“So the doctor thought Gus might have had a burglar, and he advised calling the police.”
“Something like that, sir. But Mrs. Hawkins didn’t want the police. She said she didn’t think there’d been a man in the house.”
“So?”
“So the doctor called the police himself. Gus was still unconscious, and the doc couldn’t quite figure how a simple tumble had so well and truly laid him out.”
“You mean, the doctor thinks somebody crowned him?”
“He admitted that it was a possibility, sir.”
“Who went on the job?”
“Harmon and Cassidy.”
“What did they get?”
“Nothing but a lot of prints.”
“Where are they now?”
“Gone to have a bite of lunch, sir.”
“What about Gus? Is the injury serious?”
“I don’t know. They took him to the Infirmary.”
“Poor old Gus,” said Martineau. “I think I’ll go and see how he is.”
But at that moment Detective Constable Cassidy entered the office. “I want you,” said Martineau. “Give me the griff on this Hawkins job.”
“There’s very little to give, sir,” said Cassidy, with sorrow in his Irish voice. “We’ve made neither head nor tail of it. There’s nothing been stolen, that we know of. But somebody was in the attic, or has been there lately. For what reason, it’s hard to say.”
“Happen he just ran up there to avoid Gus?”
“No, sir,” said Cassidy. “You haven’t got the picture.” He explained how the loft ladder worked.
“I see,” said Martineau thoughtfully. “What did you think of Mrs. Hawkins? What did she tell you?”
“Ah, she was very jittery, sir. Didn’t seem to know what she was saying half the time. She said she ran out onto the landing as soon as she heard Mr. Hawkins fall, but she neither saw nor heard anybody else. I asked her if he had any reason for going up the steps and she said he’d heard a noise, but she’d already told the doctor she didn’t know why he went up.”
“Not quite truthful, you think?”
“I wouldn’t like to give me expert opinion on that, sir. She was a mite confused, maybe.”
“She was confused, all right, hut not the way you think,” said Martineau. “I’ll go and hear what Gus has to say, if he’s conscious.”
He took Devery with him to the hospital, and as they entered by the main doorway they passed a young woman who was going out. She did not know them, or recognize them as policemen.
“There, very much in the flesh, goes Mrs. Hawkins,” said Martineau when she had gone.
“I thought you only knew her by reputation,” said Devery.
“I don’t have opinions about people I know by reputation,” was the crisp reply. “I know her by sight. I’ve seen her around, before and after marriage. If she’s an honest wife, you can call me Morgan Unwin Gassbury.”
At the inquiry desk Martineau introduced himself. A call was put through to a private ward. Yes, the police could see Mr. Hawkins.
Gus had a sunny room to himself, and somebody had already provided flowers. His head was bandaged, but he was propped up by pillows.
“Ten minutes. And don’t get him worried or excited,” said the ward sister.
“What the devil do you want?” asked Gus.
“We heard you were poorly, and thought we’d come and see you,” said Martineau, grinning.
“I notice you didn’t bring me any grapes. I never saw a copper part with anything yet. Nobody ever comes off best with you fellows.”
“Tut tut, he’s peevish. He must be getting better already.”
“Give over,” said Gus. “You can’t kid me. What do you want?”
“Did you see what hit you?”
“No. Never saw a thing. It was like the house falling on me.”
“Why were you going into the attic?”
Gus told them how he had gone outside to look at the roof. “I saw something move,” he went on, “and thought we’d got another starling trapped up there.”
Martineau jumped. “A what?”
“We once had a starling got into the attic. It couldn’t get out and it died.”
Martineau glanced at Devery, and received a look of bright surmise. Then he heard Gus asking a question: “Now you tell me what hit me. My wife said the police hadn’t told her anything. Was it the trapdoor or something fell on me?”
Martineau had been warned not to worry Gus. There was nothing more likely to do so than a suspicion that somebody had been hiding in the attic. “It was an accident of some sort, Gus,” he said. “It isn’t my inquiry, but I’ll get the details for you. Tell you what, I’ll send one of the officers concerned to talk to you.”
“Yes, please do that,” said Gus, but he was watching closely.
Martineau knew that he was a hard man to deceive. Probably he already had his suspicions. It was time to be going. “All right, Gus. I hope you’re soon better,” he said, and took his leave. Outside, he said to Devery: “Now we’ll go and see his missus. She’ll tell us more. I don’t mind worrying her at all.”
Soon, unhampered by traffic, they were speeding across the city. They did not talk, until Martineau suddenly exclaimed: “Oh, confound it! I’m in the doghouse again! I forgot to phone and tell my wife I wouldn’t be home for dinner.”
Sunday was the one working day when the inspector went home for the midday meal. Now that it was mentioned, Devery felt annoyed with himself. He also had forgotten, and he had intended to increase his reputation for reliability and helpfulness by reminding his superior.
“It’s hardly your fault, sir,” he said. “You couldn’t know how things were going to develop.”
“It’s too late now, anyway,” said Martineau. “I’m apt to forget the domestic side when I’m busy; especially when I hear of a starling with a capital S fluttering around. We’re supposed to be on the Cicely Wainwright job, but I’d take time out from hunting the devil himself if there was half a chance of picking up Don Starling.”
“It’s an odd coincidence, if it was Starling in the attic.”
“In the mention of his name, you mean? The other thing is no coincidence at all. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Mrs. Hawkins was knocking about with a queer crowd when she met Gus. She used to go to the places where Don Starling spent his time.”
“You think she knows him?”
“Of course she knows him. I’ve seen her with him, before Gus started courting her. She’s a little strumpet and she’s probably been with him since she was married. He’ll have been in that house before, when Gus was out.”
“It all ties in,” said Devery. “You could be right.”
“We have means of making sure,” his senior replied. “Cassidy found plenty of dabs. But first we’ll hear what Mrs. Hawkins has to say.”
They found Mrs. Hawkins alone. When she answered the doorbell, Martineau introduced himself unsmilingly. “And this is Constable Devery,” he said tersely. “May we come in?” When they were in the front room, he did not wait to be asked to sit down. “Who was the man in the attic?” he asked abruptly.
She gulped. “I-man in attic?”
“Yes. We think we know. We want you to tell us.”
She stared at the carpet. “I never saw any man,” she said in a low voice.
“May I use your phone?” he asked. She looked at him dully, and nodded. He went to the telephone in the hallway, leaving the room door open. He dialed CENtral 1212, and then, loudly enough for her to hear, he said: “Martineau here. Give me the C.I.D.”
When the C.I.D. clerk answered, he said: “I want Cassidy, if he’s in,” and when Cassidy came on the line he asked: “What have you done with the fingerprints you found in Gus Hawkins’ attic?”
“Sergeant Bird has them, sir. We-”
“Listen. Get out Don Starling’s prints and compare, will you?”
“Starling!” Cassidy echoed. “Well of all-I’ll do that at once, sir. Give me your number and I’ll ring you back.” Martineau gave the number, and went back to observe Chloe Hawkins’ consternation.