By two o'clock in the afternoon they had a large attendance. And by three o'clock the place was like a fair, with the local constable making valiant efforts to preserve some kind of decency.
At half-past three, when they had dragged the river almost as far as Salcott itself and had still turned up nothing. Grant went back to the Mill House and found Walter Whitmore there.
'It was kind of you to send us the message, Inspector, he said. 'I should have come to the river, but somehow I couldn't.
'There was not the slightest need for you to come.
'Marta said that you were coming back here at teatime, so I waited here. Any-results?
'Not so far.
'Why did you want to know about the shoe, this morning?
'Because it was fastened when found. I wanted to know if Searle normally pulled off those shoes without unbuckling them. Apparently he always unbuckled them.
'Then why-how could the shoe be fastened now?
'Either it was sucked off by the current, or he kicked it off to make swimming easier.
'I see, Walter said, drearily.
He refused tea, and went away looking more disorientated than ever.
'I do wish I could be as sorry for him as I should be, Marta said. 'China or Indian?
Grant had had three large cups of scalding tea ( _So_ bad for your inside! Marta said) and was beginning to feel human again, when Williams rang to report.
The report, in spite of Williams's best endeavours, was meagre. Miss Searle didn't like her cousin and made no bones about it. She, too, was an American, but they had been born at opposite sides of the United States and had never met until they were grown up. They had fought at sight, apparently. He sometimes rang her up when he came to England, but not this time. She had not known that he was in England.
Williams had asked her if she was out a lot, and if she thought it possible that Searle could have called, or telephoned, and not found her. She said that she had been in the Highlands, painting, and that Searle might have called her many times without her knowledge. When she was away the studio was empty and there was no one to take telephone messages.
'Did you see the paintings? Grant asked. 'The ones of Scotland.
'Oh, yes. The place was full of them.
'What were they like?
'Very like Scotland.
'Oh, orthodox.
'I wouldn't know. The west of Sutherland and Skye, mostly.
'And about his friends in this country?
'She said she was surprised to hear that he had any friends anywhere.
'She didn't suggest to you that Searle was a wrong 'un?
'No, sir. Nothing like that.
'And she couldn't suggest any reason why he should suddenly disappear, or where he could disappear to?
'No, she couldn't. He has no people, she did tell me that. Parents dead, apparently; and he was an only child. But about his friends she seemed to know nothing. What he said about having only a cousin in England was true, anyhow.
'Well, thank you very much, Williams. I quite forgot to ask you this morning if you found Benny?
'Benny? Oh, yes. Quite easily.
'And did he cry?
Grant heard Williams laugh.
'No. He pulled a new one this time. He pretended to faint.
'What did that get him?
'It got him three free brandies and the sympathy of the multitude. We were in a pub, I need hardly say. After the second brandy he began to come to and moan about the way he was being persecuted, so they gave him a third. I was very unpopular.
Grant considered this a fine sample of understatement.
'Luckily it was a West End pub, Williams said. This, being translated, meant that there was no actual interference with his performance of his duty.
'Did he agree to go with you for questioning?
'He said he would go if I let him telephone first. I said he knew quite well that he was free to telephone anyone at any hour of the day or night-that was a Post Office arrangement-but if his call was innocent I supposed he didn't mind my being the fly on the telephone-booth wall.
'And did he agree?
'He practically dragged me into the box. And who do you think that little bastard was telephoning to?
'His M.P.?
'No. I think M.P.s are a bit shy of him nowadays. He overstayed his welcome last time. No, he rang up some bloke he knows who writes for the Watchman and told him the tale. Said he was no sooner «out» than some policeman or other was on his tail wanting him to go to Scotland Yard for questioning, and how was a man to go straight if he was having an innocent drink with his friends who didn't know anything about him, and an obvious plain-clothes tec came up and wanted to speak to him, and so on and go on. Then he came with me, quite pleased with himself.
'Was he any help to the Yard?
'No, but his girl was.
'Did she blab?
'No, she was wearing Poppy's earrings. Poppy Plumtre's.
'No!
'If we didn't happen to be taking Benny out of circulation for a little, I think his girl would put him out of it for good. She's raving mad. He hasn't had her very long, and it seems she was thinking of leaving him, so Benny «bought» her a pair of diamond earrings. The amount of intelligence Benny has wouldn't inconvenience a ladybird.
'Did you get the rest of Poppy's stuff?
'Yes. Benny coughed up. He hadn't had time to get to a fence with them.
'Good work. What about the Watchman?
'Well, I did want to let that Watchman bit of silliness stew in his own juice. But the Super wouldn't let me. Said it was no good having trouble that we could avoid even if we had the pleasure of seeing the Watchman making a fool of itself. So I had to ring him up and tell him.
'At least you must have got something back out of that.
'Oh, yes. Yes. I don't deny I got some kick out of that. I said: "Mr Ritter, I'm Detective-Sergeant Williams. I was present when Benny Skoll rang you up a few hours ago." "You were present?" he said. "But he was lodging a complaint against you!" "Oh, yes," I said. "It's a free country you know." "I don't call it so free for some," he said. "You were dragging him away to be questioned at Scotland Yard." I said I invited him to accompany me, and he didn't have to if he didn't want to.
'Then he gave me the old spiel about hounding criminals, and Benny Skoll having paid his debt to Society, and that we had no right to hound him now that he was a free man again, and so forth. "You have shamed him before his friends," says Mr Ritter, "and pushed him back to hopelessness. How much the better is Scotland Yard for having badgered poor little Benny Skoll this afternoon?"
'"Two thousand pounds worth," I said.
'"What?" he said. "What are you talking about?"
'"That is the amount of jewellery he stole from Poppy Plumtre's flat on Friday night."
'"How do you know it was Benny?" he asked.
'I said Benny had handed over the loot in person, with the exception of two large single diamond earrings which were gracing the ears of his current lady friend. Then I said: "Goodnight, sir", very sweet and low, the way they do in the Children's Hour, and hung up. You know, I think he had already written that letter about poor innocent Benny. He was so dashed. Writers must feel very flat when they've written something that no one can use.
'Wait till Mr Ritter's flat is burgled, Grant said. 'He'll come to us screaming for the criminal's blood.
'Yes, sir. Funny, isn't it? They're always the worst when it happens to themselves. Any word from San Francisco?
'Not yet, but it may come any minute. It doesn't seem so important now.
'No. When I think of the whole notebook I filled interviewing bus conductors in Wickham! No good for anything but the wastepaper basket.
'Never throw notes away, Williams.