He found his car where he had left it, got in and headed for Evesham. It had been scary, but overhearing that phone call had been marvellous. He could not tell Deacon that he had broken into Andrew’s house and that was how he knew the couple had met before. But if he took those photographs of Andrew and Doris to the right Chinese restaurant and the owner recognized them, then that would be proof enough.
Once he reached Evesham, he parked the car and decided to search on foot, knowing that country towns can have bewildering one-way traffic systems. A couple directed him to a Chinese restaurant in the High Street, saying that the other Chinese places, as far as they knew, were mostly take-away shops. It was housed in an elegant wood-panelled Carolean building. He asked the waiter for the manager or owner and a sober-suited Englishman appeared from the back premises. Hamish explained who he was and where he was from and produced the photographs of Doris and Andrew and then waited hopefully.
To his disappointment the man shook his head but then said, “You’d best ask one of the waiters. I’m hardly ever in the restaurant itself.” He summoned a waiter. Hamish studied the Chinese face of the waiter, wondering if all Occidentals looked the same to oriental eyes.
But to his amazement the waiter said, “Yes, they were here.” He put one long finger on Andrew’s photograph. “I serve them. Both times. He very good tipper.”
Privately thanking Andrew Biggar for his memorable generosity, Hamish took a statement from the waiter and got him to sign it. He felt quite scared at his own luck.
He drove happily back to Worcester, stopping at a pub on the road for a plate of sandwiches and a soft drink. He wondered whether to extend his researches on the following day by going to see Alice Brett, the legal secretary, or checking further into the Harrises, but on reflection decided that he had promised not to be away too long. He would return the hired car and go to Cheltenham and see this Mrs Agnew, inquire after Miss Gunnery’s cat, and then head north.
♦
After a substantial breakfast the following morning, he set out for Cheltenham Spa. When he got to Cheltenham, he became lost, as so many do in the one-way traffic system, and wished he had parked the car and walked. Eventually he found his way into a car park and asked directions to the terrace in which Mrs Agnew lived. The Regency spa of Cheltenham had the air almost of a seaside town. He almost expected to come to the end of a street and see the sea.
Andover Terrace was in a network of streets behind where Miss Gunnery lived. He knocked at the door of a small Georgian house wedged in between two antique shops. After some moments, the door was opened by a muscular middle-aged lady.
“Mrs Agnew?”
“Yes, but if you’re selling anything, go away.”
“I have come with a message from Miss Gunnery.”
“Oh, come in, come in. What a terrible thing to happen to her. She was looking forward to a quiet holiday, too.”
Hamish followed her upstairs and into a small dark living room. Heavy carved fruit-wood furniture upholstered in red plush, the type imported from Amsterdam, was set about the room. There was a photograph of Miss Gunnery and Mrs Agnew, taken some years before. They were in tennis whites and clutching tennis rackets. Hamish nodded in the direction of the photograph. “Are you both tennis players?”
“Were…were. We were both terribly keen. We both taught at the same school and played every day after school was over. So how is Felicity?”
“I think Miss Gunnery is feeling the strain. There has been another murder, you know.”
“Yes, terrible, terrible. Are you a friend?”
“Of short duration. We met at the boarding-house. My name is Hamish Macbeth. I am a police constable.”
Her face hardened. “If there is anything you want to know about Miss Gunnery, then I suggest you ask her. I have nothing to tell you.”
“I am here as a friend,” said Hamish patiently. “She simply wanted me to tell you that she was as well as could be expected in the circumstances. I had certain things to do in Worcester and she knew Cheltenham was close. She wass verra kind to me when my dog died.” Hamish wondered whether he would always have this stab of grief when he thought of his lost pet.
“She would be. She’s very sentimental about animals.”
“Miss Gunnery has a cat, I believe,” said Hamish, looking about with affected vagueness.
Mrs Agnew’s eyes crinkled up in amusement. “I know why you’re here. She wanted you to check up on her cat. Joey!”
A small black-and-white cat crawled round from behind a chair. It yawned and stretched. “There you are,” said Mrs Agnew. “Fit and well and full of food. Tell her to look after herself and not worry about anything else. Goodness knows the poor creature has enough to worry about.” She looked at Hamish with sad eyes.
“The murders?”
“What else?” she demanded sharply.
Hamish refused an offer of tea and said he’d better be heading north.
On the long road home, he tried to think about the case but everything seemed muddled in his head. It was only when he was crossing the border into Scotland that he realized that he had not once thought of Priscilla, that she was in the Cotswolds quite near Evesham and that he could have easily visited her. Then thoughts about Doris Harris took over. She had lied by omission, as had Andrew. They had definitely known each other before and Andrew had followed her to Scotland.
♦
Wearily giving his report to a gratified Deacon, Hamish wondered why he felt like a traitor. He handed over the waiter’s statement along with the photographs.
“I don’t know how you did it, laddie,” said Deacon for the second time. “How you managed to find one restaurant where they had been seen together out o’ all the restaurants around is beyond me.”
“‘Intuition,” said Hamish and stifled a yawn. “I’m awfy tired and would like some sleep.”
“Aye, off wi’ ye. We’ll have that pair along here in the morning. Like to sit in on the questioning?”
Hamish hesitated, then reminded himself he was a policeman, and nodded.
He drove home, glad to see all the lights were out in the boarding-house. He fervently hoped that Miss Gunnery was not awake and waiting for him.
He gently unlocked the door – they had all been supplied with keys – and eased himself into the hall. A light immediately clicked on in the lounge. He could see a strip of light under the door, hear Miss Gunnery’s voice calling anxiously, “Is that you, Hamish?”
He ran for the stairs and reached the corridor where his room was situated just as he heard the lounge door opening. He unlocked his bedroom door and plunged in, locked it behind him, and stood with his back against it, feeling like a hunted animal. He would have liked a bath, but that meant he might be waylaid on the way to the bathroom. Without putting on the light, he scrambled out of his clothes’ into his pyjamas, and dived into bed just as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. A moment later there was a quiet knock at his door and Miss Gunnery called, “Hamish, are you there?”
He let out a very stagy snore, but after another moment he heard her sigh, heard her move away. But instead of plunging down into sleep, his mind stayed resolutely restless and awake. All the people involved in the murders circulated around his brain. He began to wonder what Doris was really like. He had taken her at face value: small, neat, withdrawn, almost prim at times, putting her reserve down to the result of years of bullying. She could have left Harris. There were no children to worry about. But perhaps she had been taken ‘hostage’ by Harris, perhaps she had been kept down and bullied for too long to have a will or mind of her own. But what had happened to her when Andrew had entered her life? Yes, think about that, Hamish Macbeth. Andrew was gentle and mannered, the complete opposite of her boorish husband. There was the spice of secret meetings intensifying the romance. Then Harris would come back from his travels, nagging and yapping and criticizing. So what murderous thoughts began to burn in the quiet Doris’s bosom? Would she not think day in and day out what her life might be if this husband were dead, and might she not discuss it with Andrew?