The Catherine Wheel

CHAPTER 29

The inquest was to be next day. It was understood that the police would offer merely formal evidence and ask for an adjournment. Inspector Crisp reported to his Chief Constable that he thought a good enough case could be made out against Florence Duke. On the face of it, Randal March was inclined to agree, but recommended caution and some further enquiries.

“Abbott, now,” said Inspector Crisp-“he’s come down to work up a case against Castell. I’m not saying anything behind his back that I haven’t said to his face, and that’s about the size of it.”

March said with a kind of pleasant firmness,

“I know Abbott rather well. He wouldn’t pull a case.”

Crisp looked injured.

“I’m not saying he would. He’s down here on this dope-smuggling business, and it’s likely enough Castell’s up to his neck in it. But we’ve looked for evidence against him ourselves, and if we haven’t found any, I don’t see it’s likely someone down from the Yard will have any better luck. Stands to reason the locals have the better chance, if there are chances going, which it doesn’t look as if there were. What I mean to say, Abbott’s got Castell in his mind and he can’t see past him. But as far as he is concerned, the murder isn’t his pigeon-it’s only, as you might put it, incidental. It’s natural he should see it linked up with the job he came down about, but they mightn’t have anything to do with each other.”

“Or they might,” said Randal March.

“Not if it’s Mrs. Duke, sir.”

“No, not if it’s Mrs. Duke.”

“Or John Higgins. There’s a strong jealousy motive there, and it’s suspicious that girl Eily being downstairs in her dressing-gown. In the lounge too, with the window unlatched. I must say before all this Duke business came out it looked very much to me as if Eily Fogarty had let Higgins in, and was letting him out again after Luke White was stabbed. She admits having gone into the lounge, and there was a window there unlatched.”

The Chief Constable glanced down at the pile of papers in front of him.

“So I see.”

Crisp continued a thought morosely.

“Then there’s this Miss Silver.”

March raised his eyebrows.

“You’re not telling me she’s a suspect?”

A good many years ago a delicate and insubordinate little boy of eight had shared his sisters’ schoolroom, a schoolroom presided over by Miss Maud Silver. The respect she then inspired had never left him. It had been cemented by a very real affection. He had certainly on one occasion owed his life to her professional acumen. The case of the poisoned caterpillars was an old story now, but he never forgot it. Subsequent encounters of a professional nature had only served to increase his admiration for her powers of observation and deduction. There was, in fact, no one whose opinion he more valued, or to whom he would more willingly defer. Aware that she was unofficially concerned in this case, he had been wondering what Crisp’s reactions would be. Inquiring whether Miss Silver was a suspect, he was, in fact, both indulging his humour and fishing to see what he would get.

Crisp sat up a little stiffly.

“I wish she was anything you could lay hold on. The Yard can do as they like, but I must say it all seems a bit irregular to me. I don’t say anything about her being down there to get the gossip of the place-that’s what she’s supposed to have come down for, isn’t it? But when it comes to Abbott treating her the way he does-well, she might be his superior. And mine.”

March leaned back in his chair. Crisp was ruffled, and Crisp must be soothed. He smiled slightly and said,

“I know. He’s worked with her a good many times before. I’ve heard him say that when she comes in on a case the police come out of it in a blaze of glory. And you know, actually it’s true. She’s a remarkable person. Do you happen to know what she thinks about this case so far as it’s gone?”

Crisp made an exasperated sound. But for the restraining influence of a superior officer it would undoubtedly have been more emphatic.

“I don’t know what she thinks. I can tell you what she does. Sits there and knits, and keeps on asking ever so often what about Al Miller.”

March shook his head.

“Albert-surely Albert-”

Crisp stared.

“Well, that’s his name, I suppose. Everyone calls him Al.”

“I should be surprised if Miss Silver did. So she asks about the missing Albert, does she? Well, what about him?”

Crisp frowned.

“I made sure we’d have picked him up by now. Nobody seems to have seen him since he walked out of Ledlington station and said he wasn’t coming back. That would be about seven-thirty Sunday morning. Of course there wouldn’t be a lot about- people lie in Sundays. What I can’t make out is why she thinks it matters. He couldn’t have been mixed up in the murder, and that’s flat.”

“Ask her.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Ask her why she thinks it matters. If she keeps wanting to know about him she’ll have a reason, and it will be a good one. On the whole, I think we’d better find him.”

If it had been anyone but the Chief Constable, Crisp would have let fly. He restrained himself with an effort which brought the dark blood to his face and said with some emphasis,

“Look here, sir, he couldn’t have had anything to do with it. He was out of the Catherine-Wheel by half past ten. We don’t have to rely on Castell for that, because Captain Taverner watched him go. He was drunk, walking unsteadily, and singing bits of a song he’d been trying to sing earlier on in the lounge. Irish, I believe it is. Something about a girl called Eileen. It’s in the statements.”

“Eileen alannah-yes.”

“That was just before half past ten. The Wiltons, where he lodged, say he was in before half past eleven. He made a shocking noise, singing this same song and stumbling on the stair. Mr. Wilton was fed up and told him he could clear out in the morning, and he went down and locked the door and took away the key so as Miller couldn’t get away without paying his bill. There’s St. James’ church at the bottom of the street, and the chimes went for half past eleven as he was locking the door. Luke White was found dead a little before one. We had the telephone message at one a.m. The blood was still wet when we got there. The medical evidence is that he must certainly have been alive at half past ten. Dr. Crewe saw him at a quarter to two, and said he’d been dead something under an hour. Well, Al Miller couldn’t have done it. Now could he?”

“Unless he got out of a window and went back to the Catherine-Wheel. I suppose he could have done that.”

“I put it to the Wiltons was there any way he could have got out of the house and back again, and they said they could swear to it he didn’t. Seems his room was right over theirs, and he kept them awake the best part of the night-in and out of bed, to and fro in the room, groaning and carrying on. Now they’re very respectable people, and they were properly worked up about it. Mrs. Wilton says she heard twelve o’clock strike, and one, and two, before she could get any sleep. They’re properly worked up about Al Miller, and no reason to clear him, but as she says, right’s right, and she’s ready to swear he didn’t leave the house all night. As you know, he was there all right in the morning. Paid his bill at the bedroom door and got the key to let himself out. It’s my idea Miller walked out in a huff. He’d been on the edge of it for weeks. Well, he’s gone, and he won’t turn up again until he wants to. If he’s heard about the murder, that would be another reason for keeping out of the way. People disappear without half his reasons. He can’t have had anything to do with murdering Luke White. And what Miss Silver wants, going on about it like she does, is more than I can say. Just waste of time, sir, if you ask me.”

Randal March hadn’t asked him. He said in his pleasant voice, “All the same, you know, Crisp, I think we’d better find him.”