“Not ever?”
“Not ever. Don’t make it sound like that, child. Don’t be absurd. It’s best. In fact you’ll find it’s vital.”
“But what have I done?”
“Nothing at all. Nothing at all. It’s entirely my affair. Nothing to do with you at all. You’re out of it. Now forget it until we get home. Did you have a nice dinner?”
“You know I did, you had it with me. Oh, don’t treat me like a child. What is it? What’s happened? Can’t I help you?”
“No. Be quiet.”
“But you thought I could and said so in the letter. That was why you wanted me. Has it changed?”
“Yes.”
“Could it change again?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Polly was silent. She seemed to be considering the question, or facing it perhaps.
Annabelle was watching every variation in her expression.
“Oh, I thought it was going to be wonderful,” she burst out in a sudden abandonment of childhood’s grief. “Can’t I come back ever? Are you sure, Aunt Polly? Are you sure?”
The old woman turned her head. Her mind was shuttering.
“Quite sure, dear,” she said and was suddenly calm. “Quite sure. Now let’s forget it and enjoy the ride home. London’s very lovely at night.”
“I shall hate it always after this.”
“No, don’t say that.” Polly was speaking absently and she patted the hand on the tweed-covered knee.
Annabelle turned on her like an infant. Angry tears flooded her eyes.
“Won’t you miss me?” she burst out. “Won’t you miss the fun we would have had? Don’t I remind you of Uncle Frederick? Don’t you want a good daughter to keep you young?”
“Hush,” said Polly. “Hush. Look, that’s Selfridge’s …”
They left the ’bus on the corner of the Barrow Road and went slowly up to the house. The old woman walked heavily and her shoulders were a little bent, but she was occupied and kept sane by the necessity of managing and comforting the child.
“Now when we get in,” she said, “I want you to go up to my sitting-room, light the gas fire and pull the curtains, and wait for me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to my desk for a minute to drop a note to Jennifer. Then I shall heat some milk and bring it up with me, and as we drink it I’ll tell you what I want you to do. I want you to be off very early tomorrow. Could you get up at six?”
“Of course I could and I expect there’s a train, but …”
“No buts. Just do what I say. I’ll give you the note for Jenny tonight. Get up as early as you can and come down to the kitchen and I’ll give you a cup of tea and you can be off before the char arrives. Oh, and Annabelle, I don’t want you to buy a paper until you get home.”
The girl looked at her sharply but she did not ask questions.
“Very well,” she said.
The house looked pretty and bright even by the light of the old-fashioned street lamp outside the gate. Polly unlocked the front door and turned on the light.
“Now you run up.”
“Let me get the milk.”
“You can if you like. You’ll find everything in the kitchen. Or are you frightened to go down there alone in the dark?”
“No. It’s not that sort of house, is it? It’s so gay and feels so full of people, even when no one’s here. I do love it so.” Annabelle’s young voice was uncertain but she controlled it with a valiance none the worse for being conscious. “I’ll take the milk straight up.”
She went off down the two or three steps to the kitchen and Polly turned into the tiny room on the right of the hall door, which was practically filled by an old-fashioned roll-top desk with a telephone on it. It had been the front parlour in the days when the house had been a Victorian cottage and was now used by Polly as the office to which she had become used when keeping an hotel. She opened the desk, sat down at it, and pulled a sheet of paper towards her.
“My dear Jenny—” the familiar sprawling hand spread over the page—“I am sending this to you instead of to A. because you will know how it is best for her to spend it. Training for something, or on Savings Certificates. However, whatever is done, she must have a real say in it so it is made out to her, as you will see. I enclose a smaller one for you, dear, as a wedding present. See you both cash them at once and do not mention them to anyone, except your Bank Manager of course. As A. will tell you, and I expect you will see for yourself, this is goodbye. I cannot have either of you mixed up in anything not your business. I am sure you are a nice family and I wish I could have known you all, but there it is. I do not want any thanks for cheques and no letters or messages of any kind to come to this house. If any newspaper should get on to you at any time—unlikely but you never know—simply say clearly that you have never seen me in your life and keep A. well out of the way.
My love to you both,
Polly Tassie.
“P.S. Take care of A. She is almost too pretty just now, but it will wear off later, I expect. When I die there may be a little bit more for her, but not much as I am about to incur some very heavy expenses. God bless you all.”
She read the note through, took a cheque book out of her bag, and made out a draft to Annabelle for a thousand pounds and another for Jennifer for one hundred. She took time to scan them carefully and check the date with the calendar. Then she folded them into the letter and addressed the envelope to Miss J. Tassie. By Hand.
She had put the envelope into her pocket and was rising to shut up the desk when she heard Annabelle pass the door and go upstairs, and at the same time her glance fell on the small steel box on the wall into which the telephone cable disappeared. It was a chance in a thousand that she should have noticed it because of an occasional chair standing just in front of it, but some faint change in the arrangement of the piece of furniture had caught her attention. She leant forward to touch the plaited flex with an exploring finger. The cable which had been wrenched from the box and replaced loosely, came away in her hand. For an instant she looked at it stupidly and then, turning abruptly, sped out of the room and up the stairs with the agility of a woman half her age. As she reached the landing she heard Annabelle’s laugh. It was shy but gay and innocently flattered.
