“His what?”
“His mistress, sir. Miss Hillyard.”
Purbright waited, in case Chubb should wish to express shock or disbelief, but the chief constable silently motioned him to proceed.
“As soon as I learned about that call to Persimmon, other facts seemed to fit in. At first, I reasoned that the girl had gone to the affair at Mrs Gloss’s out of curiosity or for a thrill and was then inveigled or even forced into taking part in the sexual shenannigins. When these became too violent or too bizarre for her taste, she took fright and managed to persuade one of the other women to get out to a telephone and send for help.”
“How would the Hillyard girl have known the number of this ‘hot line’, as you call it?”
“Persimmon would have told her. He and his friends unquestionably took this self-appointed task of theirs very seriously. Actually, knowing something of Miss Hillyard’s reputation, I wouldn’t be surprised if the evangelistic attitude of her lover had put the idea of going to Aleister Lodge into her head in the first place.”
“Morally unstable, I suppose.”
“That is one way of putting it, sir.”
“And yet you say Bertram Persimmon took up with her. There are some strange depths in people, you know, Mr Purbright.”
“Yes, sir. I was saying, though, that the idea of Edna Hillyard’s taking fright and sending for help was my first interpretation. I now think quite differently.
“For one thing, it was näive of me to assume that the clothes in her car were evidence of her having changed into others. She was naked when found and clearly had stripped that evening without any compulsion. Which suggests a good deal more than mere curiosity.
“It is probable also that the girl lost no time in priming herself with the liquor that undoubtedly was available. I suspect that modern witches are no different from ancient ones in having to use potions to get them off the ground.
“Then there is the matter of her complicity in shifting Persimmon’s body. Forensic are quite convinced of that because of the grouping of her prints on the car.
“Lastly—and this could be the most significant circumstance of all—we find that the place chosen as a temporary hiding-place for the car is a Corporation depot. It is largely derelict, certainly, and unlikely to be entered by workmen or anybody until the ploughs are wanted again for snow-clearing, but normally it is kept locked and the keys hung with others on a board in the Public Health Department.”
Purbright paused.
“You see the implications, sir.”
“I can see a connection,” said Mr Chubb. “The girl worked in that department, if I remember rightly.”
“Exactly, sir. She had access to those keys. But not in the middle of the night. So if she took them—and I can think of no one more likely—she must have done so in advance and presumably with full knowledge of what they would be needed for.”
“In other words, Mr Purbright, the woman was a partner in a murder conspiracy. Is that what you are saying?”
“It is extremely difficult to put any other construction on the facts as we know them, sir.”
“But there are facts that we do not know, surely. If that crime was premeditated, there must have been a motive. What was it?”
Purbright shrugged regretfully. “That remains to be established, sir. But I should not expect anything conventional. There is more than a little madness about this case.”
“Another point bothers me,” said Mr Chubb. “To lure that poor chap off in the dark to a remote part of the town—yes, I understand the cunning of that. But what about all those characters cavorting about on broomsticks or whatever you say they were doing? Potential witnesses. Very risky.”
“By that time, most of them would have been mutually preoccupied, I think, sir. And we should remember that they were much too heavily compromised to be keen on giving evidence.”
“Do you know the names of the people who were there?”
“Oh, there’s no secret about that, sir. They’re in the local paper. Or some of them are. I think the bogus publicity must be felt to add to the thrill. They actually have a press secretary, a chap called Parkin.”
“Good gracious,” said Mr Chubb, much disgusted.
“Naturally, I am having them very closely questioned,” Purbright added. “As the girl will be, as soon as she’s considered fit enough.”
“By the medical staff, presumably.”
“Yes, sir. They’re rather apprehensive of brain damage, actually. She had barbituric poisoning.”
“You did mention the possibility when you rang from the hospital. It’s confirmed, is it?”
“They’re pretty sure.”
Purbright thought for a moment.
“Which leads, I’m afraid, to another question I can’t answer. Why was the wretched girl doped to the eyes and left lying in that place? It seems an odd way to treat a collaborator.”
“As I understand it,” said the chief constable, “people of that sort pass dangerous drugs around as you or I might hand out peppermint lozenges. Hippies. All that.” He wagged his head gloomily.
Purbright was wondering if Mr Chubb would appreciate his pointing out the contradiction between a love-in and a black mass when the telephone rang.
Mr Chubb walked to his desk and picked up the receiver with cold fastidiousness.
“Sergeant, I did tell you that I would be engaged in conference for at least half an hour. That half an hour has not yet elapsed.”
He seemed about to replace the phone, then to change his mind. The lean, ascetic features sharpened to attention. One slim hand slipped half-way into the side pocket of his jacket and rested there delicately.
“Good afternoon, councillor,” said Mr Chubb into the telephone.
It was a brief and mainly one-sided conversation. The chief constable made occasional noises of judicious concern and said that he would certainly... Also that he quite... And finally that he would be glad to see if...
Purbright meanwhile looked impassively out of the window.
“Hideaway,” said the chief constable after he had put down the phone. His face was stony. Purbright could sense behind it the black swirl of private opinion.
“He is the brother-in-law, it seems, of Mrs Persimmon,” said Mr Chubb.
Ernest Hideaway, estate agent and humorist, was possessed of a tidy fortune that had been his reward for compounding the felonies of local jerrybuilders over the years. He was a member of Flaxborough Town Council and a diligent giver of advice.
“Hideaway says,” Mr Chubb went on, “that Mrs Persimmon is very upset indeed, and if what the man alleges is true, she has some justification. You will have to look into it, I’m afraid, Mr Purbright.”