Death of a Commuter (13 page)

“That was the last you saw of him?”

“No, it wasn't. Otherwise his bike would still be here, wouldn't it? He came down again on the slow train. Leaves London at one and gets in at half past two, near enough. I'd just been over to the Station Hotel at the time. Never thought there'd be anyone for the car park off that train. I happened to look out of the window when I see him coming out of the station. Oh, I thought, he wants to get away without paying, does he? So I hopped across.”

“Did you get a better view of him, this time?”

“He still had these glasses on. He was on about his motorcycle. How fast it was, and that. Then he began to ask me questions, which is a thing I don't like unless there's anything to it, as you might say. Did the same ones go up together every morning? Did they all come from here? That sort of thing. So I shut him up. I'm paid to look after their cars not to talk about their private lives, I told him. He didn't like that. ‘I was only asking,' he said. ‘Then you ask someone else', I told him, ‘because I haven't got time to stand about gossiping'. Nor I haven't”

“Of course not. But this time, surely, you must have seen something more of the man?”

“Not much. He was middle height youngish I should say, and spoke in a deep sort of voice. All dressed in black he was, with a black overcoat, but no motor-cycling things. Something creepy about him, I thought though of course I knew nothing then.”

“What make was his motor-cycle?”

“Criterion. The big kind. Dangerous things, those. He paid for leaving it there and was off.”

“In which direction?”

“I didn't notice that I wasn't to know there was anything about him, was I? I went back to the Station Hotel to finish my drink.”

“So you didn't notice his registration number?”

If Mr. Flood had looked shifty before he now became positively Machiavellian.

“I haven't said that have I? I always take the number down when it's something I haven't see before and wonder whether the driver will try to slip off or not Yes, I've got his number all right”

Carolus waited.

“Only I shouldn't hardly call giving you that answering questions. It's more like handing something over, isn't it? A number, I mean. That's different.”

“Haven't you had to give it to the police?”

“No. Nobody's asked me, till now. It's all forgotten except for me. I don't suppose you'd ever find out what that number was unless I was to tell you.”

“No. I don't suppose I should. That's why I'm paying you ten pounds.”

There was a limit to extortion, after all.

“I know you are. But a number's a different thing.”

“I shouldn't feel our contract had been fulfilled without it” said Carolus gravely.

The full import of this had to be considered carefully by Mr. Flood. “That will be all you want to know if I give it to you?”

“Yes. That's the lot.”

“All right. You win.”

A number of small pieces of paper were pulled from a pocket and examined.

“Here it is. BYY 018. Now what about The Other?”

Carolus carefully noted down the number, then extracted another five-pound note.

“I reckon you got that cheap,” said Mr. Flood.

“You may well be right. Don't answer this if you don't want to, but I'd like to know if you've ever seen that man, or that motor-bike again?”

“No, I haven't. I don't get about much. It's not been back in the park, that's a certainty. If it had I should have noticed it There's one thing I've often wondered, though. What did he go up to London for that day? That's what I'd like to know. He couldn't have had more than an hour up there, could he?”

“I suppose not”

“And he went first-class.”

Just then they were both startled by the sound of a powerful motor-cycle approaching rapidly from the main road. A Criterion was being ridden into the park.

“This looks like it” said Mr. Flood.

“No,” said Carolus regretfully, for he had seen the rider.

It was Priggley.

“Hullo, sir. I've just bought this piece of ironmongery,” he said.

“Have you got a driving licence?”

Priggley grinned.

“You talk like the Law. Yes, I have. Daddy bought me a motor-bike last year to get me out of the house when he was having that affair with an Austrian girl. He said he hoped I'd break my neck on it. I had to sell it because a horse let me down badly in the Derby. But this is a neater job altogether.”

Carolus noticing that the registration number had nothing in common with the one he had written down said, “Where did you get it?”

“It belonged to Bert Holey, the man who owns the filling station. Or rather to his son. His wife didn't like him having it because she thought it dangerous and he hasn't insured his life yet. So I got it for virtually nothing. It has only done a couple of thousand and he took twenty-five per cent off the price new.”

“It doesn't sound cheap to me. And I doubt if your parents would approve.”

“Why not? What have they got to lose?”

“There is that,” agreed Carolus. “I didn't know you had so much money.”

“This was hush money from mummy's new lover. He's a Texan and understands the sort of thing a young man needs. I've shown it to Bunty. She seems to approve but I must own she's pretty dumb. Shapely, yes, but stupid. She said, ‘Does it go very fast?' I ask you. I wanted her to try it but she says she's got to be in at tea-time. Some dreary man's coming to see her aunt.”

“Yes,” said Carolus looking at his watch. “I must be going.”

“Oh, it's you. I'll come with you, then. Pick me up at the Oak, will you? I'll put this in the garage there and we can go sedately in the Bentley.”

“Insufferable little mountebank,” said Carolus.

“Well,” said Mr. Flood when Rupert had gone. “That's a fly one, isn't he?”

“I'm afraid you're right,” said Carolus.

F
ROM THE
R
OAD THE
O
LD
M
ANOR
L
OOKED
E
NCHANTING.
T
HERE
were great trees behind it and on both sides so that its double row of long Georgian windows facing the road must be the only ones visible from any distance, and they stared out from a Georgian facade towards the south. Admirable planning, particularly as the house stood back far enough to prevent anyone seeing into the rooms from the lane. No outbuildings were visible but when he drove in Carolus saw that the drive continued along the north end of the house to a great courtyard at the back, and that the stables here had been converted into garages. He left the car in the courtyard where most of the daylight had faded; so thick were the surrounding trees that from here the place seemed like a house in a forest.

The front door was opened by Elspeth herself.

