A Gun for Sale

       'I've had the ticket collector here,' the superintendent said. 'Of course he doesn't remember a thing that helps. In these stories you read people always remember something, but in real life they just say she was wearing something dark or something light.'

       'You've sent someone up to look at the house? Is this the man's story? It's odd. She must have gone there straight from the station. Why? And why pretend to buy the house and pay him with stolen notes?'

       'It looks as if she was desperate to keep the other man from buying. As if she'd got something hidden there.'

       'Your man had better go through the house with a comb, sir. But of course they won't find much. If there was still anything to find she'd have turned up to sign the papers.'

       'No, she'd have been afraid,' the superintendent said, 'in case he'd found out they were stolen notes.'

       'You know,' Mather said, 'I wasn't much interested in this case. It seemed sort of petty. Chasing down a small thief when the whole world will soon be fighting because of a murderer those fools in Europe couldn't catch. But now it's getting me. There's something odd about it. I told you what my chief said about Raven? He said he was blazing a trail. But he's managed so far to keep just ahead of us. Could I see the ticket collector's statement?'

       'There's nothing in it.'

       'I don't agree with you, sir,' Mather said, while the superintendent turned it up from the file of papers on his desk, 'the books are right. People generally do remember something. If they remembered nothing at all, it would look very queer. It's only spooks that don't leave any impression. Even that agent remembered the colour of her eyes.'

       'Probably wrong,' the superintendent said. 'Here you are.

       All he remembers is that she carried two suitcases. It's something, of course, but it's not worth much.'

       'Oh, one could make guesses from that,' Mather said. 'Don't you think so?' He didn't believe in making himself too clever in front of the provincial police; he needed their cooperation. 'She was coming for a long stay (a woman can get a lot in one suitcase) or else, if she was carrying his case too, he was the dominant one. Believes in treating her rough and making her do all the physical labour. That fits in with Raven's character. As for the girl—'

       'In these gangster stories,' the superintendent said, 'they call her a moll.'

       'Well, this moll,' Mather said, 'is one of those girls who like being treated rough. Sort of clinging and avaricious, I picture her. If she had more spirit he'd carry one of the suitcases or else she'd split on him.'

       'I thought this Raven was about as ugly as they are made.'

       'That fits too,' Mather said. 'Perhaps she likes 'em ugly. Perhaps it gives her a thrill.'

       The superintendent laughed. 'You've got a lot out of those suitcases. Read the report and you'll be giving me her photograph. Here you are. But he doesn't remember a thing about her, not even what she was wearing.'

       Mather read it. He read it slowly. He said nothing, but something in his manner of shock and incredulity was conveyed to the superintendent. He said, 'Is anything wrong? There's nothing there, surely?'

       'You said I'd be giving you her photograph,' Mather said. He took a slip of newspaper from the back of his watch. 'There it is, sir. You'd better circulate that to all stations in the city and to the Press.'

       'But there's nothing in the report,' the superintendent said.

       'Everybody remembers something. It wasn't anything you could have spotted. I seem to have private information about this crime, but I didn't know it till now.'

       The superintendent said, 'He doesn't remember a thing. Except the suitcases.'

       'Thank God for those,' Mather said. 'It may mean... You see he says here that one of the reasons he remembers her—he calls it remembering her—is that she was the only woman who got out of the train at Nottwich. And this girl I happen to know was travelling by it. She'd got an engagement at the theatre here.'

       The superintendent said bluntly—he didn't realize the full extent of the shock, 'And is she of the type you said? Likes 'em ugly?'

       'I thought she liked them plain,' Mather said, staring out through the window at a world going to work through the cold early day.

       'Sort of clinging and avaricious?'

       'No, damn it.'

       'But if she'd had more spirit—' the superintendent mocked; he thought Mather was disturbed because his guesses were wrong.

       'She had all the spirit there was,' Mather said. He turned back from the window. He forgot the superintendent was his superior officer; he forgot you had to be tactful to these provincial police officers; he said, 'God damn it, don't you see? He didn't carry his suitcase because he had to keep her covered. He made her walk out to the housing estate.' He said, 'I've got to go out there. He meant to murder her.'

       'No, no,' the superintendent said. 'You are forgetting: she paid the money to Green and walked out of the house with him alone. He saw her off the estate.'

       'But I'd swear,' Mather said, 'she isn't in this. It's absurd. It doesn't make sense.' He said, 'We're engaged to be married.'

       'That's tough,' the superintendent said. He hesitated, picked up a dead match and cleaned a nail, then he pushed the photograph back. 'Put it away,' he said. 'We'll go about this differently.'

       'No,' Mather said. 'I'm on this case. Have it printed. It's a bad smudged photo.' He wouldn't look at it. 'It doesn't do her justice. But I'll wire home for a better likeness. I've got a whole strip of Photomatons at home. Her face from every angle. You couldn't have a better lot of photos for newspaper purposes.'

       'I'm sorry, Mather,' the superintendent said. 'Hadn't I better speak to the Yard? Get another man sent?'

       'You couldn't have a better on the case,' Mather said. 'I know her. If she's to be found, I'll find her. I'm going out to the house now. You see, your man may miss something. I know her.'

       'There may be an explanation,' the superintendent said.

       'Don't you see,' Mather said, 'that if there's an explanation it means—why, that she's in danger, she may even be—'

       'We'd have found her body.'

       'We haven't even found a living man,' Mather said. 'Would you ask Saunders to follow me out? What's the address?' He wrote it carefully down; he always noted facts; he didn't trust his brain for more than theories, guesses.

       It was a long drive out to the housing estate. He had time to think of many possibilities. She might have fallen asleep and been carried on to York. She might not have taken the train... and there was nothing in the little hideous house to contradict him. He found a plainclothes man in what would one day be the best front room; in its flashy fireplace, its dark brown picture rail and the cheap oak of its wainscoting, it bore already the suggestion of heavy unused furniture, dark curtains and Gosse china. 'There's nothing,' the detective said, 'nothing at all. You can see, of course, that someone's been here. The dust has been disturbed. But there wasn't enough dust to make a footprint. There's nothing to be got here.'

       'There's always something,' Mather said. 'Where did you find traces? All the rooms?'

       'No, not all of them. But that's not evidence. There was no sign in this room, but the dust isn't as thick here. Maybe the builders swept up better. You can't say no one was in here.'

       'How did she get in?'

       'The lock of the back door's busted.'

       'Could a girl do that?'

       'A cat could do it. A determined cat.'