by J F Straker
‘I don’t know. Three or four minutes, perhaps.’
‘Then let’s say you left here at ten. Allow three minutes to get to the Mytton Arms, another three to the Grapevine, and four to return here. I’ve tried it; it couldn’t be done in less. And that accounts for the ten minutes you say you were away from here. But it doesn’t allow for making inquiries at the pubs, or for your visit to Trant Farm.’ The inspector shook his head. ‘You see now where the holes are?’
‘No, I don’t,’ George said sharply. Nor did he. ‘Granted, I’m a minute or two out. But what of it?’
‘More than a minute or two,’ Pitt said. ‘The farm has a long drive, with two gates to open and shut on the way in and out. And you haven’t accounted for the fact that you were seen outside the church at twenty minutes past ten.’
He said it with the air of a conjuror producing a rabbit from a hat.
George sighed. He had been a fool to imagine no one had recognized him, despite the deserted appearance of the village. His taxi was too well known.
‘I came home that way,’ he said lamely. ‘There was no hurry, and it was just possible I might bump into Cluster in the village.’
The inspector looked his disbelief.
‘That last remark isn’t to be taken too literally, I imagine.’ There was no hint of a smile on his face. ‘And what time did you eventually return here?’
‘Around half-past ten, I think. But I’m not sticking my neck out again. It could have been a few minutes either way.’
‘I’m sure it could,’ Pitt said dryly. ‘However, your ten minutes have now swollen to thirty. And a lot could have happened in that thirty minutes, Mr Colling.’
George knew what he meant. That careful analysis of times had been aimed at Gwen, not at him. He had been tricked into destroying Gwen’s alibi.
‘It could, but it didn’t,’ he said shortly. ‘Neither my wife nor I had anything to do with the murder, so stop crowding us, will you?’ He slid off the desk on which he had been perched, and lit a cigarette with a nervous hand. ‘I’ve admitted I was looking for Cluster. But I didn’t find him, and I didn’t kill him. I never had any thought of killing him. As for Gwen — well, she was here when I left and she was here when I got back. It would have taken her all of thirty minutes to get to the cottage and back, let alone murder Cluster. And why the hell should she, anyway?’
‘I don’t know,’ Pitt said. ‘But it’s not just a matter of half an hour. Not the way I see it.’
‘And how do you see it?’
‘Like this, Mr Colling. When you left here at nine-thirty that evening your wife expected you to be away for at least an hour and a half; you couldn’t have done your scheduled trip in less. That’s why she wasn’t here when you got back. Oh, yes! I know you said she was’ — as George started to protest—’but that’s where you and I disagree. That’s one of the holes I mentioned earlier. We also disagree on why you went out a second time. You say it was to return a book, I say it was to look for your wife, whom you expected to find with Cluster.’ He pulled thoughtfully at his chin. ‘The question is, did you find her?’
George sucked hard at his cigarette. His fingers gripped it so tightly that it would not draw.
‘If you like to invent fairy tales that’s your business, Inspector, not mine,’ he said roughly. ‘But you can take it from me that my wife was upstairs in the flat all Sunday evening.’
Pitt shook his head. ‘She wasn’t, you know,’ he said quietly. ‘And there’s no fairy tale about that. She was seen in Tithe Lane at a quarter-past ten.’
*
It had been a sudden impulse that had prompted Penelope to invite Sergeant Norris-Kerr to tea. There he was, sitting on the church wall, apparently with nothing to do; and if he had nothing to do he might as well do it in the Hall drawing-room, having tea with her, as on the church wall. The hint of possibly important information had been mere bait; without it he might not have come. But as four o’clock approached she was beginning to regret her impulse. She had no information, apart from the little she could tell him of Sybil’s visit on the Sunday. But that could hardly be important, and to use it would be to betray Sybil’s confidence. Most devastating thought of all was that the sergeant might see through her thin excuse for the invitation.
Over tea they talked about themselves. Penelope attempted to hide her interest in the man by professing an intense curiosity about his profession. Her guest, guiltily aware that he ought to be getting down to business, did his best to satisfy it.
