“Quite. What I’m getting at, though, is that perhaps the most significant thing they had in common—apart from some ready money—was availability.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Mr Purbright. I would have thought them both pretty moral, from what you say. Martha especially; her mother was a very decent soul.”
“I mean matrimonially available.”
Mr Chubb nodded. “I’m with you. Go on.”
“A woman who keeps a reputation for respectability in Flaxborough for forty years is not easily lured. I mean, she isn’t going to run off with the first man who knocks on the door and tells her he wants her to do some modelling. She would need to be offered a solid proposition, however romantic the trimmings. You will say that lust seethes within the most maidenly bosom”—none knew better than Purbright that Mr Chubb would say nothing of the sort—“and you will be right. But always there is this prime regard to security.”
“You talk of luring. We don’t really know about that, though, do we?”
“The only alternative is that Miss Reckitt and Mrs Bannister went off on their own initiative, without a word to anybody, leaving their belongings and obligations.”
“Such things do happen.” Mr Chubb pouted, wondering how to redeem what he realized was a somewhat shallow observation. “Change of life, you know,” he added mysteriously.
“Both a little young for the menopause, surely, sir?”
The chief constable let the point go.
“No, I agree with you that luring is the aspect that we must concentrate on,” said Purbright shamelessly. “The spontaneous departure theory will hardly work for two cases in the same town within so short a time. Can we have another look at your point of view about both ladies having been matrimonially available?”
“Your point, Mr Purbright.”
“I think we shall find that an offer of marriage has figured at some stage in each case. It’s the only bait I can think of that would have worked in the circumstances.”
“So they might now be married?”
“Not unless they used false names. We did make the appropriate inquiries, you know.”
“In that case, I don’t see that these hypothetical proposals of marriage can be of much help to us, Mr Purbright. They are scarcely likely to have been made before witnesses.”
“There could be written references to them. We know that neither of these women went out very much. Miss Reckitt’s landlady said Martha was almost a recluse and Mrs Bannister certainly didn’t share in any social whirls. It would be quite in character for a latter-day courtship to be conducted by correspondence. They’d both tend to be secretive, and a middle aged woman will often derive quite a lot of excitement from letter writing. Look at some of our poison pen customers.”
The chief constable stared gloomily at the middle of the floor as if he found in the carpet pattern a representation of human perversity. Yorkshire terriers—of which, to Purbright’s abiding horror, Mr Chubb had nine—might have a wayward attitude to carpets but they did not post anonymous letters.
“You’ll remember, sir,” Purbright was saying, “that we found nothing in the way of a lead among Miss Reckitt’s things, but we weren’t likely to, anyway. The landlady had the impression that she kept all her letters in her handbag. I’ve more hopes of Mrs Bannister’s place. She had the house to herself, so there was no need for her to worry about prying.”
“You know, Mr Purbright, you’re quite an expert on female psychology. I trust you will never be tempted to turn it to nefarious account.”
The inspector accepted the pleasantry graciously and with some thankfulness. It meant that Mr Chubb had had his fill of information and theorizing for one day—perhaps for the week—and would be content to leave Purbright to get on with things in his own way.
He took his leave, collected Sergeant Love from the small, boot-loud canteen, and picked up from his desk the key labelled by the scrupulous Mr Scorpe, to 4 Cadwell Close.
“It isn’t one of those human remains things, is it?” the sergeant asked as they were driving along St Ann’s Place.
“I sincerely hope not, Sid.”
Purbright was never quite sure whether Love’s questions were prompted by timidity or morbid zest. The sergeant was by no means as young as he looked—if he were, he would be wearing a school cap. And he had that cherubic innocence of expression that usually betokens highly developed licentiousness. But not, Purbright knew, in his case—his face was just his misfortune; he really was without vice. On the other hand, the innocent had the most extraordinary capacity for probing horrors. They could make pets of maggots and alleys of eye-balls.
The search of the house did not take very long. Reports of Mrs Bannister’s neatness had not been exaggerated. Purbright and the sergeant first toured the rooms in turn. The bay windowed front room contained only a three-piece suite in brown leather cloth; a piano with very white keys and three framed photographs on its top; a highly polished but elderly wireless set; and a china cabinet occupied by a thick, gold-lustre coffee service, half a dozen sherry glasses and a pair of pink urns bearing arcadian views. In the living room were dining table and chairs, a fireside chair and a sideboard, older and heavier than the rest of the furniture. Purbright glanced briefly into its cupboards and three drawers. In the bottom drawer he glimpsed papers, books, envelopes.
“We’ll come back to that in a minute, Sid.”
Two of the bedrooms were unfurnished, except for a bare bedstead and a marble washstand in the larger one. The third bedroom was obviously Mrs Bannister’s. The pink satin counterpane over the made bed was uncreased but it bulged slightly near the top at one side. Purbright pulled back the covers. A folded nightdress lay beneath them.
Love opened the door of the mahogany wardrobe. Five dresses hung there, a black coat, two woollen skirts and a tweed costume. On the floor were four pairs of shoes. Purbright pushed back the door by which they had entered the room. He saw the blue dressing gown hanging from it. A moment later Love heard him moving in the bathroom across the landing, then he was back again.
“Toothbrush and toothpaste are still there,” Purbright said. He began looking through the chest of drawers.
“She can’t have taken many of these, either. If any.”
Love felt faintly guilty as he watched the turning over of stockings and blouses and underwear. The things were surprisingly brief and frilly. He somehow had expected long sleeved vests and bloomers in tans and butcher blue.
Then he saw the inspector pause in his search.
Purbright straightened up. He was holding three sheets of note-paper that he had found tucked beneath handkerchiefs. Each was a brief letter beginning: “Lilian, My Dear...” None bore an address. Each was subscribed: “Your Impatient Rex.”
Love looked admiringly at the way in which Purbright handled the letters; he had slipped on a pair of white cotton gloves.
“Thinking of prints, eh?” said Love.
“Dabs, Sid, surely. Do let’s be professional.” He finished reading the first letter and put it gently on the counterpane. The sergeant looked down at the round, clear writing.