingly. ‘The maid might have missed those marks when she brushed the carpet.’
‘I’m willing to swear that fellow was in here like you said.’