‘You’re not a bit like my idea of a detective,’ she told him.
‘That’s what the inspector thinks,’ he said. ‘Only he puts it more forcefully.’
She laughed. ‘I bet he does. He looks terribly efficient and — well, chilly.’
‘He’s all right. His bark is a lot worse than his bite. He even has a sense of humour, although it’s his own particular brand.’ He had no wish to discuss his superior officer, and changed the topic abruptly. ‘What about this information you mentioned? I mustn’t spend too much time collecting it, or I’ll be on the carpet.’
‘I feel rather mean about it,’ the girl confessed. ‘You see, I promised I wouldn’t breathe a word. But that was before Mr Cluster was murdered. I hadn’t envisaged anything like that when I made the promise, so I’m hoping that absolves me.’
‘I’m sure it does. But what is it?’
‘It’s to do with Sybil. I’ve known for some weeks that she was up to something, but it wasn’t until the Maces’ cocktail party on Saturday that she told me she was having an affair with a man.’
‘That doesn’t exactly surprise me. What man?’
‘I don’t know. She said he wasn’t the type her parents would approve of, and that if her mother knew about him there would be hell to pay. She had to meet him in secret, and the opportunities were few. However, she was supposed to be spending Sunday evening with us, and she wanted me to arrange it so that she could be with him instead. The idea was for the two of us to go up to my room on some pretext or other, and then she could slip out the back way and meet him.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘Yes. I wasn’t keen, because it seemed rather unfair on Cliff. There’s a sort of understanding between the families that Cliff and Sybil will eventually marry; personally I think it’s all rot, because you can’t arrange marriages like that, can you? Not these days. And although Cliff is crazy about her, I don’t think Sybil cares two hoots for him. She’s as good as told me so.’
‘And did the plan work?’ asked the sergeant, anxious now to get to the point.
‘I think so. She was here by eight-thirty, and shortly afterwards we went upstairs. I let her out by the back door just before nine, and she wasn’t back until ten.’
‘Weren’t you afraid the maids might see her?’
The girl shook her head. ‘Alice is the only one who lives in, and she has Sunday evenings off.’
‘And that’s the lot?’
‘I’m afraid so. It isn’t much, is it? But I thought I ought to tell you.’
‘Quite right.’ Norris-Kerr pondered the problem. ‘The man couldn’t have been Cluster, I suppose?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Penelope was shocked. ‘Why, he was over twice her age, and a perfectly ghastly man! Sybil would never have looked at him.’
‘A pity. It would fit into the picture very nicely.’ He was well aware that Pitt would have deplored such an approach, but he did not always agree with the methods of his superiors. ‘I’m told women, even the young ones, found him attractive; and from what I’ve heard of the gentleman Miss Mace’s parents would certainly consider him unsuitable. How was she when she returned? Casual? Excited? Can you remember?’
Penelope considered this. ‘Neither, really. I’d expected her to be excited and happy. I know I would be if—’ She checked herself, blushing. ‘Actually she was rather subdued. I wondered if they’d quarrelled.’
‘Why did your brother choose to go out tha
t evening, when he knew Miss Mace was coming? Not exactly the action of a love-lorn swain, was it?’
‘Oh, that wasn’t until after Sybil and I had gone upstairs. And it wasn’t for long. He was back by half-past nine.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
‘Well, I didn’t actually see him. But I heard him go into his room. He—’
She stopped, a puzzled frown on her face. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked the sergeant.
‘I’ve just remembered he didn’t come downstairs again that evening. Not even to say good-bye to Sybil. It didn’t strike me as odd at the time, but it does now. It isn’t at all like Cliff. As a rule he never misses an opportunity to be with her.’
‘He may have seen her with the mystery man,’ Norris-Kerr suggested. ‘That could be rather putting-off to a lover, I imagine.’
