Mason was about to move on when something caught his eye. Something white in the dusk.
“Why, bless my soul, if that cat hasn’t got one of the pigeons.”
He stopped and prodded with the butt-end of his staff at the darkness under the plane tree. Chancery swore at him then backed a few reluctant paces into the tangled safety of a laurustinus. The front of the flower-bed was a mess of grey and white feathers.
“Cunning old devil,” said Mason. “If he hasn’t clawed that bird too much I might see what the missus can make of it. It’s off the ration, and that’s something these days.”
As he was stooping down he heard a cry. It came from the building behind him. Then silence. Then footsteps running. It was Sergeant Cockerill and Mason, startled, saw that his face was white.
“What is it?” he said. “What’s up?”
“Have you got a telephone in your lodge?”
“Yes, what—”
“Come on. No time to lose. Got to get the police.”
He set off at a lumbering trot and Mason, after a moment’s hesitation, followed him.
Chancery crept cautiously from his retreat under the laurustinus and retrieved the pigeon.
Chapter Ten —Wednesday— “De Minimis Non Curat Lex”
It sometimes happens that a valid requisition on title receives an evasive reply, viz.: “This is a matter of record” or “This should be within the Purchaser’s own knowledge” or “The Purchaser must search”. Such an answer must never be accepted without further enquiry—
I
Up to that point, Bohun realised, it had been just possible—not easy, but just barely possible—to treat the affair impersonally: to regard the discovery of Mr. Smallbone’s body as a problem; an affair which could intrigue and puzzle without directly affecting.
Now it was different. The discovery of Miss Chittering, her sightless eyes protruding, her lips drawn up in a parody of agony, her neck indented with the deep mark of the wire noose which had killed her; that had changed things, for good.
Looking at their faces next morning, Bohun saw this very clearly.
From now onwards, until the matter was ended, one way or the other, they were never going to trust each other again, because they were never going to be quite certain.
II
The news had reached Hazlerigg within five minutes of the discovery of the body.
A lesser man would have departed at once for the scene of the crime. Instead, after a short moment of thought, Hazlerigg pulled up the office phone and started to give orders. As a result of which, three county police forces received urgent requests for co-operation; two North London squad cars were stopped on patrol and diverted to new destinations; and several members of the Metropolitan Force spent an active evening.
“With the least luck in the world,” said Hazlerigg to Sergeant Crabbe, “we should be able to alibi half of them clean out of it this time. It looks as if six-thirty to seven is the important time. All virtuous office workers are home by seven.”
“They should have been home,” agreed Sergeant Crabbe, who was a notorious pessimist. “Things don’t always work out the way they should do.”
How tiresomely right he was became apparent the next morning, by which time the reports had come in. Hazlerigg read them through quickly, said something unkind on the subject of the Electricity Board, and then read them through again.
The first one was typical.
“At approximately seven-twenty I arrived at the address which had been indicated to me, in St. George’s Square, Pimlico,” it said, in that stilted manner which is encouraged in police reports, no doubt with the idea that they will sound more convincing when read out in court. “I was informed by a lady whose name I afterwards understood to be Miss Birley, that her brother, Mr. Birley, had not yet returned home. I asked if this was unusual, and Miss Birley said that it was most unusual. She said that her brother was normally home by a quarter to seven, and would always telephone if he was going to be late. As I was interrogating Miss Birley, Mr. Birley arrived. He seemed surprised to see me and appeared to be considerably upset and was in an excited condition. He stated that owing to an alleged electricity cut he had been forced to wait for fifty-two minutes on the platform of Charing Cross Underground station. Such a thing had never happened to him before. After waiting approximately twenty minutes he had tried to get out and take a bus, but the crowd had been so dense that he had been unable to move. He stated that in his opinion the Government…”
From the Surrey Constabulary, P.C. Rook of Epsom: “I went to the house indicated, but was informed that Mr. Craine had not yet returned. I said that I would wait. Mr. Craine arrived home at eight minutes to nine. When asked why he was so late he said that he had got tired of waiting for his train to proceed from Surbiton where it had been stationary for nearly three-quarters of an hour. He had therefore got out and tried to hire a taxi but without success. That would have been at about seven-fifteen. He had eventually obtained a lift from a commercial traveller as far as Banstead cross-roads and had walked home from there. He considered that the Electricity Board…”
“Miss Bellbas, when interrogated, stated that she had entered a Northern Line train, on the Edgware branch, at Tottenham Court Road station. The train had come to a halt somewhere between Mornington Crescent and Camden Town. The carriage was very full, but she had managed to obtain a seat. When the train had been stationary for some considerable period the lady next to her had asked her what she thought would happen if there was a fire. Miss Bellbas had replied that if there was a fire they would all be burnt to death. The lady had thereupon uttered a number of hysterical screams. Fortunately at this point the train had restarted. Miss Bellbas was of the opinion that people who were unable to control themselves should not travel in Underground trains…”
“It’s all too utterly bad to be true,” said Hazlerigg to Bohun. “The people we aren’t really interested in at all—Mrs. Porter, Mr. Prince, Mr. Waugh, and so on, seem to have got home safely and in good time. On the other hand, out of the members of List Two, five seem to have got stuck at unidentifiable spots round the London Transport system and the rest don’t seem to have gone home at all.”
“John Cove and Eric Duxford—” suggested Bohun.
“Yes, I heard about them,” said Hazlerigg. “That’s almost the only satisfactory aspect of the whole evening. Cove seems to be clear. And there’s no doubt at all about Duxford. He’s out.”
“If he isn’t he soon will be,” said Bohun grimly.
“What do you—oh, that. Yes. I suppose it was a bit irregular. I can’t help his private troubles. Whatever else he’s guilty of, he isn’t guilty of murder. Not this one, anyway. I only wish we could be as definite about everybody else. You might be interested to hear the score to date. Mr. Birley—Left the office at six o’clock. Arrived home in Pimlico at twenty-five past seven. Fifty minutes spent in a crowd on an Underground platform. Mr. Craine—Left the office at five to six. Caught the six-fifteen from Waterloo. Arrived home at about ten to nine. Some of his story should be checkable. I’m having an enquiry made at Surbiton station. Bob Horniman didn’t go home at all. It seems he never does go home on Tuesdays. It’s his landlady’s night off. So on that night he eats out.”
“Well, that should be easy to confirm.”
“I’ll believe it when it happens,” said Hazlerigg. “Miss Cornel—Had to walk to Charing Cross owing to crowds trying to go by bus. Missed the six-ten for Sevenoaks. Caught the six-forty. Train didn’t start till seven-twenty. Reached Sevenoaks at a quarter past eight. Stood all the way and saw no one she knew. Miss Bellbas—You’ve heard some of that. We might be able to get hold of the hysterical type who sat next to her. Or we might not. People aren’t always keen to come forward and admit they made fools of themselves. Miss Mildmay—Left the office at about six-twenty. Waited for twenty minutes in Holborn for a bus, but the buses were all full of disappointed train-goers. Gave it up and walked home to Kensington. Arrived at eight o’clock. That’s about the strength of it. And I’ll tell you what it all adds up to. It adds up to a hell of a lot more work.”