Love shook his head. “Nobody does. It was the old lady’s.”
Purbright looked up from his examination of the writing case. “But it’s cluttered up with all manner of things. Shoes, gewgaws, medicine bottles, hair nets. I noticed the bed was still made up, too. A bit odd, isn’t it?”
“I saw a film once,” said Love, his face brightening, “where a bloke kept a room like that for years after his mother was supposed to have been buried. She was in the wardrobe, actually, all shrivelled, and he used to plonk her down in a chair at teatime and talk to her. It turned out that...”
“Did you take a peek into the wardrobe, Sid?”
Love looked a little ashamed of himself. “I did, as a matter of fact. Just in the course of things. There were some dresses in it. And a sort of basket thing.”
“Basket thing?” Purbright frowned, suddenly interested.
“That’s right.” The sergeant sketched in the air with his hands. “I should think it was one of those old contraptions dressmakers used to use.”
“I’m quite sure you’re wrong, Sid. Never mind for now, though. Let’s see what Mr Hopjoy left us.”
The Hopjoy bequest was not calculated to bring much joy to beneficiaries. It consisted, almost exclusively, of bills and accompanying letters that ranged in tone from elaborate politeness to vulgar exasperation.
Purbright mentally awarded top marks to the essay contributed by the manager of the Neptune.
My dear Mr Hopjoy (it began expansively),
I need hardly tell you how delighted I was to renew the acquaintance, in the person of your charming wife, of a lady I had mistakenly supposed to have married into a family on the other side of the county. I cannot say what gave me that erroneous impression: the man is almost unknown to me, save by repute as a choleric and well-muscled individual. You will, I am sure, apologize to Mrs Hopjoy for whatever trace of bewilderment I may stupidly have shown on being introduced to her (or re-introduced, should I say?) May I take this opportunity also to congratulate you upon your new union. The former Mrs Hopjoy—if I might make so bold as to offer comment—seemed possessed of a disconcertingly changeable personality; there were times when I had difficulty in persuading myself that she was the same woman. Now that a more settled marital relationship seems happily in prospect, I may, no doubt, look forward to the satisfactory adjustment of the incidental matter of your account.
Yours ever to serve,
P. BARRACLOUGH
‘Adjustment’, it appeared, involved the sum of £268 14s.
To an even larger debt a letter from Mr J. O’Conlon made regretful reference. In this case, social overtones were absent. Mr O’Conlon merely expressed the hope that his client would avoid trouble for all concerned (including, especially, himself) by sending along his cheque for £421 at any time convenient to him within the following forty-eight hours.
“Bookmaking,” Purbright observed to Sergeant Love, “must be looking up. I wouldn’t have thought Joe O’Conlon had enough padding to let anyone have that much credit.”
Turning to the next sheet, Purbright raised his brows in mild astonishment. “George Tozer, gentlemen’s hairdresser,” he read out. “To goods, £11 15s. 4d. A remittance will oblige or I’m sorry no more of same can be supplied.”
Love puffed out his schoolboy-pink cheeks. “A proper lad, that Hopjoy. And on tick, too...”
“You feel that makes his excesses the more reprehensible?”
“I wouldn’t know about that, but I reckon they don’t call old Tozer the poor man’s friend for nothing.”
“You’re sure you’re not confusing the merchant with his merchandise?” Purbright put the barber’s reckoning aside and picked up a letter from the Happy Motoring Finance Company. “Ah, the car...I was wondering when we’d come to that.”
“In the matter of your outstanding instalments, which now amount to £242 16s.,” the letter ran, “I am directed to refer to your personal letter to Sir Harry Palmer, in which you say that the nature of certain confidential work undertaken by you for H.M. Government requires you to foster a false appearance of impecuniosity. I regret that the Chairman must decline your invitation to seek confirmation of your position from the Minister of State, as this would be outside the scope of our Company practice. Accordingly, I must inform you that unless your instalment payments are brought up to date within fourteen days we shall be obliged to take appropriate action.”
Purbright regarded the letter in silence for a while. Then he looked quickly through the rest of the contents of the writing case. Beneath the bills lay an unsuggestive miscellany of theatre programmes, hotel and resort brochures, a London restaurant guide, a couple of wine and food lists, maps, a jeweller’s catalogue and the maintenance booklet for the Armstrong. Then came a wad of blank, thin paper sheets of the kind Purbright had seen in the hands of Ross, and finally a cheap writing pad from which the top sheet or two had been torn.
Purbright flicked through the pages of the pad. They enclosed nothing. He leaned back, staring out of the window and gently tapping the pad against the edge of the desk.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly, “how Mr Hopjoy rated as a counter-espionage agent, but if he applied to his job only half the talent he showed for fornication and insolvency I’d say Russia’s had it.”
Love glanced at the inspector a little dubiously.
“Oh, don’t worry, Sid. The fellow obviously made no secret of what he was up to. He even traded on it. I don’t see why we should behave like old ladies pretending they can’t smell the drains. Which reminds me...wasn’t Warlock coming in today some time?”
“About four,” Love said. “He sounded jolly bouncy over the phone.”
“He’s probably run across some little titbit like a fingernail or a kidney. Incidentally, I don’t see anything among this lot that gives colour to Hopjoy’s pose as a commercial traveller.”
“That’s all there was at the house. Perhaps he had an office somewhere,”
Purbright shook his head. “None of the chemists in the town remembers his calling. No, I think he just couldn’t be bothered to keep up that part of it; who was to care, anyway?”
The sergeant watched in silence as Purbright closed and fastened the writing case and pushed it and Periam’s belongings to the back of the desk. Then, “It’s funny, you know,” he said hesitantly, “but what with one thing and another—all that money trouble and everything—you might almost say that getting done must have come to that bloke as a happy release.” He swallowed. “If you see what I mean.”
There was no flippancy in Purbright’s voice when he replied: “I do see what you mean, Sid. I do indeed.”
Chapter Ten
Sergeant Warlock blossomed into Purbright’s office like the Man from the Prudential. He carried a briefcase and a squat, black wooden box with a handle.
“Now then, squire.” The luggage was placed in precise symmetry on the desk top. Warlock’s hands, thus released, flew into joyful union and vigorously rubbed each other. “How’s tricks?”
Purbright conceded that tricks were merely so-so.