The colour had gone from Mrs. Tassie’s lips but there was no surprise in her expression by the time she had opened the door and come face to face with the man who had been waiting for her in the bright little room.
Gerry was standing on the hearthrug staring at the girl, the expression of horrified incredulity which had made her laugh still showing in his face. He looked grey and excited. But the thing about him which startled the old woman was that he was without jacket or waistcoat, and the sleeves of his city shirt were rolled up.
As his glance turned slowly towards her the sound of the front-door buzzer came floating up from the hall, two sharp and determined rings.
Chapter 17
HARD BEHIND HIM
CHARLIE LUKE SAT ON the edge of the desk in a small private office of the main C.I.D. room in the new Tailor Street Station, looking more like a black cat than ever as he listened to the telephone. His head was held on one side and his eyes were deeply pleased.
The voice at the other end of the wire belonged to his immediate superior, Chief Superintendent Yeo. It was blunt, as usual, but sounded content for a change and even conciliatory.
“A party from the lab is on its way down to Canal Road now and the preliminary report on the ’bus is positive, so I expect Mr. Oates to call a conference later in the night,” he was saying, referring to the Assistant Commissioner Crime and conferring an accolade on the investigation at the same time. “For Pete’s sake keep in touch. Have you picked up your star witness again yet? Kinder needs his head examined for turning him loose.”
“Waterfield? No, not yet. But I don’t expect any trouble. We shall see him again any time now. Meanwhile Kin
der did a very thorough job on him. His statement is full of good things.”
“I know. I’ve got a copy here. By the way, Charlie—”
“Yes?” Luke pricked up his ears. The use of the diminutive was a healthy sign.
“I’ve been taking a look at your chart of that pet district of yours.” Yeo was apologising and was being short about it. “I’m inclined to change my mind. In fact, while I was looking at it I had a hunch myself.”
“What was that?” Luke bent over backwards to avoid any unfortunate note of satisfaction.
“Well,” the old man’s grin was almost audible, “you remember the Kent car dealer?”
“Joseph Pound, found in a chalkpit, pocket case picked up by children in Garden Green.”
“That’s the man. As soon as I read Waterfield’s statement something in it rang a bell and I turned up the widow’s deposition.” Yeo was proud of his memory which was indeed remarkable. “Chad-Horder was the name of one of the holiday swells she and her husband were drinking with in Folkestone the night before the crime.”
“Get away!” Luke’s exclamation of delighted surprise was unquestionably genuine.
“Fact.” Yeo was expanding. “Here it is on the desk before me. By sticking to your guns you’ve come up with something very interesting, my boy. I shall be happier when I hear you’ve got your man for questioning, but don’t let anyone forget that if by chance you’re right in including the Church Row case you’ll be dealing with a man who has shot his way out once and may do so again. Don’t let anybody take risks. We’re understaffed as it is.”
“Quite,” Luke said slowly. “I don’t know if that particular guess is going to stick. Mr. Campion had an idea about it but …”
“Ah, Campion.” Old Yeo had the grace to sound guilty. “I had a word with him this afternoon. He was coming up to see you. I don’t know if he did.”
“Oh yes, he’s been with me ever since.” Any note of reproach was gratifyingly absent. “He’s sloped off now, I don’t know where. He muttered something and next time I looked there he wasn’t.”
“That’s Albert.” Yeo was amused. “He’ll be back. He doesn’t miss much. You’ll find he’s had an idea and trotted off to test it. Well, good luck to you. I still think you’re asking too much if you try to link all those cases of yours. You haven’t a ha’porth of solid evidence in one of them yet. Concentrate on the most promising and scrap the rest. Those people Lettice and Reginald Fisher, who may or may not have gone off to South Africa, for instance, I shouldn’t waste any more time on them.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Guv’nor, but I’ve picked up one little thing that reminded me of them. Do you remember that in that inquiry the niece said she had sent her aunt a white plastic handbag?”
“Was it a distinctive sort of a bag?”
“No, a chain store product.”
“Then I certainly shouldn’t worry about it. You’ve got more than enough on your plate. I suppose Donne is concentrating on the Minton Terrace shooting? That’s your best bet. Has he struck anything yet?”
“Nothing conclusive, but it’s all very healthy. Donne has a girl friend of Chad-Horder’s with him now. She’s a woman called Edna Cater who runs the Midget Club.”
“I know. Just round the back there. Well, she was handy to the crime. But all these cases without any real evidence are very tricky. I won’t keep you any longer. Mention to Donne that what we most need are details of any further aliases. There’s nothing on the files under Chad-Horder and nothing relevant under Hawker, but a chap like that could have half a dozen names, and there’s always a chance that he’s been shopped under one of them.”