‘Goodness! I hope not!’ Penelope said fervently. ‘He’s terribly jealous and possessive where Sybil’s concerned. And he’s got a vile temper when—’
She clapped one hand to her mouth and looked anxiously at the sergeant.
‘Quite a thought, isn’t it?’ There was the suspicion of a grin on the sergeant’s freckled face. ‘And I agree with you about your brother’s temper; I’ve had a taste of it myself. But I don’t think you need worry. Cluster couldn’t have got to the cottage before nine-thirty. If your brother was home by then he seems to be in the clear.’
‘Really?’ Penelope sighed her relief. ‘You’re not just saying that to please me?’
He assured her he was not. She thanked him with a smile.
Clifford came into the room as they were finishing tea. He paused in embarrassed uncertainty when he saw Norris-Kerr; but the latter greeted him with cheerful unconcern, and rather awkwardly Clifford returned the greeting.
‘Can I have a word with you before you leave?’ he said. ‘I’ll be in the study.’
Penelope looked from one to the other of the two men. She knew nothing of their previous quarrel, and wondered. It was not like Clifford to be so constrained.
‘You can have it now,’ she said. ‘I’ve things to see to upstairs.’
When the door had closed behind her Clifford held out his hand. ‘I want to apologize,’ he explained, slightly red of face. ‘I was pretty upset last night, but that doesn’t excuse my behaviour. I’m sorry. I appreciate now that there was nothing personal in your eavesdropping, just part of the job, as you said.’
‘That’s very handsome of you.’ Norris-Kerr gripped the outstretched hand. ‘But don’t feel bad about it. I’d have acted the same way if I’d been in your shoes.’ He grinned. ‘I guess I’m not the tough cop I ought to be, or I wouldn’t have let myself get rattled. Most unprofessional.’
‘Let’s forget it,’ Clifford said.
But that was something the sergeant could not do. Apologies notwithstanding, that telephone conversation still had to be explained — if not by Clifford, then by the girl. ‘And I’m sure you would prefer that we get it from you rather than from Miss Mace,’ he concluded, when he had put this to the young man.
Clifford frowned. ‘But it was a purely private matter, as I told you at the time. How can it concern you fellows?’
The sergeant shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I’m not saying it does. But I heard enough to know that Miss Mace was trying to persuade you to conceal something that happened here on Sunday evening. And Sunday evening, Mr Hooper, interests us more than somewhat. You should know that.’
‘I do.’ He walked over to the window and stood for a few moments looking out at the gravelled drive, hands embedded in his pockets. When he turned the frown was still there. ‘You’re putting me in a spot, you know. Can’t you accept my word that it had absolutely nothing to do with Cluster’s death?’
Norris-Kerr shook his head. ‘I’d like to, but I can’t. There was something she wanted to conceal from the police, and I want to know what it was.’
‘You’re making too much of that, you know,’ Clifford said. ‘It’s not the police she’s afraid of, it’s her parents. And if you fellows get hold of it...if it were made public—’
He did not finish the sentence. ‘We don’t talk out of turn, sir,’ Norris-Kerr said, a slight edge to his voice. He resented the implication that he and his fellow officers were gossips.
‘No, of course not. I’m sorry — I shouldn’t have said that. And really it’s a very trivial incident from your point of view. It’s just that as I came back from my walk that evening I noticed the Maces’ Humber in the drive; not directly in front of the house, but nearer the gate. I was surprised that Sybil should park it there, and I peered in through the windows as I passed.’ His voice hardened at the memory. ‘She was sitting in the back with a man.’
Knowing how he felt about the girl, Norris-Kerr could guess at the shock this must have given him. But he was too impatient to sympathize.
‘Who was the man?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Clifford said. ‘It was dark, and the windows were steamed up; they’d probably been there some time. But I got the impression it was that fellow Stolpe, who works for Miss Mytton.’
*
‘I’m sick of hearing about John Cluster,’ said Mrs West irritably. ‘The man’s dead, and good riddance to him. Why can’t they leave him be?’
‘You can’t blame the police,’ Vera pointed out. ‘It’s their job to find out who killed him.’
