“I say—are you all right?”
This time the hand moved perceptibly. But its motion was aimless, weary.
Barbara shouted. She hurried round to the second side of the building.
Almost its entire width was filled by a set of corrugated shutters. They looked the kind that could be unlocked at the bottom and rolled up to disclose a garage. The girl stopped only to pound on them with her fists. Then she ran on, grasping the next corner to swing herself round.
Level with her head was a window, or at least the rusting steel latticework that once had held twenty or thirty panes of glass. Fragments of glass, thickly begrimed, lay amongst rubble on the ground. They crunched under her feet.
She looked through the lattice and saw that this end of the ground floor of the building was, as she had supposed, a garage. What she had not expected to see, though, was the big, blue, new-looking car that it contained.
The building’s only door was at the top of a flight of five concrete steps. It was a plain door, painted dark green, and it had no handle, just a keyhole.
The girl had only to look at it to know that it was locked and that nothing she was capable of doing would open it, but she pushed and kicked it nevertheless.
Then she ran as fast as she could towards a part of the border wall of Twilight Close that she judged to be well clear of Mr Stamper’s territory.
Inspector Purbright had only just returned to his office when a message was relayed to him from Constable Palethorp, the driver of the patrol car which had been sent in response to Miss Westamcott’s 999 call.
He left again at once.
Joining the sluggish tide of traffic along East Street, he drove into the Market Place, over the Town Bridge, and diagonally across Burton Place into Leicester Avenue, at the far end of which was the old Corporation depot.
The journey took him exactly eighteen minutes, which was not bad going. Patience had paid off, as usual. No Flaxborough policeman ever dreamed of using a siren: he knew it would simply dam up the road ahead with inquisitive citizenry.
The depot gate stood open, its padlock having been levered off by Constable Palethorp.
With the aid of an ambulance man, he had also breached the green door that had defeated Miss Westmacott.
Purbright climbed the straight wooden staircase that led from the room behind the garage—it appeared to have been a workshop at one time—to the upper floor.
Palethorp awaited him in a bare loft-like chamber, at the far end of which was a low doorway. Palethorp stooped and went through. The inspector followed.
There was barely room for the two men in the tiny enclosure. The air was hot and foetid despite the square unglazed opening in the wall about a foot above the floor. Paper sacks were strewn over the boards. Some were streaked with what Purbright surmised to be dried vomit. A thick glass tumbler had rolled away into a corner.
Purbright spoke very quietly, as if he was anxious not to be overheard.
“How do you think she’ll make out?”
Palethorp shrugged, saying nothing.
“What did she look like?”
“Bloody terrible, sir.”
“She hadn’t been attacked, though, had she?”
“No, I don’t think so. Not in any obvious way, that is.”
Purbright looked about the compartment, taking care to avoid disturbing what little it contained.
“I’ll get over to the hospital. You can leave as soon as Harper and the others arrive with their stuff.”
Down in the yard, Purbright glanced through the window at the garaged car before getting into his own.
“Thank you,” he said to Palethorp as he drove off.
Palethorp, watching his departure, looked faintly puzzled.
Against the white linen of the hospital pillow, Edna Hillyard’s face showed up as yellowish grey. The skin shone with a thin dew of sweat.
Dr Palmaj, house physician, caressed the girl’s wrist experimentally, one lean finger seeking the pulse.
“We are fortunate that this is a strong woman. It is her good fortune, too, of course.”
Purbright said, “She looks very ill.”
“Not fatally, I am sure, inspector. Unless a pneumonia develops, she should recover in a week or two.”
“Are you able yet to say what is wrong with her?”
Dr Palmaj gently released the girl’s hand and straightened the coverlet. The letters FGH were embroidered on its edge in red cotton.
“Exposure effects, mainly.” He looked up at Purbright. “She was quite naked, you know, when that policeman found her. Did you know that?”
“Yes. Although in fact there was a blanket there, I understand. A travelling rug, rather. He put it round her.”
There was a pause. Then Purbright asked: “What had she been given?”
“That is hard to say, inspector. Barbiturates, I should imagine. And in quite big quantities. Stupid quantities.”
“By mouth?”
“Oh, yes. There is no sign of injection.”
“There would have had to be persuasion, then. It is very difficult to force anyone to swallow things, isn’t it, doctor?”
“That is true. But a person who is confused or sleepy or very, very unhappy seldom offers much resistance.”
“Not even when the object is murder?”
The houseman looked startled.
“So that is what you believe? Oh, but surely, inspector...”
“You didn’t suppose she had been taking drugs herself, did you?”
“Taking them herself—well, perhaps. But not by herself. I spoke just now of stupid quantities, did I not. I was thinking in terms of drug taking for self-gratification. In seclusion naturally, but in company. The sexual element, you understand—always that. In my experience. But such people handle these things absolutely without a normal sense of caution. You will yourself know how common is the overdose in such cases.”
They had been moving slowly away from the bed in the small white room with its glass-panelled walls. At the door, Purbright asked:
“Has she said anything that made sense to you?”
“No, no. Words—half words—quite unintelligible.”
“A policewoman is coming over. You would have no objection to her sitting here?”
“Certainly not. But I think it rather unlikely that this woman will have much to tell. Her remembering may be much damaged.”
Dr Palmaj turned the handle of the door and stood aside in readiness for the inspector to leave in front of him. Then, suddenly, he took away his hand and patted his forehead in self-reproof.