“Please let's use first names,” she said when they had greeted one another with formality. “I long to say Carolus. It's a charming name. Come into the fire. Bunty's making tea.”

It was all very English, furniture, decoration, atmosphere. If there had been a footman or a maid in a stiff apron it would have
belonged to a world which neither Carolus nor Elspeth was quite old enough to remember. The curtains were drawn, the fire blazed and the lighting was soft and cosy. When Bunty appeared with a silver tray and they were given tea and toast a tranquillity seemed to descend on them and even Carolus showed no eagerness to ask questions. They made small talk, Rupert telling the story of the primroses, and Bunty, a literal-minded girl, wondered what
had
happened to the flowers.

Elspeth went out with the tray and Rupert quickly said to Bunty, “Haven't you some tame rabbits or something to show me?”

“Rabbits? No, of course not”

“Well
something,”
said Rupert desperately.

“Oh, I see. Oh yes. We could go and play table-tennis.”

“That'll do,” said Rupert hurriedly and they left.

“Now,” said Elspeth when she returned, “we can have that good old talk. You know, I feel I can tell you anything. Not that there's much to tell.”

Carolus, who had brought the brief-case in with him, found it had failed to register, even when he took some papers out of it, said, “D'you want me to ask the questions?”

“Oh yes, please. If I wander from the point you must drag me back.”

“First of all, did your husband really believe he had cancer?”

“That's rather hard to answer. He had an idea he had at one time, but I'd heard no more about it for ages. It wasn't really that he quarrelled with Dr. Sporlott over it, at least not directly. He heard that Sporlott had made a remark, something like ‘poor old Parador, thinks he's got cancer'. He felt this was a breach of confidence more than anything else and never spoke to Sporlott again. He hated any sort of breach of confidence.”

“Sporlott told me they had a row but did not go into the details.”

“I don't think there was an open row. Felix just changed his doctor. I like Sporlott, though. He takes care of his
old
patients and that's a good thing. Felix went to Kumar Shant after that. Over at Buttsfield.”

“When did this happen?”

“I should think about six months ago.”

“Did he consult the Indian doctor frequently?”

“Pretty often. He was a bit of an old fusspot about his health. He drove over to see him the night before he died, actually. That was the Wednesday. I know because he gave me a prescription to take to Scotter. Scotter thought it might be for heartburn. I asked him when I took the prescription in.”

“That would be on the morning of Thursday. The day …”

“Yes, Carolus. The day he died. I got the pills. Buscapine, they were called. But of course he never took any. The police took charge of the bottle which was not opened.”

“I see. Anyway, you don't think it was fear of cancer which caused him to …”

“No, I don't. I'm sure he'd have told me if he was worried about it. He didn't keep things from me. At least…”

“You're thinking of that woman last night.”

“Of course I am. How can I help it? It was so
ghastly.”

“I thought you behaved splendidly.”

Elspeth smiled. “I'm probably bitchier than you think. I knew she was trying to humiliate me. I tried to carry it off, but I'm afraid I broke down afterwards. You see, I knew her of old. I introduced them, but I never dreamt… Even now I can't believe it quite. There may have been something between them once, but I'm sure he wasn't… keeping her.”

“D'you know where she lives?”

“She used to live in London. Some mews, somewhere. She was on the stage for years. Never anything big but she made a living. At first I thought she was just drunk. Then I realised it was calculated.”

“She was thrown out,” said Carolus consolingly.

“I know. But that doesn't really help. You know it's beastly to find all of a sudden that there's someone who hates you. However, you can't want to know about Henrietta Ballard. What can I tell you that's useful?”

“I liked the way Rumble came to your assistance.”

“Jimmy? Oh, he's a pet.”

“If I knew you better and had any excuse for it I'd ask if you. •

“If I am in love with him? No. Not yet I know it seems too awful just after Felix and everything, but I am getting fond of Jimmy Rumble.”

“And he's in love with you.”

“Think so?” smiled Elspeth.

“I'm sure of it”

“We're going down another blind alley.
Do
ask some sensible questions.”

“Right. I will. Your husband was writing his memoirs?”

“Yes. He had a very interesting life, you know. He was in Intelligence in the Far East for years.”

“How much could he say about that?”

“That was the point. I don't think he knew quite. He'd taken all sorts of oaths. Apparently even
years
afterwards you can't say what you like. Young Patsy was quite worried about it Anyway, the police took away all his papers. I understand the book had been read before the inquest. To see if it threw any light, you know. But it seemed there was nothing. He hadn't reached the war yet and said very little about himself. He wasn't a bit of an egotist you know.”

“I wonder why he wanted to write it.”

“Why
do
people write books? I told him he was crazy to shut himself away on lovely fine days, writing away at something that might never be read. But he wanted to finish it, he said.”

“Patsy Thriver was glad to do it?”

“I expect he paid her very well. I didn't ask. It was pocket-money for her. I don't suppose her father is over-generous.”

“Strange man, that. He told me he came here that… Thursday night.”

“He did. I was just going to bed. He didn't know Felix hadn't come down.”

“He was an old friend of the family?”

“Of Felix and Magnus, yes. He wasn't really a friend of mine. I mean, I had nothing against him. But they'd all been boys together. He rang up today, by the way.”

“Yes?”

“It's about Felix's will You know I haven't even seen it, yet I know what it says so far as I'm concerned and that's all I can bear just now. Felix always told me it was all for me and Magnus. Mostly for me. Thriver says that's still the sense of it. But he wants to talk to me about it. There's some hitch or something. He's coming in tomorrow.”

“Then you'll know how many of your husband's quarrels went deep.”

“Oh, I hope none of them. Those poor Hopeladys, for instance. He wouldn't have … All over a silly little incident.”