She looked across at William. She had no doubt he was listening, despite his apparent interest in the newspaper. Ever since she had seen him at the garage on Monday evening she had wondered about him, for if he were involved with Mrs Colling it was possible that he was also involved in the murder. Gwen Colling had been Cluster’s girlfriend; everyone knew that. Yet William did not appear unduly perturbed. A little preoccupied at times, but cheerful enough. Not as if he had murder on his conscience.
To Vera, Gwendoline Colling was a greater source of anxiety than the murder. She was a shy, quiet girl, and her mother’s clumsy attempts to push her into their lodger’s arms had caused her acute embarrassment. But it had not lessened for her the young man’s attractions, nor had it appeared to affect his friendly attitude towards her. Yet for some weeks now it had been obvious to the girl that his affections were engaged elsewhere. She had become resigned to that; what sickened her was that it should be Gwen Colling. Like Miss Justin, she had rated William’s tastes a little higher.
Ma Pocock, whose angry eruption into the West home had reintroduced murder into the conversation, snorted indignantly. It was an unpleasant sound, but her listeners were used to it.
‘It ain’t their duty to go pestering innocent folk like my Erich,’ she said.
‘You and your Erich!’ commented Mrs West. ‘You’re like a broody old hen with that lodger of yours. Mind you ain’t hatching more than you bargained for.’
‘He’s been a better son to me than most boys is to their own parents,’ Ma Pocock retorted. And added meaningly, ‘Or daughters.’
Mrs West is right, thought William, peering over the top of his newspaper. She is like an old hen, the way she stands there ruffling her feathers and thrusting out her bosom.
‘What did the police want with him?’ he asked.
‘They won’t believe he was just out for a walk Sunday evening.’
William smiled to himself. He had a shrewd idea of what Stolpe’s occupation had been. But his only comment was, ‘They’re just naturally suspicious. It’s the nature of the beasts.’ He folded his newspaper and stood up. ‘Well, good-bye all. I’m off.’
This announcement was received in silence. But as he pedalled down the village street he grinned to himself, imagining how their tongues would be wagging. Both Mrs West and Vera had been trying for some weeks to discover who he was meeting on his evening expeditions, but he was satisfied that their guesses were well wide of the mark.
The grin faded as he remembered Miss Justin. She knew. Well, he could cope with her. But how had the old girl found out?
He propped his bicycle in the ditch, switched off the lights, and clambered through the well-worn gap in the hedge and up the slope.
She was waiting for him by the chestnut. But when he sought to take her in his arms she pushed him away. ‘Not now,’ she said irritably. ‘I’m not in the mood. And I’ve only got a few minutes.’ She leant against the tree, so that he saw her face as a pale nebulous oval in the darkness. ‘Any news?’
‘Plenty.’ He was angry at her aloofness. ‘The cat’s out of the bag.’
That startled her. She jerked upright and caught his arm. ‘Oh, no!’
‘Oh, yes. Miss Justin had me on the mat this morning. Don’t ask me how she found out, but there’s no doubt she knows about us.’
‘Hell!’ There was fear and venom in the expletive. ‘The old cat! It’ll be all over the village in no time; she hates me like poison. You’ll have to keep her mouth shut, William. You must!’ She sighed wearily. ‘If it isn’t too late. She couldn’t keep news like that to herself for long.’
‘It isn’t too late. I know how to manage her,’ he said confidently, relenting at her evident distress. ‘But she thinks we ought to tell the police, and I’m not sure she isn’t right.’
‘Why?’ she asked sharply.
‘Just because we were there. For one thing, there was that car; they ought to know about that, I suppose. And after I left you—’
He paused, wondering how much to tell her. But she had not really been listening. Her mind had seized only on what was to her the vital point at issue.
‘You mustn’t tell the police,’ she said earnestly. ‘They’ll start asking questions about us. We can’t let that happen.’
‘Why not? We can’t keep it a secret indefinitely. I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to hate this hole in the corner business. I’m all for coming out into the open.’
