The Blind Side

Chapter XXXIII

Inspector Lamb sat immovably in his office chair. Mr. Peter Renshaw had been talking for some time. There might be something in what he said, but then again there might not. Time would show. It was a good job getting Foster under lock and key. There was always a lot of chatter about the police if they let anyone slip through their fingers. Mr. Renshaw had done a good job there, persuading him to come in. All in his own interests too, if he was innocent.

Mr. Renshaw reached his peroration.

“It’s the timetable you’ve got to concentrate on, Inspector-you must see that-the timetable, and that outside door. Rush shuts it at eleven. I come in at twelve, find it shut, and leave it as I find it. Ross and Miss Grey come in at one o’clock. I don’t see how anyone is going to argue that they left the door open. Ross opened it with his latchkey-and he withdrew the key, because it was found on him. To my mind it’s quite impossible to suppose that he did that, and didn’t shut the door. Now the murderer went out of that door at a quarter past two and left it open. Miss Craddock, arriving a moment later, finds it open, finds Ross dead, and runs out of the house, leaving all the doors open behind her. About ten minutes or so later Bobby Foster rolls up. He finds the doors open. He finds Ross dead, and the shock sobers him. He says he noticed the clock on the mantelpiece particularly, and that the time was between half past two and five-and-twenty to three. Being sober, he realizes his position and legs it, leaving all doors open. Rush finds the street door open in the morning. Meanwhile Miss Fenton walks in her sleep. She is already standing over Ross with the revolver in her hand when Miss Grey comes in to get the bag she left there earlier in the evening. This was somewhere between ten and five minutes to three. Miss Fenton drops the revolver and wanders back to her own flat. Miss Grey kneels down by Ross to see if he is really dead and gets her dress stained, then looks for her bag, finds it, and comes away, switching off the sitting-room light and shutting the door of the flat. That’s when Miss Bingham saw her the second time. All this is what Miss Grey told her aunt, and it is what decided Miss Craddock to volunteer her statement, because of course if Miss Craddock saw Ross dead at two-fifteen, Miss Grey’s presence in the flat at three o’clock no longer exposes her to suspicion.”

The Inspector broke the pause which followed.

“First of all,” he said, “Miss Craddock’s statement is uncorroborated. Secondly, Mr. Foster’s statement is uncorroborated. She says she was there at two-fifteen. He says he was there at two-thirty. They’ve both got very strong motives for mentioning those particular times, Miss Craddock because she clears her niece, and Mr. Foster because he clears himself.”

“Bobby Foster didn’t know about Miss Craddock’s statement. He didn’t know that the time he mentioned would clear him.”

“It was in the papers,” said the Inspector.

Peter made an impatient gesture.

“I tell you he didn’t know it! Good Lord, man, you’ve seen him! He couldn’t act to deceive a child-you must see that.”

“That’s as may be. Then there’s another thing. You say Mr. Craddock couldn’t have left the front door open when he came in with Miss Grey. But Miss Craddock found it open at a quarter past two. She says she saw someone come down the steps. Well, our theory is that this someone was Mr. Foster. You say it couldn’t have been, because Mr. Foster hadn’t got a key and how did he get in? Well, who had got a key? We’ve communicated with the other tenants. They are all in the places where they are supposed to be, and they’ve all got their keys with them-I’m talking about the street door keys. Do you see where that leaves us? If Mr. Craddock didn’t leave that door open himself, then someone inside the house came down and opened it-and who would be so likely to let Mr. Foster in as Miss Mavis Grey? You’ll say how did she know he was there, but you’ve got to remember it was a hot night and all the windows were open and the curtains back. She may have seen him from her window, or he may have attracted her attention.”

“He didn’t know she was there, man!”

“He was afraid she might be. And he was drunk-you’ve got to remember that. He’d do things a sober man wouldn’t. He may have called her name. There’s no evidence about that. But if you’re going to say, ‘How did he get in?’ then I’m going to say, ‘why shouldn’t Miss Grey have let him in?’ It’s no good just saying he hadn’t got a key.”

Peter ran his hands violently through his hair.

“The whole thing’s crazy! Sober or drunk, Bobby never shot anyone. But look here, talking about keys, did Rush tell you that one of the keys of Ross’s flat went missing about ten days ago? He sticks to it that someone pinched it to get at Ross’s papers, and he firmly believes that this someone came back and shot Ross on Tuesday night.”

The Inspector moved a slow gaze to Peter’s face and kept it there.

