The sitting-room door banged, the outer door banged. Lee said,
“Well!”
Peter put his arm round her waist.
“I wonder whether she had been back for those letters before,” he said.
Chapter XXXII
Lucy Craddock leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Oh, my dears, this does seem to have been a terribly long week.”
“It’s not a week yet,” said Lee wearily. “This is only Saturday, and last Saturday I was in Paris with the Mervilles.”
Incredible that the time in Paris with the Mervilles should in retrospect appear quite pleasant. She put this into words, and got a piercing glance from Peter.
“Perhaps you feel sorry you didn’t elope with your dago friend.”
“Almost, darling,” said Lee, with a momentary sparkle.
“Too dreadful!” said Lucy Craddock. “I have often thought that it would be such a comfort if some sort of an interval could be arranged-when something dreadful has happened, I mean-like they do in a play. The curtain goes down, and when it goes up again it is next week, or next month, or next year. Such a good arrangement.”
“Lucinda, you’re a genius,” said Peter. “Personally, I vote for next year, by which time Lee and I will be married and at a comforting distance of about six thousand miles from Scotland Yard. Of course, it’s not quite so much as the crow flies.”
Lee actually laughed.
“Do crows fly to India?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. But the point, my darling child, is that policemen don’t.”
The telephone bell rang from the hall. Lucy Craddock began to flutter.
“Oh, my dear boy, if it is Phoebe Challoner, I really don’t think I feel equal-she’s so very kind, but-”
“You are still utterly prostrated,” said Peter.
He departed, took up the receiver, and prepared to repel female friends in general and Miss Challoner in particular. But the voice which came to him along the wire was unmistakably male. It said in gruff, agitated accents,
“Hullo! Who’s there? I want to speak to Mr. Renshaw.”
“Speaking,” said Peter gloomily, because the voice was beyond all question that of Bobby Foster, and to ring him up and if possible drag him into being an accessory after the fact was just the sort of thing that Bobby was likely to do.
The voice became even more agitated.
“Peter, I’m in the most awful jam-”
“And you’ll be in a worse one if you start babbling on the telephone, my lad.”
“You know who’s speaking?”
Peter groaned.
“I do. What do you want?”
“I’m in the most awful jam. I lost my head-you know, when I got to the office it came over me. I didn’t think anyone would believe me. I lost my head and bolted. I haven’t got any money. That’s why I rang up. If you could let me have a tenner-and meet me-”
“Dry up!” said Peter. “I want to think.” He concentrated a horrible frown upon the instrument for about a minute and a half, and then spoke rapidly into the receiver.
“Are you there? Well now, listen! You know the church where the Beaver was married-well, go there, stand in the porch, and look out for me. I don’t know if anyone is interested in my movements-I shall have to make sure about that. If I can get my car out I will. Look out for me and nip in the moment I stop. If I’m on foot, let me get past and then follow me. Don’t speak to me until I stop and blow my nose. If you’ve got that, say yes, and don’t say anything more. Got it?… All right.” He hung up, opened the sitting-room door, and called Lee.
“It wasn’t anyone for you, Lucinda. I’ve got to go out for a bit.”
He took Lee into the kitchen and shut the door.
“Listen! That was Bobby. I’m going to meet him. I shall do my best to persuade him to give himself up, but if he won’t, I shall have to let him have some money. How much have you got?”
“Five pounds seven and elevenpence halfpenny.”
“I’ll take the fiver. Better not tell Lucinda. Don’t worry.”
He got his car without any trouble, and after driving round the same block several times decided that Scotland Yard was not having him watched. He proceeded, therefore, to the church of St. Peter, Frith Street, and with a final glance out of his back window drew up by the kerb. Bobby Foster, embarrassingly large and conspicuous, emerged from the porch, snatched the door open, and plunged heavily in beside him. As the door slammed, the car moved off again.
Peter turned the corner with relief. Bobby was panting in his ear.
“Peter-it’s been awful! You’ve no idea how awful it’s been.”
“Oh, haven’t I?”
“It?s a marvellous bit of luck your bringing the car. You know, I’ve lost my nerve. I’m afraid to go near a station in case-”
“I should think you’d be arrested at once if you did. I suppose you know there’s a warrant out against you?”
The wretched Bobby dithered.
“I know-I know. I bought a paper, and it said-Peter, you can’t think what it feels like to see that sort of thing-in the papers-about oneself.”
Peter turned into a dull and deserted street and stopped the car.
“Now, Bobby-what’s this all about anyhow? You’d better make a clean breast of it.”
“Peter, I swear-I mean, I wouldn’t kill anyone-you know I wouldn’t. You say that sort of thing-everyone does-but you don’t mean it. I mean, I loathed Ross quite a lot because of Mavis, and I won’t say I wouldn’t have liked to get my hands on him. But, Peter, I swear I wouldn’t shoot a man just because I loathed him-Peter, I swear I wouldn’t!”
“All right, you’ve said it. I’ve got that. Now calm down and tell me what happened after I pushed you off home on the Tuesday night.”
Bobby clutched his head.
“I don’t remember an awful lot about it. Did you push me off home?”
“I did, my lad. You had been looking on the wine when it was red to a very marked extent, also on the whisky when it was yellow, and possibly on the gin when it was white.”
Bobby shook his head.
“Not gin-I loathe it.”
“Well, I should think it was the only one of the lot you hadn’t been sampling, and I gather from the proceedings at the inquest that you carried on the good work after you got home.”
“I don’t remember much about that either,” said Bobby.
“Well, suppose we get on to something that you do remember.”
Bobby took out a very grimy handkerchief and mopped his brow.
“Well, I do remember saying something about shooting Ross. But I didn’t mean it. Peter, you know I didn’t really mean it.”
“That’s all right. Carry on.”
Bobby mopped again.
“Well, the first thing that’s really clear is coming up on to the landing outside Ross’s flat.”
“How did you get into the house?”
“I don’t know-the door must have been open.”
“Well, you were on the landing-”
“And the door of his flat was open-I could see a light-so I just walked right in. The sitting-room door was open too, and the light was on, and when I got inside, there he was, lying dead in the middle of the floor, and I got such a shock that if the door hadn’t been there to take hold of, I’d have gone down too.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything-I just stood there looking at him. And the funny thing is that I was as sober as a judge. I remembered what I’d said about shooting him, and I thought, ‘If anyone finds me here, I’m done.’ ”