‘Who is the other party?’
‘I don’t know. I never only write to box numbers.’
‘What was the number of this particular box?’
‘How d’you expect me to remember? It’s news to me that it’s again’ the law to take parcels in to be called for!’
‘Too right, I believe. Oh, by the way, were all the parcels alike?’
‘Just exactly. Same shape, same weight, same size.’
‘We have evidence that that isn’t true. Don’t try any funny stuff. What were the other parcels like?’
‘I never took in no others.’
‘Don’t be a fool. Anyway, talking of the parcels you admit of accepting, how did the statues reach the end of their journey?’
‘Collected up from this ’ere shop, of course.’
‘By Miss Faintley?’
‘She delivered ’em to me, but she never collected any up.’
‘Well, who did, then?’
‘I dunno.’
‘How do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘All I done, I took in the parcels, see, and give a receipt. ’Ad to show the receipt to prove the package ’ad been ’anded over to my shop, I suppose. Well, when I gets the parcel, I writes to the box number, whatever it is —’
‘How did you know which box number to write to? Was it a regular series?’
‘No. I used to be given a different one each time.’
‘By post? Did you get this information through the post?’
‘That’s right. Type-wrote, envelope and all, giving me the box number they was going to use next.’
‘How often did the parcels come?’
‘There wasn’t no set time. Sometimes it’ud be months, and once I ’ad three in a week.’
‘How many altogether?’
The shopkeeper hesitated; then he handed over a small notebook.
‘It’s all in ’ere. You better stick to it. I been thinking, and I don’t think I want to be mixed up in nothing like murder. Murder’s wicked, that’s what murder is.’
‘Quite right, Tomson. And now, to go back to where we branched off, you say you don’t know who collected the parcels from you. How was that?’
‘Whoever it was ’ad a key to my shop-door. All I done was leave the parcel on the counter as soon as I’d wrote to the box number to say I’d got something for ’em, and then, next night, they’d come along with the key and let theirselves in and out, and take the parcel with ’em.’
‘And you’ve no idea who came?’
‘I wasn’t paid to ’ave ideas, and the pay was reg’lar, whether any parcels come or not.’
‘But you knew, with all this secrecy, that these people couldn’t have been up to any good!’
‘I thought they was on the windy side of the law, but it wasn’t none of my business. And when I seen what there was… the bit of fern, I mean… in that statue, I didn’t worry no more. A man’s got to live, same as what you said yourself just now.’
‘How did you first get into the game? Using this shop for letters that weren’t to be delivered to private houses?’
‘Could ’ave been, couldn’t it? Your guess is as good as mine. It wasn’t nothing wrong.’
‘You’re quite certain?… You wouldn’t care to name any names?’
‘I don’t know no names, that’s what. I’ve told you the truth because I don’t want to get mixed up in no murders.’
‘You haven’t told me the whole truth, as I know for a fact. And don’t bother to tell me you don’t know who Mr Mandsell might be, because I’m sure you do, and, if you don’t, you can guess.’
Tomson swore.
‘I don’t know what happened to it, I tell you!’
‘Suit yourself, but, if you’re going to be a fool and land yourself in a mess, don’t come to us to get you out of it!’
Tomson laughed. His mirth had an unpleasant sound and Darling told him briefly to come off it.
‘I don’t want no police protection because I ’aven’t done nothing wrong,’ said Tomson, becoming plaintive. ‘It’s ’ard to make an honest living these days.’
‘But not quite so hard to make a dishonest one,’ retorted Darling. ‘If you take my advice, you’ll come clean. I’d much sooner believe Mr Mandsell’s word than I would yours, for reasons we both understand, and Mr Mandsell’s description of the parcels doesn’t tally with yours. Now, then, what about it?’
But Tomson was either too wily, or too much afraid of his mysterious employers, to say more than:
‘I can’t ’elp what ’e says, can I? I’m telling you what I know. It was statues and the one what got broke ’ad a bit of fern inside, and that’s all.’
Darling returned to Vardon.
‘It’s still all guesswork what the parcels contained,’ he said. ‘Either Tomson’s lying, or else there are two types of parcels. Our best plan, at this end, is to keep an eye on this chap Mandsell, I think. There’s a gang at work, of course. That sticks out a mile. If the gang try and lay Mandsell out we ought to get them, and if he tries to contact them we ought to get him.’
‘Do you think he was in with Miss Faintley, then, and his story about the other fellow who came out of the telephone box is all lies?’
‘No, I’m inclined to believe him, but it doesn’t hurt to keep an open mind. Anything doing at your end?’
‘Nothing at all, so far. We’ve established (to our own satisfaction, anyway) that the house on the cliffs outside which the body was found was not being lived in. One room seems to have been visited occasionally, but even that hasn’t got a bed in it, and there are no arrangements for cooking except a kitchen range which obviously hasn’t been used for years.’
‘Fingerprints?’
‘What do you think? And yet the place is thick with dust! No, we’re not looking for a cosh-boy or a jealous lover. I agree with you that we’re looking for a gang, and those parcels are at the root of the matter. I don’t suppose it would help much, but for the sake of curiosity I’d like to know whether Tomson is lying about the parcel he says was broken. Mandsell swears his was a flat one, and not heavy, so that doesn’t sound like counterfeit coins or diamonds. It could be counterfeit notes, though. We ought to go to Hagford Junction next to see the parcels clerk. If he’s been in the habit of handing parcels over to Miss Faintley it shouldn’t tax his memory too much to remember what they were like.’
‘Yes, we must check on that clerk.’ They motored at once to the station. Here they met with a slight check. The man was on leave, and nobody knew his holiday address. The railway station staff were positive, however, that he had gone away. He had shown them folders describing coach tours and had made it clear that he was going to book one for himself and his brother. The brother nobody had met. The name was Price.
Darling took down the address he was given and went to the house, but nobody answered his knock, and a neighbour came out and said that she had seen the brothers go off with suitcases. So that was that for a bit, thought Darling. He decided that it did not matter very much. When however, at the end of the following week he returned to the station without Vardon, who had gone back to Torbury, it was to learn that the Left Luggage clerk had not returned to duty at the appointed time, and that no explanation was forthcoming of his absence.
‘So it looks as though he might have been mixed up in it at least as much as Tomson is,’ Darling confided to Vardon when next they met. ‘I daresay he’s only one of the smaller fry… certainly nobody would trust Tomson very far!… but I’d like to have got my hooks on him, especially now I know he’s vamoosed.’
‘Stymie! The inquest’ll have to be resumed some time or other, but we can’t add any more evidence at present. Can you tackle the older Miss Faintley again, and see if she can cough up any more?’
‘I can try, but, although she’s a spiteful, dissatisfied old besom, I think she’s told us everything she knows.’