Swing, Swing Together

CHAPTER 23

“What are they going to say about this at the Providential?” Cribb asked.

“About what in particular?” Humberstone replied, managing to preserve his loftiness of manner while wearing a silk kimono. He was sitting handcuffed in the charge room at Oxford Police Station facing Cribb across a table. A uniformed constable sat nearby, notebook in hand.

“Why, about three respectable members of its Claims Department visiting a houseboat named, I understand, the Xanadu, and being found there in the company of three ladies of very uncertain reputation.”

“I can think of no reason why the Providential should hear about it. Is this a threat of some kind? I don’t care for your tone, Sergeant. You may not approve of the ladies on the Xanadu, but there is nothing unlawful in what we were doing.”

“I grant you that,” said Cribb, “but assaulting a police officer isn’t lawful. We regard that very seriously in the Force. Constable Thackeray is going to get an uncommon nasty bruise on his shoulder as the result of your attentions.”

“I merely pulled the man down through the hatch. How could I have known he was a policeman? It’s a sorry state of affairs if a gentleman can’t challenge a fellow who intrudes upon his privacy. If your constable wanted to be treated in a civil fashion, he should have knocked at the door and introduced himself, instead of peering through the skylight.”

“Are you suggesting Thackeray didn’t tell you he was a police officer?”

“Not until I had him on the floor. He was too busy goggling at the girls, old boy. It’s lucky for him I had the dog locked in the galley, or he might have had some more injuries to complain of. Policeman! If he told you he announced himself before I had him helpless on the floor, the bounder’s lying.”

Cribb sniffed. “And I suppose the two officers who attempted to apprehend you as you bolted through the door are just imagining they were hurled into the river-or perhaps you didn’t notice they were wearing uniforms?”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic with me, Sergeant. The events aboard that houseboat were very confused, believe me. Between the dog barking and the women screaming and your policeman jabbering something about a warrant, it’s not surprising that we made for the door. And with Gold and Lucifer pushing at my back, I may have met your officers with something of an impact. I’m sixteen stone in weight and once I’m moving it isn’t easy to stop. I’m sorry about the wet uniforms and the man with the broken nose. I’m sorry about Constable Thackeray’s shoulder. But if you burst in upon people as he did, unexpected things are liable to happen. Now perhaps you’ll tell me what it was all about.”

For a man in Humberstone’s situation, it was a polished performance, Cribb had to concede. Anyone who could fell three policemen trying to arrest him and put it down to circumstances beyond his control was a cool customer. It was already past midnight. Here he was, figuratively squaring up like a prize fighter, ready to trade punches by the hour. It would be unwise to mix it with him when there were two others to come. Best take him quickly through the evidence and then try conclusions with Gold and Lucifer.

“When I saw you last, Mr. Humberstone-it was in the Barley Mow, if you remember-there was talk of a dead man, a tramp, down the river a bit, at Hurley.”

“You mentioned it,” said Humberstone with caution. “I didn’t attach much importance to it. You didn’t tell us you were a detective, or I might have taken more interest. It’s a queer thing when you think about it that a member of the public can be locked away for impersonating a policeman, when there’s policemen all over England masquerading as members of the public.”

“The tramp was murdered,” Cribb went on, refusing to be drawn. “Someone took him on a boat and very likely got him drunk. They pushed him over the side and held him down until his lungs filled with water. We found the marks of someone’s hands on his neck and shoulders. There were other marks, Mr. Humberstone. There must have been a struggle aboard the boat before they got him into the water. We found a dog bite on his leg.”

“My word!” said Humberstone in an exaggerated squeak. “I begin to understand how Scotland Yard works. You suspect Towser. I hope you will allow him to get in touch with his solicitor.”

“Today a second body was found, here in Oxford. The victim was a don from Merton College, Mr. Bonner-Hill. The state of his body indicates that he was murdered in the same manner as the tramp.”

“Don’t say it, Sergeant! You found Towser’s teethmarks again. A tramp and a don! That animal makes no distinctions at all. He’ll bite anyone who comes his way.”

Cribb was disinclined to smile. “No, Mr. Humberstone. This time there were no teethmarks. I happen to know that you and your friends were on the river at about the time the murder was committed-that’s the connection.”

Humberstone sat back in his chair and rested the handcuffs on the table’s edge. “At this point, you would like me to deny emphatically that we were anywhere near the scene of the murder at the time it happened. You then ask me how I can possibly know when and where the crime took place when you haven’t told me. Checkmate.”

“This ain’t a game, sir. But since we’re talking about the when and the where of it, where were you when the first murder was committed at Hurley?”

“If you want an answer to that, you had better remind me when it happened,” said Humberstone, cocking his head provokingly.

“On Tuesday night.”

“An age ago.”

“In the Barley Mow you said you put up at the Crown in Marlow, just as the characters in the book did. No, I’m doing you an injustice. Mr. Gold said that. You were silent on the matter.”

Humberstone nodded. For the first time in the interview, a look of caution flickered across his face. “Gold is usually very authoritative on matters of detail.”

“He wasn’t too convincing on the location of the Crown,” said Cribb. “Didn’t seem to know whether it was beside the river or at the top of the High Street. Are you sure you stayed there, sir?”

“That’s a question you should address to Sammy Gold, not me.”

“It doesn’t matter, sir. I’ve got a man checking the register of guests.”

“Then you’ll get your answer.”

Cribb changed tack. “Did you know Mr. Bonner-Hill, by any chance?”

“What makes you think that I should?” said Humberstone, smiling again.

“Be so good as to answer my question,” said Cribb more firmly.

“No, I did not know Bonner-Hill. When you mentioned the name just now, it was the first time I had ever heard of it.”

“You’re sure of that, Mr. Humberstone?”

“Do you doubt me, Sergeant?”

“I’m a little puzzled, sir. I thought you might have come across the name. It’s not a very common one. I met his widow this afternoon. She told me his life was insured with the Providential.”

“Ah.” Humberstone leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. “You supposed that the name ought to be on the tip of my tongue, together with the million and a half others who insure with the Providential. If you suppose we spend our time reciting the names of our policy holders, you have a very mistaken impression of what goes on in a city insurance office, Sergeant. For one thing, policyholders’ names are kept confidential and for another, my companions and I are employed in the Claims Department. Bonner-Hill’s name would not be drawn to our attention until a claim is lodged. From what you tell me, we can expect to deal with it when we return to the office a week on Monday.”

“Possibly,” said Cribb. “For the present, you’re returning to the cells.”