He hung up and Luke ducked his blue chin into his neck and grinned to himself as he heard the wire clear. Then, gathering up his folder, he went into the next office where Chief Inspector Donne, attended by a clerk and a sergeant, was interviewing Edna.
She was seated in the tub chair before the desk, her back straight and her suit and hair-do as crisp and formal as if she were in uniform. Luke shot a single glance at her and decided that he knew the type. It was not a bad one but in his experience seldom as hard boiled as it pretended. She was trying hard, he thought. She looked scared but was determined to keep the party sweet.
Donne was putting her through it steadily, leaning towards her across the desk, his watchful eyes never leaving her face.
“About those oil drums which Chad-Horder described as making a wall to hide a racing car,” he began abruptly as he heard Luke come in. “Do you remember if he gave you any picture of them? Did he say what colour they were?”
“I think he said they were black.” She looked bewildered. “I doubt if they ever existed. I don’t think that this boy Richard who was with him, and who made this long statement to you, understood Gerry at all. Gerry was romancing. He didn’t even expect to be believed.”
“I see. He’s a liar, is he?”
“I’m not saying that,” she said. “He embroiders things to make them more amusing, that’s all.” She was appealing to him to understand her, the suppliance in her eyes looking extraordinary amid the make-up. “You must know the sort of man I mean—charming, moneyed, good family …”
“Good family? Do you know his family?”
“No, I told you just now I don’t know any of his people, although I’ve known him nearly five years. I don’t even know if he has any. He keeps all the private side of his life very quiet. Some people do.”
“Why say good family, then?”
“Because it’s obvious. He’s easy, assured, generous, attractive.”
“You find him attractive?”
“Yes, I’m fond of him.”
Donne turned to Luke who took the vacant chair beside him at the desk. The dark man with his powerful body and shrewd cockney eyes was very masculine and his approach was straight man to woman with very little of the policeman.
“You still feel like that, even after the walk-out on you this afternoon?” he enquired.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I can take it. I was just so pleased to see him. He hadn’t been in for a couple of months.”
“What do you think about him at this minute?”
“I think he’s in a jam and I’m prepared to do anything I can for him.”
“Do you know why we want him?”
“I can guess.”
“Can you?” He was surprised. “Let’s have it. We won’t hold it over you.”
“I don’t care if you do.” Her smile took the offence out of the retort. “I think that Warren Torrenden, the racing motorist, has made a charge against him. Something about a car or spare parts for one. I don’t know what it is so I can’t judge, but if I were you I’d make sure that I listened to the most reliable one of the two.”
Luke did not speak but sat looking at her inquisitively, as if he could not make up his mind.
“Yes,” he said at last, “yes, well I hope we’re not going to upset you, Miss Cater. Have you ever seen this before?”
He had taken up a brown paper packet from the desk and now removed the wrappings to reveal the remains of the white handbag which he had brought from the Dump. She glanced at it idly and at first he thought she was going to shake her head. But suddenly something about the ragged fold of plastic caught her attention and she put out her hand. She did not take the exhibit but turned it over on the desk and ran a strong white forefinger over a series of small flaws on the lower edge at the front.
“I’m not sure,” she said at last, eyeing them cautiously as if she feared a trap. “Is it the one that was in the cottage at Bray that Mr. Chad-Horder rented? It was some time ago, you know, over two years.”
“Is that the cottage that was mentioned in the conversation Waterfield overheard this afternoon?”
“It is.” The colour was dark in her face. “A client of Mr. Chad-Horder’s and his wife had been living there, waiting to go abroad. There were several of their things strewn about. I think this bag was one of them. Now
I suppose they’ve come back years later complaining because everything they left behind wasn’t sent on? It’s extraordinary how people do make demands on comparative strangers.”
Her voice had risen indignantly and Luke sat eyeing her.
“What makes you think it’s the bag you saw at the cottage?”
“Those needle holes in the plastic.” She nodded towards the white fold of material. “When I first saw it there were two gilt initials just there. Someone had tried to stitch them instead of sticking them on and they were hanging by a couple of threads. I thought they’d get lost so I cut them off and put them in the bag for safety. Gerry said he was going to send everything out to them.”
“What were the initials?”
“One was an L and the other was an F, I think.”
“How can you remember after all that time?”
Her slate-grey eyes with the darker edge round the irises met his own resentfully.
“Well … it was another woman who had stayed in the house.”
Luke returned to the notes on the desk. “Fair enough,” he said. “Did you ever hear her name?”
“No. Gerry wouldn’t tell me. That’s why I remembered the initials, I suppose.”
Chief Inspector Donne cleared his throat.
“Was the bag in this condition when you saw it at the cottage?”
“No, the lining was in it then and it was ready for use. I didn’t examine it, but there was a handkerchief in it and a compact, I think, and—oh—one or two ordinary things.” The thick cream skin of her forehead had wrinkled and he bent across the desk towards her.
“What are you remembering?”
She looked up and smiled in a startled way. “I was remembering that I thought it rather—rather poor,” she said frankly.
“Not smart?”
Hide My Eyes Page 17
