by Nevil Shute
I smiled, and went up a few steps of the stairs, and came down upon the resonant woodwork at the side. I turned into the library and found her there. “Morning,” I said; “did you sleep well?”
She nodded. “Lovely,” she said. And then she said: “It is a lovely house. I think it’s just a dream.”
I smiled, and moved forward to the door. “This is the model room,” I said. “Where I do my work—some of it. What I don’t do down at the office I do here.” I stared around. “There’s not much here but ships.”
She said: “The maid told me when she came to wake me up. Oh, and I mean—I’ve been calling you all wrong. You must think me awful! But you never told me different. I’ve been calling you Mr. Stevenson all the time.”
I laughed. “That’s what I ought to be called. It’s only because I have to do with ships that they call me Commander. I was only in the Navy in the war.”
She looked up at me uncertainly. “Oh … I didn’t know.” And then she said: “She said you were up working, ever so early. Didn’t you sleep properly? I slept lovely after all that driving.”
“You don’t sleep so much as you get older,” I replied. “I often get up early in the summer.”
This was an opening she knew. “Oh, you are funny,” she replied. “You aren’t old.”
I grinned at her. “I’ve got enough grey hair, anyway,” I said.
She looked around, and sighed. “I’d sleep for ever in a lovely house like this,” she said.
We went through into the dining-room for breakfast. I saw her glance around as she sat down, a swift circular glance that seemed to take in everything from the silver on the table to the portraits of my family upon the walls. “I’ve got to go over to Newton Abbot this morning,” I remarked as we sat down. “Would you like to come too?” I paused. “I’m running over in the car.”
She looked at me doubtfully. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be in the way? I mean, it’s all so lovely here I don’t want you to bother.”
I smiled, a little bitterly: “You needn’t worry about that. I’d like it if you’d come to keep me company.”
She smiled at me. “It would be lovely. I do like driving in your car. It is a nice one, isn’t it?”
“It goes all right,” I said, and so we got on with the meal. I had grown queerly callous by that time and could listen quite unmoved while she chatted to me about holidays that she had taken with her brother, years before, holidays at Colwyn Bay and Southport. I listened with a detached, critical interest while she spoke of him, trying to make out from her account what sort of man this brother of hers was. She had a great regard for him. To her he was everything that was fine and manly and courageous; it was the idolism of a child. I wondered what the man was really like.
He was three years old than her. That put him at about twenty-eight years old, I thought.
We left the house soon after breakfast; that was a rotten drive. I was silent and preoccupied, and after a little time Sixpence grew quiet and didn’t worry me. I noticed that at the time, and I remember wondering if she had smelt a rat. In any case, there was nothing she could do about it now; my business was so nearly over.
It was in that frame of mind that we drove into Newton Abbot and drew up before the police station, exactly at the time agreed upon. The town was all spattered with election posters. I remember that because it was the first time I had seen the things that year. It must have been about six weeks before the poll.
As the car came to a standstill, I said: “You’d better come inside with me. I shan’t be long.” She looked a little startled, but I turned away and she followed me in through the door and into the same room where I had been shown the gun. Norman and Fedden were waiting for us there.
I spoke first: “This is Miss Gordon, who’s come down with me,” I said. “Major Norman—Colonel Fedden.”
They bowed to her, and she murmured something that I couldn’t catch. I didn’t care to look at her.
“We have the lorry outside, in the yard,” said Norman. “I think perhaps we’d better go and see that first.” He turned to the girl. “Will you come, too, Miss Gordon?” he said pleasantly.
She smiled at him, and we went through the door and out into the yard. There was a mass of wreckage beneath a tarpaulin in a corner of the wall; two constables were uncovering it as we went out.
Norman turned to the girl, and when he spoke his voice was very grave. “Miss Gordon,” he said quietly. “I think you told Commander Stevenson that your brother was the owner of a motor-lorry—a thirty-hundredweight Dennis lorry.” He paused. “I am very sorry to say that we have had an accident down here recently—rather a bad accident. Do you think you would know your brother’s lorry again?”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t quite understand.” And then she said quickly: “Do you mean something’s happened to Billy?”
His manner was perfect. “Please, Miss Gordon,” he said, “there’s nothing to distress yourself about at the moment. I want you just to walk round this lorry with me, and see if you can see anything on it that you can identify. That’s all.”
The wreckage was completely uncovered by this time. It lay there on the asphalt of the yard, broken and twisted and already red with rust. I was standing with Fedden a little way apart. He looked at me awkwardly, and said in a low tone:
“Norman is very experienced in dealing with these cases. You can safely leave her in his hands, if you’d rather slip away now.”
I glanced at him sharply. “I’d rather stay,” I said. “I want to see how this is done.”
He made no answer, but stood there fidgeting a little—a decent man in an impossible position. Norman had moved closer to the lorry with the girl, and was talking to her in a very gentle tone. She had forgotten we were there, I think.
