Miraculous Mysteries
Page 34
Mr. Campion tried them gingerly. They held, but not as it were with any real assurance, and he climbed up to look over the wall to the narrow path which separated it from the tarred fence of the rear garden of a house in the next street.
‘That’s an odd right of way,’ Luke said. ‘It leads down between the two residential roads. These suburban places are not very matey, you know. Half the time one street doesn’t know the next. Chestnut Grove is classier than Philpott Avenue which runs parallel with it.’
Mr. Campion descended, dusting his hands. He was grinning and his eyes were dancing.
‘I wonder if anybody there noticed her,’ he said. ‘She must have been carrying the sheets, you know.’
The chief turned round slowly and stared at him.
‘You’re not suggesting that she simply walked down here over the wall and out! In the clothes she’d been washing in? It’s crazy. Why should she? Did her husband go with her?’
‘No. I think he went down Chestnut Grove as usual, doubled back down this path as soon as he came to the other end of it near the station, picked up his wife and went off with her through Philpott Avenue to the bus stop. They’d only got to get to the Broadway to find a cab, you see.’
Luke’s dark face still wore an expression of complete incredulity.
‘But for Pete’s sake why?’ he demanded. ‘Why clear out in the middle of breakfast on a wash-day morning? Why take the sheets? Young couples can do the most unlikely things but there are limits. They didn’t take their savings bank books you know. There’s not much in them but they’re still there in the writing desk in the front room. What are you getting at, Campion?’
The thin man walked slowly back on to the patch of grass.
‘I expect the sheets were dry and she’d folded them into the basket before breakfast,’ he began slowly. ‘As she ran out of the house they were lying there and she couldn’t resist taking them with her. The husband must have been irritated with her when he saw her with them but people are like that. When they’re running from a fire they save the oddest things.’
‘But she wasn’t running from a fire.’
‘Wasn’t she!’ Mr. Campion laughed. ‘There were several devouring flames all round them just then I should have thought. Listen, Charles. If the postman called he reached the house at seven-twenty-five. I think he did call and with an ordinary plain business envelope which was too commonplace for him to remember. It would be the plainest of plain envelopes. Well, who was due at seven-thirty?’
‘Bert Heskith. I told you.’
‘Exactly. So there were five minutes in which to escape. Five minutes for a determined, resourceful man like Peter McGill to act promptly. His wife was generous and easy going, remember, and so, thanks to that decision which you yourself noticed in his face, he rose to the occasion. He had only five minutes, Charles, to escape all those powerful personalities with their jolly, avid faces, whom we saw in the wedding group. They were all living remarkably close to him, ringing him round as it were, so that it was a ticklish business to elude them. He went the front way so that the kindly watchful eye would see him as usual and not be alarmed. There wasn’t time to take anything at all and it was only because Maureen flying through the back garden to escape the back way saw the sheets in the basket and couldn’t resist her treasures that they salvaged them. She wasn’t quite so ruthless as Peter. She had to take something from the old life, however glistening were the prospects for—’ He broke off abruptly. Chief Inspector Luke, with dawning comprehension in his eyes, was already half-way to the gate on the way to the nearest police telephone box.
Mr. Campion was in his own sitting-room in Bottle Street, Piccadilly, later that evening when Luke called. He came in jauntily, his black eyes dancing with amusement.
‘It wasn’t the Irish Sweep but the Football Pools,’ he said. ‘I got the details out of the promoters. They’ve been wondering what to do ever since the story broke. They’re in touch with the McGills, of course, but Peter had taken every precaution to ensure secrecy and is insisting on his rights. He must have known his wife’s tender heart and have made up his mind what he’d do if ever a really big win came off. The moment he got the letter telling him of his luck he put the plan into practice.’ He paused and shook his head admiringly. ‘I hand it to him,’ he said. ‘Seventy-five thousand pounds is like a nice fat chicken, plenty and more for two but only a taste for the whole of a very big family.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Us? The police? Oh, officially we’re baffled. We shall retire gracefully. It’s not our business.’ He sat down and raised the glass his host handed to him.
‘Here’s to the mystery of the Villa Marie Celeste,’ he said. ‘I had a blind spot for it. It foxed me completely. Good luck to them, though. You know, Campion, you had a point when you said that the really insoluble mystery is the one which no one can bring himself to spoil. What put you on to it?’
‘I suspect the charm of relatives who call at seven-thirty in the morning,’ said Mr. Campion simply.
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