“Are you sure, Mr Mesurier, that when you say the early part of the evening, you don't mean the early part of the morning?”
“I - I don't understand you. I've already told you I went to bed early. I don't quite follow what you're driving at. I mean, if you think I had anything to do with Arnold Vereker's death it's too utterly absurd.”
“The proprietor of the hour lock-up garages in the mews,” said Hannasyde, consulting his notes, “states that you took your car out at approximately five o'clock.”
“I daresay he's quite right. I certainly shan't dispute it. I told you it was during the afternoon. What I don't understand is why you should be so interested in my movements. Frightfully thorough of you, and all that, but I must say I find it rather amusing that you should actually take the trouble to question them at the garage!”
“The proprietor further states,” continued Hannasyde unemotionally, “that at one-forty-five a.m., on Sunday, he was awakened by the sound of one of the garages being opened. Apparently the garage you rent is immediately beneath his bedroom. He declares that he recognised the engine-note of the car being driven into the garage.”
“Of course that's perfectly preposterous!” Mesurier said. “In any case, it wasn't my car. Unless, of course, someone else had her out. If I forgot to lock the garage they might easily have done so, you know.”
“Who?” asked Hannasyde.
“Who?” Mesurier looked quickly across at him, and away again. “I'm sure I don't know! Anybody!”
“Whoever took your car out on Saturday evening must have had a key to the garage, Mr Mesurier. The proprietor states that when you had left the mews in the car shortly after five he himself shut the doors. When he went to bed at ten-thirty they were still locked.”
“I daresay he was mistaken. Not that I'm saying anyone did take my car out. It's much more likely that the car he heard at one-forty-five was someone else's. I mean, he was probably half-asleep, and anyway he could not recognise the engine-note as positively as that.”
“You will agree, then, that it is highly improbable that anyone should have taken your car out of the garage on Saturday night?”
“Well, I - it looks like it, certainly, but I don't know that no one did. I mean… Look here, I don't in the least see why you should bother so much about my car when I've told you -”
“I'm bothering about it, Mr Mesurier, because your car was seen by a Constable on patrol-duty, at a point known as Dimbury Corner, ten miles from Hanborough, on the London Road, at twenty-six minutes to one on Sunday morning,” said Hannasyde.
Again Mesurier moistened his lips, but for a moment or two he did not speak. The ticking of a solid-looking clock on the mantelpiece became Budding audible. Mesurier glanced at it, as though the measured sound got on his nerves, and said: “He must be mistaken, that's all I can say.”
“Is the number of your car AMG240?” asked Hannasyde.
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Then I don't think he was mistaken,” said Hannasyde.
“He must have been. He misread the number. Probably ANG, or - or AHG. In any case, I wasn't on the Hanborough Road at that hour.” He put up a hand to his head, and smoothed his sleek black hair. “If that's all the case you've got against me I mean, this Constable's memory against my word, I don't think much of it. Not that I wish to be offensive, you know. You detectives have to try everything, of course, but—”
“Quite so, Mr Mesurier.” The Superintendent's even voice effectually silenced Mesurier. “You are only being asked to account for your movements on Saturday night. If you were in your lodgings all evening you can no doubt produce a witness to corroborate the truth of that statement?”
“No, I don't think I can,” Mesurier said with an uneasy smile. “My landlady and her husband always go out on Saturday evening, so they wouldn't know whether I was in or out.” He became aware of a piece of cotton on his sleeve, and picked it off, and began to fidget with it.
“That is unfortunate,” said Hannasyde, and once more consulted his notes. He said abruptly: “You had an interview with Arnold Vereker at ten-thirty on Saturday morning. Is that correct?”
“Well, I wouldn't swear to the exact time, but I did see him on Saturday.”
“Was the interview an unpleasant one, Mr Mesurier?”
“Unpleasant? I don't quite -”
“Did a quarrel take place between you and Mr Vereker on that occasion?”
“Oh lord, no!” Mesurier cried. Vereker was a bit peeved that morning, but we did not quarrel. I mean, why should we?”
Hannasyde laid his notes down. “I think,” he said, “that we shall get along faster if I tell you at once, Mr Mesurier, that I am in possession of a certain letter concerning you which Mr Vereker wrote to the firm's solicitor on Saturday. You may read it, if you choose.”
Mesurier held out his hand for the letter, and said: “This - this isn't Vereker's writing.”
“No, it is mine,” said Hannasyde. “That is a copy of the original.”
Mesurier, a tinge of colour in his cheeks, read the letter, and put it down on the table. “I don't know what you expect me to say. It's an absolute misstatement—”
“Mr Mesurier, please understand me! The particular point raised in that letter does not concern me. I am not investigating the accounts of this company, but the murder of its chairman. The information contained in the letter tells me that your interview with Arnold Vereker on Saturday morning cannot have been a pleasant one. In addition, I have already ascertained that both your voices were heard raised in anger. Now -”
“That bloody cat, Rose Miller!” exclaimed Mesurier, flushing. “Of course, if you're going to believe what she says! She's always had her knife into me. It's a complete lie to say that we quarrelled. Vereker went for me, and I shan't attempt to deny that he was in a bad temper. In fact, he actually accused me of embezzling. Utterly ridiculous, I need hardly say. As a matter of fact I got into a bit of a mess - I borrowed a little from the firm, just to tide me over. Of course I know I oughtn't to have done it, but when you're hard pressed you do silly things. But to say I stole the money is - is positively laughable! I mean, if I'd wanted to do that I shouldn't be paying it back, which even Vereker admits I am doing. He simply had a down on me -”
“Because he had discovered that you had become engaged to his half-sister?”
“That had nothing to do with him at all!” Mesurier said quickly. “He didn't care a brass farthing about Tony.”
“He seemed to think it had a great deal to do with him,” said Hannasyde, a dry note in his voice. “He threatened you with exposure, didn't he?”
“Oh, he threatened me with all sorts of things!” said Mesurier. “I can't say I took him very seriously, though. I knew perfectly well he wouldn't prosecute when he'd had time to think it over. I mean, it would be too silly, on the face of it.”
“Would it?” said Hannasyde. “You will admit, I imagine, that if he had prosecuted you for - er - borrowing the firm's money, your career would have been ruined.”
“I don't know so much about that,” Mesurier said uneasily. “Of course, it would have been damned unpleasant, but -”
“I am speaking entirely in your interests, Mr Mesurier, when I say that the best thing you can do is to tell me the truth about your movements on Saturday night. Think it over.”
“I don't need to. You can't prove it was my car that the bobby thought he saw - and even if it was it certainly wasn't me driving it.” He got up. “That's absolutely all I have to say.”
“Then I won't keep you any longer,” said Hannasyde. “But I still advise you to think it over.”
By the time the Superintendent left the Shan Hills Mining Company's premises it was past four o'clock. Awaiting him in the main hall of the building was his subordinate, one Sergeant Hemingway, a cheerful person with a bright eye and a persuasive manner. They went out together to the nearest tea-shop, and, over cups of strong tea, compared notes.