“It caught on fire in the middle of the night,” he was saying, “on the road, not very far from here. There was nobody there at the time, and when help came it was burning so fiercely that no one could get near it to do anything. Everything in it was destroyed—we don’t even know what it was loaded with. As you can see, it was completely burnt out.…” He hesitated. “And the driver.…” He stopped.
She was staring at him, dumb with horror. “Please … ” she whispered in the end. “Please tell me. What happened to the driver?”
He paused for a moment, as if he didn’t quite know what to say. “I am afraid, Miss Gordon,” he said very gently, “we don’t quite know what happened to the driver. It was all so utterly burnt up, you see.”
It was a moment before she realised what he meant; then for a minute I thought she was going to break down. But she had guts, that girl, and all that happened was that she began fumbling at the catch of her handbag, mechanically trying to open it. It would not come undone and she stood there fumbling at it desperately, her head bent down. I don’t know what it was she wanted out of it, perhaps a handkerchief.
“Come,” said Norman, “there’s nothing to distress yourself about. We don’t know that this is your brother’s lorry. Perhaps it may not be.”
She swallowed once or twice. “I—I should know Billy’s lorry,” she said at last. “I think so.” She looked up at him pitifully. “It had horse-shoes on it.”
He spoke to her very gently, immensely kind. “Then let’s just have a look at it together,” he suggested. “Two heads are better than one, aren’t they? And you can tell me if you see anything you recognise.”
I stood there looking on at this dumbfounded, amazed at the cleverness of the man. He had said nothing that was not true. It was true that the lorry had been burning fiercely when it was discovered, true that he knew nothing of the driver’s fate. I could see that he would get the whole of the evidence he wanted without the slightest difficulty; if she had anything damaging to tell she would commit her brother up to the hilt without ever knowing she had injured him. The whole of her examination was being cast into the form of an inquiry into the supposed death of her brother, and she
would tell everything she knew.
A more educated, more sophisticated girl might possibly have broken out of the snare that he had made for her by puzzling over the circumstances that had brought her to that yard; she might have smelt a rat. I could see that Norman had nothing to fear from that. The girl was very nearly in tears, hanging back a little from the wreckage in the corner that he was trying to get her to inspect.
“Come, Miss Gordon,” he said, “we must just have a look at it, you know.” There was an air of gentle authority in his voice which made her come to him at once. Together they walked slowly up the length of that tangled, rusty mass of iron.
They moved round to the front. I saw her stop, I saw the muscles of her face working. I saw her catch her breath as she pointed to something on the ruins of the radiator. I couldn’t see what it was from where I was standing. I saw Norman bend down to her, infinitely solicitous.
“Is that like your brother’s?” he asked gently.
She nodded once or twice, dumbly. “It was a little one—just like that. He—he said it was a donkey’s.… There was a big one on the back.”
Norman inclined his head. “We found a big one on the road, underneath,” he said quietly. “It must have been nailed on to some wooden part.”
There was an infinite silence in the yard.
“Come,” said Norman, “just one more look, and then we’ll go indoors. I want you to tell me if there’s anything else that you can recognise. There might still be some mistake, you know.”
They walked together slowly down the other side. The steering column was bent and twisted down; the thin bare core of the wheel stood up forlornly. Below the wheel a little clip was mounted carrying a ring, a clumsy, amateurish fitting at the best. She laid her hand on this.
“He used to put his pipe in that,” she said in a low tone. “He put it on himself, because he told me.” She turned to him with a trembling lip. “Please—mayn’t we go indoors now?”
“I think we may, Miss Gordon,” he said kindly. “There’s nothing more that we can do out here.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said: “I am so very, very sorry.”
She made no reply to that; I don’t think she was capable of saying anything. She walked across the yard with him towards the door we had come out of; Fedden and I followed them a few paces behind. It seemed to me that the art of criminal investigation had advanced a step or two since Sherlock Holmes.
At the door Fedden made another effort to get rid of me. “There’s nothing more for you to stay for, if you’d like to get away,” he said. “We can take care of her now, and send her back up north.”
I gave him a grim stare. “I should prefer to stay,” I said shortly. “I want to see what fancy game you gentlemen are going to play with her.” He winced at that, as I had meant he should.
He said something or other, but I brushed past him and followed Norman into the office. He was already seated at the table there, the girl opposite to him. He gave me a sharp glance as I came in, which I ignored; I knew that he could do nothing to eliminate me without arousing her suspicions. I took up a stand on the far side of the room, half turned away from them, looking out of the window. Fedden came in and closed the door, and stood by me. At a corner table there was a sergeant taking notes, armed with a notebook and pencil.
“Now, Miss Gordon,” Norman was saying, “just one or two questions that we have to ask, about this accident. I am sure you won’t mind.”
She looked up at him dumbly.
“First of all, what was your brother’s name?”
She answered in a low voice: “William Hartop Gordon.”
“And his age?”
“He was thirty last October.” So she was older than I thought.
“Where did he live?”
“It was somewhere in Birmingham, but I don’t know the address. He used to be in Wolverhampton, up till about a year ago.”
