The Skeleton in the Closet

∨ The Skeleton in the Closet ∧

Five

FELL waited patiently, with Maggie behind him. The whole countryside was wrapped in a hot, sleepy hush. A vision of his parents’ modest home rose before his eyes. They could not possibly have any connection with such a place as this.

The door was opened by a middle-aged woman in a blue uniform with a white collar and cuffs.

“Are you the owner?” asked Fell.

“No, I am Mrs. Wakeham’s nurse.”

“May I see her?”

“Does she know you? Do you have an appointment?”

“No. My name is Fellworth Dolphin. I think Mrs. Wakeham might have known my parents.”

“Wait here.”

She shut the door, and he could hear the heels of her sensible black lace-up shoes clacking off into the distance.

Fell was wearing his best suit. He wished he could remove his jacket. He could feel stains of sweat spreading under his armpits. He suddenly wished Melissa were with him, not Maggie, Melissa with her sophistication and elegance. He glanced at Maggie. Her hair had gone limp in the heat and her face was shiny.

The door opened again. “Mrs. Wakeham will see you for a few moments,” said the nurse. “Follow me.”

They followed her through a house which seemed to contain too much furniture, too many oil paintings, too many objets d’art. It was cooler than outside, but the rooms through which she led them had a musty smell, as if no one had lived in them for a long while.

They followed the nurse out into the garden at the back. An elderly lady sat at a table under a cedar tree.

“Mr. Dolphin,” announced the nurse, “and…?”

“Miss Partlett, Maggie Partlett, Fell’s fiancée.”

Oh, I must stop this charade, thought Fell miserably. I don’t want to be engaged to this girl with the shiny face and limp hair.

“Sit down,” commanded Mrs. Wakeham. She had a surprisingly deep voice.

They both sat on wrought-iron chairs facing her.

“I regret to say I have never heard of you,” said Mrs. Wakeham. “That will be all, Martha.”

“Shall I bring some tea or lemonade?” asked the nurse.

“No, they will not be staying long.”

The nurse went back into the house. Fell studied Mrs. Wakeham, and Mrs. Wakeham studied Fell. She had a heavy, patrician-nosed face under the shade of a straw hat. Her eyes were of a washed-out blue. She had a dowager’s hump and despite the heat of the day was wearing a woollen cardigan over a tailored blouse and skirt.

“I believe you have some mistaken belief that I knew your parents,” she said.

“It’s because of my name,” said Fell, who was beginning to feel ridiculous under that pale gaze. “I’ve always wondered why I was called Fellworth. I saw the name of the house and that made me wonder.”

“But your parents may have seen the name of the house in a book or when they were passing by the gates,” said Mrs. Wakeham. “Did you not think of that?”

“I am sorry for wasting your time.” Fell just wanted to get away. “You see, I had this crazy idea I might have been adopted. So…if you will excuse us…” He half-rose to his feet.

“Sit down,” said Mrs. Wakeham, “and take your jacket off. Old women like me do not feel the heat. I am curious. Why should you believe you were adopted?”

“Because I cannot remember any parental love. Because my parents left me an awful lot of money.”

“So you did not come here to try to get money out of me?”

Fell stared at her, first in shock and then in dawning anger. “Of course not!”

She studied him closely. “But you had a good education?”

“I attended Buss Comprehensive, but could not go to university because I had to support my parents. Until my mother’s recent death, I worked as a waiter at the Palace Hotel.”

She leaned back in her chair and murmured, “But they were paid well for your education.”

Maggie let out a little gasp.

“The money,” said Fell slowly. “That money I found. That was from you. Why?”

There was a long silence. A small plane droned overhead. A bird in the heavy branches above them gave a dusty cheep.

“I thought you had come here for money,” said Mrs. Wake-ham. “I may as well tell you. There is no reason why I should not tell you. First we will have tea.”

She rang a little bell on the table and when the nurse appeared, said, “We will have tea after all, Martha.” After the nurse had gone, Mrs. Wakeham raised a wrinkled hand. “We will wait for tea before I tell you anything.” She turned her gaze on Maggie. “And so you are engaged to Mr. Dolphin?”

“Yes. I am Fell’s fiancée. We met while we were both working at the hotel.”

“You have fine eyes and a kind face. I am pleased. Tell me about yourself.”