“This is the first I’ve heard about that, Mr. Renshaw. What does he say?”

“Says the key went missing-thinks Ross left it sticking in the door and someone pinched it-says Ross raised Cain about his papers being disturbed, and forgot himself to the extent of accusing Rush of having disturbed them.”

“Yes, we got that part. The daily woman, Mrs. Green, was listening in. She made a statement about the quarrel, and Rush admitted it afterwards-very reluctantly.”

Peter leaned forward.

“Did she mention the key?”

“I don’t think so.” He opened a drawer. “I’ve got her statement here, but I’m sure there wasn’t anything about a key.” He turned some pages and extracted a type-written sheet. “Here we are: ‘I heard it with my own ears as I was coming across the landing.’ She was listening of course. An eavesdropping woman-we know her sort. Well, she goes on, ‘Mr. Craddock, he was in a proper shouting rage. He says as loud as a bull, “You’ve been mucking up my papers!” and Rush, he answers him back as bold as brass, “And what would I want with your papers, Mr. Ross?” Mr. Craddock says, “How do I know what you want? Blackmail, I shouldn’t wonder!” and Rush says, “You did ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Ross.” And Mr. Craddock says, “Get to hell out of here!” and Rush come out.’ Well, there’s nothing about a key there, you see.”

Peter said, “This is what Rush said to me. He said Ross had him in and accused him of having been at his despatch-box, and he said he reminded him then about the key that he had lost, but he was past listening to reason, so Rush said he turned his back and walked out. ‘And there was that snivelling hen of a Mrs. Green on the landing.’ That’s what he said. Now why didn’t your eavesdropping Mrs. Green hear that bit about the key, or if she heard it, why didn’t she pass it on? It was obviously a most important piece of evidence. Why didn’t she tell you about it?”

“For the matter of that, why didn’t Rush tell us?”

Peter laughed.

“Did Rush give you the impression that he would tell you anything he could possibly help? If he made a statement, I bet you had to drag it out of him word by word, whereas Mrs. Green is definitely one of the chatty kind. So why this reticence about that very important key? Do you know, I’m beginning to wonder whether she pinched it herself.”

The Inspector’s eyebrows rose a fraction.

“And I’m beginning to wonder whether that key was ever pinched at all. Rush says it was now, but he’s taken a good long time to think that story up. He says he reminded Mr. Craddock about the loss when they were quarrelling, but Mrs. Green, who was listening to their quarrel, doesn’t say anything about a key. I’ll have her asked the direct question, but to my mind Rush is trying to put this key story over to clear himself of suspicion about Mr. Craddock’s papers.”

Peter got up.

“Well, I think that’s bunk. And bad psychology. Rush is a crusty old cobblestone, but he’s neither a thief, a blackmailer, nor, if you’re interested, a murderer. I’ve known him since I was three years old, and if it comes to taking his word against that eavesdropping wet blanket of a Mrs. Green, well, I’d do it every time.”

The bell of the telephone on the desk punctuated this remark. The Inspector made no attempt to answer Mr. Renshaw. He put the receiver to his ear, listened for a moment, and then said, “Put her through.” A faint, shrill sound became audible. Peter, uncertain whether to go or stay, heard it like the thin ghost of a woman’s voice a long way off. He thought the lady was agitated, and he thought she was in the duce of a hurry, but he caught no words. The Inspector said, “Yes, that will be all right. I’d like you to come along here at once if you will… Yes, I was wanting to see you… No, we’ll look after you-you needn’t be frightened.” There was a rustling and a squeaking on the line. The Inspector gave a deep, hearty laugh. “What-in broad daylight? Nonsense! You come right along and don’t worry.” There were more agitated sounds from the telephone. The Inspector said, “Now, now-you come right along and we’ll talk about it.” He hung up and looked across at Peter.

“That,” he said, “was Mrs. Green, and she’s scared to death.”

“What’s she got to be scared about?”

“She says she’s got something on her mind-something she held back and didn’t tell because she was afraid to. She was talking from a call-box at Charing Cross, and you heard me tell her to come right along.”

Peter thought, “And what am I expected to say to that? You’re looking at me very hard, my good Lamb. I wonder what that dreep of a woman was bleating into your ear just now. And which would look more like a guilty conscience, a request to stay and meet the lady, or a simple manly disposition to mind my own business and leave you to get on with your job?” He decided on the latter course, was aware of the inspectorial eye upon him even to the door, and walked down a long corridor with the feeling that it was still boring into his spine.