There was a long pause. Then Palgrove shrugged. “Sounds silly, but there you are.” He looked towards the cocktail cabinet. Love hoped he would let it give another performance, but Palgrove remained seated.
Purbright spoke. “When you left your wife yesterday evening, she was quite normal, was she? In good health, I mean. Not upset in any way.”
“Oh, yes. Perfectly.”
“Was she expecting a visitor, do you know?”
“I don’t think so. No one in particular. I told you, though, various people did call. People mixed up with this social work of hers.”
“It would be helpful if you could tell us who these people were, sir.”
Palgrove looked dubious. “Well, I’ll try, but I didn’t take all that interest, actually. Some of them I know. Mrs Arnold, from up the road. She’s one of the dog ones. Then the woman from that Red Cross place—Miss Ironside. Oh, and a schoolteacher called...no, wait a minute, he’s not—he’s something to do with insurance, I think; can’t remember his name. Then the vicar, of course—Mr Haines. I’ve seen a couple of others occasionally but I’ve no idea who they are.”
The inspector waited. “No one else you can think of, sir?”
“No. I mean, they weren’t people I had anything to do with myself.”
Palgrove stretched restlessly. Again his hand went to the breast pocket inside his jacket. Purbright watched. He smiled, leaned forward.
“Is this what you are looking for, sir?”
Surprise lightening his face, Palgrove took the slim, yellow metal case. “Hello, where did that turn up?”
Purbright looked pleasant, said nothing.
“Well, thanks, anyway,” Palgrove said. He turned the case about in his hand. “It’s only plated, actually. Eighteen quid, all the same.” Slickly he opened it.
“What the hell...”
Purbright looked with polite interest at the five brown, sodden cigarettes. “Hasn’t done them much good, has it?”
Hostility was in Palgrove’s eye. He stared at the policeman. “I don’t get it.”
“That is your case, sir?”
“Of course it is.”
“The officers found it a short while ago at the bottom of your garden well, Mr Palgrove. Where your wife was drowned.”
“Hey, now hold on a minute...”
“Yes, sir?”
Palgrove’s anger rose. “Now look, I can see what you’re bloody well getting at. But you’re quite wrong. How the hell could I have had anything to do with...with what happened to Henny when I wasn’t anywhere near the place? I know nothing about it at all. Absolutely nothing.”
“Can you suggest how that case came to be in the water, sir?”
“Of course I can’t.”
“When was it last in your possession?”
“Yesterday, I should think. Yes, I had it at teatime. I must have left it around in this room somewhere.”
“Did your wife smoke?”
“No.”
“So it’s not likely that she had the case with her when she went out to the well?”
“You don’t know that. She could easily have picked it up. I mean, she was always tidying things up. For that matter, she could have chucked it into the water herself. I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Purbright considered. “That does rather sound as if you and Mrs Palgrove did not always get on very well. I hadn’t realized. I’m sorry.”
“Good heavens, all married couples disagree occasionally.”
“True, sir, but they don’t all throw away valuable cigarette cases to spite one another.”
“Now, look, inspector—if you think you can goad me into...”
Purbright’s hand went up. “Perish the thought, Mr Palgrove.”
“Yes, well, don’t be so damned provocative.” He was silent a moment. “I’m sorry, but this has been one hell of a shock. I suppose I’m a bit knocked up. No, the fact is that Henny and I got along as well as most. Not around each other’s necks all the time, but so what? I certainly wouldn’t have done her any harm.”
“Mr Palgrove, was your wife a wildly imaginative woman?”
“I wouldn’t have said so. She was a bit gone on animals... But, look—we went into all that when you were here before.”
“That’s right, we did. But if I might say so, you are not in quite the same mood as you were then. That is perfectly natural. First reaction to shock can often take a form that people might mistake for flippancy.”
“Did you think I was being flippant?”
“No, sir. I think brittle would be a better word. My impression is that you are now more inclined to consider the seriousness of your own position. For instance, you said at our first interview that your wife got so worked up about some things that she was in danger of going ‘over the top’, as you put it. You spoke of her abnormality of attitude, her excitability, her passion for letter-writing. But now you are taking some pains to present Mrs Palgrove as a fairly ordinary housewife with ordinary enthusiasms and lapses of temper. Is this because you have realized that your earlier picture was certain to be contradicted by other people?”
“I’ve not thought about what other people might say. Why should I? I’ve not done anything.”
Purbright leaned forward and picked up the gold-plated case from the chair arm where Palgrove had placed it beside his packet of cigarettes. “I shan’t deprive you of this longer than necessary, sir. The sergeant will give you a receipt.” He nodded to Love.
Palgrove watched with sullen resignation. He saw the inspector take a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfold it and hold it towards him.
“I’d like you to look at that letter, if you will, sir. Then perhaps we can talk about it.”
Slowly and with a deepening scowl, Palgrove read the letter through.
He shook his head. “What am I supposed to make of this?”
“We believe that it was written by your wife.”
“Why should you? It’s not even signed.”
“Whose typewriter is that over there, sir?”
“My wife’s.”
“Well, it was certainly typed on that machine. It seems reasonable to assume that it was she who typed it.”
“All right. You tell me what it means. It’s a string of rubbish as far as I’m concerned. Just rubbish.” Palgrove slid the letter dismissively into Purbright’s lap and picked up his cigarettes.
“Oh, come, sir. The implication is plain enough. I’m not saying that I believe it or disbelieve it. But you mustn’t pretend that you can’t understand what she’s getting at.”