Maggie began to talk about what it had been like being a waitress. She told several funny stories about the customers and Mrs. Wakeham gave a dry laugh. Fell was amazed that Maggie should be so at ease, so unintimidated.

Tea was served. The nurse retreated again. Mrs. Wakeham took a sip of tea and said, “Now, where shall I begin? At the beginning, I suppose. My son Paul was very wild, but at the time, we did not know much about his wildness. He was studying in the City for his stockbroker exams. He came down here at weekends. He got a local girl pregnant.”

“My mother?” asked Fell through dry lips.

She nodded. “She was called Greta Feeney and she was the local barmaid. Paul refused point-blank to marry her. She had respectable parents and Greta did not want an abortion, but she agreed to having the baby adopted if we arranged everything. My husband often took the train from Buss. Dolphin had once told him he regretted that he and his wife could not have children. My husband, Colonel Wakeham, approached him and said he would give him a large sum of money to adopt the baby. Dolphin agreed but said he would only do it for a lump sum in cash. Adoption is difficult and we all wanted to keep the matter quiet. So it was decided just to hand the baby over after it was born. Mrs. Dolphin agreed to fake pregnancy. She came here in the supposed last days of her pregnancy. The baby, you, was subsequently handed over, and that was that. Dolphin agreed to never come near us or approach us again.”

“My mother?” asked Fell.

“Greta? I regret to say she died of cancer.”

“And my father?”

“How odd to hear you call him that. Paul was persuaded by my husband to join the army. My husband was a retired colonel and thought the British army a cure-all for wayward youth. Paul was posted to Cyprus. He was killed in a drunken brawl.” She rang the bell again and when the nurse appeared, said, “Martha, on top of the bookshelves in the morning room, you will find a photo album. Bring it, please.”

Fell could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Orphaned in one stroke on a hot day! And yet gradually, as they waited, he began slowly to relax. All the guilt he had felt over not loving what he had believed to be his parents was ebbing away. And that money had not come from the train robbery! There was no need to bother much any more about who had committed the robbery.

Martha came back and placed a large leather-bound photo album on the table. Again, Mrs. Wakeham waited until the nurse had left. Then she opened the album. She withdrew a photograph and handed it to Fell. Fell looked down at the photograph of a laughing young man. He had a square handsome face, brown hair and bright blue eyes. “I don’t look at all like him,” he said.

“No, you look like your mother.”

“Do you have a photograph of her?”

“I’m afraid not. You must now forget about it. Her parents are dead as well. Greta married a decent man, a local farmer. He knew nothing about you, and I do not want him to know anything. I am glad the Dolphins left you money. It seems to me you have had a hard life. But I assure you, they cheated you. That money was for your upbringing and to give you a good education.” She rested her head on her hand. “Now I must ask you to leave. I am tired.”

Fell and Maggie stood up. “May we call again?” asked Fell.

“No, it brings back painful memories. I am old. I wish to be left in peace.” She rang the bell.

“But I am your grandson!” protested Fell.

“I know. I know. But I do not want to be troubled any more by bad memories. I want to remember only good things about my son. Ah, Martha, please show them out.”

Maggie and Fell followed Martha back through a chain of rooms and back out through the front door. They got into the car and Maggie drove off.

“It seems as if no one wants me,” said Fell.

“You’ve got me,” said Maggie. “As a friend, I mean.”

Fell experienced a sudden rush of affection for her. Solid, dependable Maggie. “Well, it looks as if we don’t need to worry about the robbery any more,” he said. “So they hid the money, not wanting the tax man to get it. They lived on as little of it as they could. They were misers. And I can’t declare it without exposing where I got it from.”

Maggie wanted to ask – where do we go from here? She had a sinking feeling that it was only the investigation about the robbery that was keeping them together. She remembered the reporter, Peter South. She would go out to a phone box and call him and see if he could meet her the following evening. Perhaps if Fell knew someone else was interested in her, he might look at her with new eyes.

Fell was thinking guiltily that he should really do something good for Maggie because shortly he was going to have to tell her that he did not want to pose as her fiancé any more. He said, “Let’s go to Oxford.”

“All right. Why?”

“I’m going to get you those contact lenses you wanted. There’s one of those express opticians in Oxford in the West-gate. And maybe you can pick out a new dress.”