“Was he a married man?”
She shook her head without speaking.
“Do you remember where he lived in Wolverhampton?”
“He was in lodgings. Twenty-nine Elmer’s Crescent was the address.”
Norman smiled at her kindly. “Just one or two more questions, Miss Gordon.” He paused. “When did you see your brother last?”
She swallowed. “In Leeds. I think it was about a month ago. You see, he came and booked me out.”
“I see,” said Norman; “and you went out with him. Did you go in his lorry?”
She tried to speak, and failed. She shook her head, and then she said, a little piteously: “Please, do you think I might have a glass of water?”
The sergeant rose, lumbering from his table, and went out of the room; he returned in a minute with a dripping cup. She took it from him gratefully and drank; Norman sat patiently till she had finished.
“That’s better,” he said kindly. “Now, Miss Gordon, did your brother work for anybody? or was this lorry his own property?”
She said: “I think it was his own.”
“I see.” He was silent for a minute, and then: “Did he ever tell you what work he used to do, or who he used to work for? I mean, whose loads he used to carry in the lorry?”
She said: “Oh, yes.” I swung round sharply by the window, and she stopped and looked at me.
“That’s enough of this damn foolery,” I said harshly.
There was a momentary silence. I stood there staring down at Norman at the table, watching the deep colour mounting in his face. He turned and beckoned to the sergeant, who got up and came towards me. “I’ll see you about that afterwards, Commander Stevenson,” he said easily. “In the meantime, perhaps you wouldn’t mind waiting outside?”
The sergeant opened the door for me.
I laughed shortly. “If you like,” I said. “In that case I shall go straight up to town. I can get a question asked about this matter in the House to-night.”
Fedden stirred uneasily beside me, and I swung round viciously on him. “Yes, by Christ,” I said, “and you’ll be in it, too. Chief Constable of the County!” And I laughed again.
“Don’t be a fool, Stevenson,” he retorted, not unkindly. “You must go home and leave this thing to us.”
“I’m damned if I do,” I said.
The girl sat staring at us, red-eyed and uncomprehending, gripping a little wad of handkerchief in her lap. Norman got up from the table. “I think it would be better for us to talk this over outside,” he said smoothly. “In consideration for Miss Gordon.”
“I don’t,” I said curtly.
I crossed the room to where the girl was sitting by the table. “You’d better come along with me,” I said. “We’re going home.”
“Sit down!” said Norman sharply. She collapsed into her chair again, and I saw a tear fall down her cheek. He turned on me, red with anger. “As for you, sir, you must get out of this room. Go to town or go to hell for all I care. Get out!”
I put one foot up on to a chair and stared at him; there was an awkward silence after that outburst. “I’m a friend of Miss Gordon’s,” I said at last. “I want this inquiry adjourned till she has had an opportunity to consult her solicitor.”
Fedden broke in. “Don’t talk such nonsense,” he said irritably. “The girl hasn’t got a solicitor.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Louden, Jenkinson and Priestley are acting for her,” I replied. “Either Jenkinson or his junior will be here to-night.”
Norman broke in: “That’s a London firm.”
“Don’t be a damn fool,” I said sourly. “Do you think I put my business with a hedge solicitor?”
There was a momentary silence, and I followed up: “I would have you understand that I am making formal application for an adjournment of this inquiry, in order that Miss Gordon may take legal advice. You clearly understand that, Major Norman?—and Colonel Fedden?” I swung round on the sergeant. “You too. You may have to give evidence on this in Court. You understand what I want?”
“That�
�s enough,” said Norman sharply. “He understands well enough.”
The girl stirred beside me as if she wanted to say something, but I silenced her with a motion. “Look here,” I said to Norman, “you want to get to the bottom of this thing; so do I. I want to know who cracked me on the head that night. But I’ll be no party to a trick like this.”
Fedden stirred. “Have you any alternative procedure to suggest?” he asked coldly.
I eyed him for a moment. “None at all. My solicitor deals with legal—and illegal—matters of this sort for me. I think you will find that he is able to suggest some alternative procedure to this sort of thing.” I paused. “I imagine that he will advise Miss Gordon to make a statement to you, under his guidance.”
Norman interposed: “She can make a statement now. This matter is urgent.” He swung round on me. “You’re playing the fool with matters you don’t understand. How do you know what this delay may mean?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “You’ll have to take your chance of that. You’ve waited four days for me to bring her here, and you can wait a fifth for her solicitor.” I considered for a moment. “I’ll say this for her: Miss Gordon will give you a statement of some sort to-morrow afternoon.”
“To-morrow morning,” he said.
I shook my head. “It can’t be done. Jenkinson can’t get here till late, and Miss Gordon won’t be fit to work with him to-night. To-morrow afternoon.”
He turned on his heel and swung over to the door. “You’d better see your friend off the premises,” he said bitterly to Fedden, and then he was gone. Fedden said something or other, but I ignored him and turned to where the girl was sitting by the table. She turned a tear-streaked face to me.
