“Well, he hasn’t. And if he had, it wouldn’t mean a thing.” Then, as Miss Silver looked from one to the other, “The fellow in the Enderby Green hold-up had red hair. You remember, I told you about it. The bank manager was shot dead-the same technique as yesterday’s job at Ledlington. But the eighteen-year-old clerk was luckier than poor Wayne -he is just out of hospital. And about the only thing he seems sure about is that the murderer had red hair. Everything else beautifully medium and unobtrusive, but quite noticeable red hair. So if there is one thing that everyone else can feel sure about, it is that the hair was just as much a disguise as yesterday’s bandages, and he won’t be found wearing it in private life. Then young Smithers says he had a muffler wound twice about his neck and covering him pretty well up to the ears, and he couldn’t say whether there was a beard under it or not. I wonder if there was.”
Jackson said,
“Well, if he was all that wrapped up, I don’t see how the clerk could see that his hair was red.”
“I should say it was meant to be seen. Anyhow Smithers says he saw it-says he’ll swear to it. And a lot of good that is going to be!” He threw out a hand. “All right, Jackson, you go and try your hand on Craddock. Find out where he was at three o’clock in the afternoon on the third of January-if you can. I’ll come along when I’m through.”
Inspector Jackson turned to the door again. He said, “Thank you, Miss Silver,” and went out of the room.
Miss Silver was reflecting that Miss Gwyneth Tremlett’s description of Mr. Sandrow had included red hair and a red beard, and that she had repeated this description to Frank Abbott.
CHAPTER XXV
When the door had shut Frank turned a cool sarcastic gaze upon her.
“Well?” he said.
“Are you asking me something, Frank?”
“I’m asking you what you’ve got up your sleeve.”
“My dear Frank!”
“Oh, I know, I know-you never have anything there, you never pull rabbits out of hats, and you never, never, never keep anything from the police. Or is it a case of hardly ever?”
“Only when it is a theory which has yet to be proved-never in the case of a fact.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“And the borderline between fact and theory? Rather like the European boundary situation, don’t you think? So you have got a theory. Are you going to tell me what it is?… No? Well, I’ve got one too, and I’d like to talk to you about it. Which means of course that I would like you to agree with me. It’s about the girl who waited outside the bank whilst the murderer did his job. Beautiful Blonde And Bandaged Bandit, as the papers have it. I suppose you didn’t see her as well as the man?
His tone was a mocking one, but she replied in a serious manner.
“No, Frank. And whoever may have seen her during the period when she was waiting for the murderer, I think it is quite certain that no one will ever see her again.”
“You don’t mean-” He looked startled for a moment. “No-I don’t think you do. Well, perpend. I’m not going to risk being wrong.”
She made a slight negative movement.
“Oh, no, I do not mean that she will have been murdered, but merely that she had never existed. No one would set out to do robbery and murder with a spectacularly blonde young woman well to the fore as his accomplice. She was, I gather, seen by a number of passers by, and it was undoubtedly intended that she should be seen. May I ask just what these people have to say?”
“You may indeed! Miss Muffin, who is an old lady’s companion, is a positive fount of information. She says the damsel had ‘Very golden hair. I mean, one couldn’t help wondering if it was natural, though of course respectable girls do do such strange things to their hair nowadays. And oh, yes-eyebrows halfway up her forehead-so odd-very much made-up-and the sort of complexion that takes hours to do. But quite unnoticeable clothes-just a dark coat and skirt and a plain felt hat- black, I think, though it might have been a very dark navy. So difficult to tell in a poor light, and the sky was very much overcast at the time.’ This is much the best description, though she was also seen by a Mr. Carpenter, a young man named Pottinger, and a baker’s boy. The boy was more interested in the car than in the lady, but as it had been stolen for the occasion from the Market Square, that isn’t much help. Carpenter and Pottinger both noticed her. Carpenter with disapproval. Pottinger rather sitting up and taking notice, but hadn’t seen as much of her as he would have liked, because she had her hand up doing something to her hat as he passed the car. Both agree that she was, as you say, a spectacular blonde. And of course I agree with you that all the twopence-coloured business would be just as much a disguise as the murderer’s bandages. So I imagine what we have to look for is a dullish girl whom nobody would turn his head to look at twice-the sort of girl, in fact, who comes nineteen to the dozen in any sizable town and can pass in a crowd without anyone noticing whether she is there or not. Which makes it so beautifully easy, doesn’t it?”
Miss Silver inclined her head.
“I think you are right. But there is, however, some valuable material for conjecture. Miss Muffin’s description is extremely helpful. I gather that the car was found deserted in a lane near Ledstow. The young woman would have to get away from there, and before doing so she would certainly take steps to alter her appearance. The golden wig would be taken off and the make-up removed. She would then probably put on some kind of coat, preferably a raincoat. Since the sky was overcast, this would be quite natural, and an excellent disguise for the figure. Substitute a head-square for the hat, and all chance of recognition would be avoided. But she would have to make her way from the place where the car was abandoned, and as quickly as possible. She may, or may not, have already dropped the man. I think she would do so as soon as she could. But whilst it was highly necessary that they should separate and return without delay to their normal surroundings, neither of them would dare to risk a public conveyance. A motor-bicycle, or a bicycle, here presents itself as a probability. Was there any place in this lane in which the car was found, or in its immediate vicinity, where a bicycle might have been concealed?”
He nodded.
“You’ve got it. There’s a derelict shed just off a track which runs into the lane. A motor-bicycle had stood there- Jackson found traces of oil. The man probably went off that way. You can’t beat a cap and goggles as a disguise, and he could have gone on along the coast past the Catherine-Wheel, or into Ledstow, or back to Ledlington. He could have taken the girl up behind him, or she could have had her own pedal bicycle or a car of a different make and gone off in another direction, possibly taking the loot, which amounted to about three thousand pounds. I think myself that they would separate as soon as possible.”
“I think so too.”
He pushed back his chair.
“Two hearts that beat as one! Jackson and I will now revert to looking for needles in bundles of hay. He is better at it than I am. I get bored.” He leaned forward suddenly. “Look here-why did Mrs. Craddock faint like that?”
“She is a delicate woman, Frank.”
One of his colourless eyebrows rose.
“Well, I suppose she goes on being delicate all the time, but she isn’t always fainting. Why should her delicacy be aggravated to swooning-point just at the moment when Craddock announces that they have nothing to hide? It seems to me a little too dramatic to be quite fortuitous.”
Miss Silver coughed gently.
“It was certainly dramatic. But was that all that struck you?”
“Was there anything which ought to have struck me?”
“I just wondered whether anything had. Whether, for instance, you had been observing Mr. John Robinson with any particular attention.”