And Maggie, not knowing the reason for this sudden generosity, said, “Oh, that’s so good of you, Fell.”

♦

It was a quiet day at the Buss Courier. Peter South lounged back in his office chair, looking at the photo of Maggie and Fell, which had appeared in that day’s Courier under the bold headline ‘Signalman’s Son Turns Detective to Clear Father’s Name’. He wondered if Maggie had seen it.

Just then the editor loomed over him. “That French restaurant is very grateful for the good write-up. They’ve written to say they’re offering you a complimentary meal for two. If you can’t use the invitation – ”

“I can. Thanks,” said Peter. The phone on his desk rang. He picked it up as Tommy Whittaker walked away. “This is Maggie, Maggie Partlettt. You may not remember me…”

“Course I do,” said Peter. “Lot of traffic. Where are you calling from?”

“Oxford. A phone box. I wondered if you would like to meet me tomorrow night?”

“Sure. Tell you what. I’ll take you to that French restaurant. Hey, are you still there?”

“Yes, yes, that would be fine. I’ll meet you there. What time?”

“Eight. Have you seen…?”

But Maggie had rung off.

♦

The rest of that day, Maggie floated on air. She had her new contact lenses, which she planned to wear for the first time for her date with Peter, and she had also had her hair restyled. As they drove back towards Buss, her bubble of happiness suddenly burst. For a few hours she had forgotten about Melissa. Fell and Melissa would be in the restaurant as well and her evening would be spoilt by watching the rapture in his face.

She parked outside the house. She and Fell got out. Mrs. Moule hobbled to her garden hedge. “If it isn’t the famous detectives,” she said.

Fell and Maggie stopped still. “What are you talking about?” croaked Fell.

“It’s in the paper, the Buss Courier,” said Mrs. Moule. “And with a picture, too.”

“What about?” asked Maggie.

“All about you trying to clear your father’s name.”

“Oh, that,” said Fell bleakly. All his worries about the robbery came rushing back. “Come along, Maggie,” he said. “We’d better go and get a copy.”

They walked along to the local newsagent’s. They bought a copy of the paper and then stood out on the hot and dusty street and gazed down at the headline. “It was that money,” mourned Fell. “Now everyone will think my father really had something to do with it; else why should I talk about clearing his name?”

“We may as well go on with our investigations,” said Maggie hopefully – hopeful that any further investigation would keep them together. But Fell shrugged wearily. “I’m tired of the whole thing. You know, Maggie, when you told me about Fellworth Manor, I had this dream I was going to find a family at last. But all I turned out to be was a bastard no one really wanted, not even my mother.”

I want you, I need you, I love you. How Maggie would have given anything to be able to say those words, but she knew that Fell in the grip of his obsession would feel trapped and suffocated.

Maggie wondered for the first time whether Fell might not be a virgin. No one could obsess more than a celibate. And surely if he had had physical relationships with women, he would not have fallen so heavily for an older woman.

Back home, they opened all the windows and the kitchen door to let in some air. But the evening was close and hot. The house had a half-finished air. The kitchen was all gleaming and new-looking, but the rest had a temporary air.

“We need some pictures for the walls,” said Maggie, looking around the living room. “Those white walls look too naked. And maybe some plants.”

“Maybe,” said Fell indifferently.

Maggie studied his bent head thoughtfully and then said, “If you’re not too tired, we could take a walk down by the river. There might be some air there.”

They shut the doors and windows and walked back out into the close heat of evening. “Do you feel like eating?” asked Maggie. “I’m quite hungry.”

Fell trudged on, wrapped in his thoughts.

“There’s a Chinese restaurant in the High Street,” Maggie continued. “We could get a take-out.”

“Okay,” said Fell listlessly.

People drifted past them in summer clothes, as listless as Fell in the heat, moving like people underwater.

“Oh, look!” said Maggie suddenly. She pointed to the Chinese restaurant, which had a banner outside proclaiming, “Air-Conditioned.”

“We’ll eat inside,” said Maggie. “Fell?”

Fell was standing on the pavement, looking at his feet. She tugged at his arm and then led him inside like a child.

The restaurant was crowded, but a couple was just leaving as they arrived.

As the chill of the air-conditioning surrounded Fell, he suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry.

They ordered the Chef’s Special and a bottle of white wine and ate steadily through multiple dishes, at first in silence, and then Fell began to talk again about the robbery. “I suppose we should go on and find out something. It gave me a shock to see that headline. I didn’t know they were going to publish anything. That reporter was far from honest with us.”

Now was the time to tell Fell that she had a date with ‘that reporter’, but Maggie was too relieved to see him interested and animated once more.

“You spoke about two maintenance workers,” she said instead.

“I, what?” Fell pulled his mind out of a dream of marriage to Melissa.

“Two maintenance workers, on the railway,” prompted Maggie.

“Oh, them. Fred Flint and Johnny Tremp. I suppose we could start with Tremp. There was a J. Tremp in the phone book.” Fell sighed. “Now that we know about the money, I thought we could forget about the whole thing, but that damned reporter has stirred everything up.”

“There’s one thing I just thought of,” said Maggie. “Rudfern said they had kept a close eye on suspects long after the robbery to see if any of them had been spending unusually large sums of money. Surely they would have checked your father’s bank account and noticed the lack of withdrawals and wondered what he was living on.”

“Yes, that is odd. And yet we can’t ask anyone why. I wonder if I should buy a new suit for tomorrow.”

“It’s your money,” said Maggie, lowering her eyes quickly so that he should not see her hate for Melissa in them.

“I’ve been so used to being thrifty, it seems wicked to spend money on another suit.”

“You could compromise. You could buy a new shirt and silk tie.”

Fell brightened. “That’s a good idea. I want to look my best.”

Maggie felt suddenly weary. Perhaps it would be best to forget about Fell altogether.

The next evening, Maggie kept to her room, taking care with her preparations. She somehow could not bring herself to tell Fell she would be in the restaurant at the same time. She carefully put in her new contact lenses and then a soft, leaf green chiffon dress. Maggie had planned to wear this new dress just for Fell, but decided to wear it for Peter. She judged Fell would leave early for the restaurant and so it was. She heard him calling up the stairs, “Bye, Maggie. Don’t wait up.”

Maggie waited until five to eight and then set out, the chiffon dress fluttering about her legs as she made her way to the restaurant.

It was ten past eight by the time she got there. Peter was standing outside the restaurant, smoking a cigarette.

“You look great,” he said, walking forward to meet her. “Do you know Fell’s here already with that harpy who runs the health shop?”

“He said something about it. Why do you call her a harpy?”

He took her arm and led her into the restaurant. “Tell you about it.”

They were led to one of the best tables by an open window overlooking the terrace and the river.

Maggie saw Fell over in a far corner, talking animatedly to Melissa. After they had ordered their food and Peter had ordered wine, Maggie asked again, “Why do you call her a harpy?”

“Just town gossip. She was warned against starting that business. I mean this is Buss, where the population’s idea of health food is fish and chips. So instead to taking advice and selling off the place, she dug her heels in and said she could make it pay. Now she’s looking for someone with money. I suppose that’s why she’s after your fiancé.”

“Fell’s very attractive,” said Maggie loyally.

“Well, I suppose you must think so.”

“We were upset by your story, dragging all that stuff up again. You might at least have warned us you were going to write something.”

“My boss’s idea,” said Peter. “Honest.”

“Are you sure you didn’t ask me out just to find out more?”

Peter smiled at Maggie. “I fancy you rotten, Maggie Part-lett.”

“Me!”

“I’ve always wanted to meet a girl with green eyes who wore an apron.”

Maggie laughed. “You just want a mother.”

“Don’t we all. I’m the only man who’s honest about it.”

Fell heard that familiar laugh and looked across the restaurant. In the candlelight, Maggie’s face was glowing and her green eyes shone.

“That reporter again!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Melissa had been in full flow about the benefits of her business.

“Maggie, over there, with that reporter from the Courier.”

“Well, you’re here with me.” Melissa threw him a flirtatious look.

“Excuse me.” Fell threw down his napkin and walked over to Maggie’s table. “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.

“I’m having dinner with a friend – just like you,” said Maggie defensively.

“Your only interest in her is getting another story out of her,” Fell accused Peter.

Peter smiled easily. “It may not have dawned on you, but your fiancée is worth any fellow’s time. You ain’t married yet.”

Fell stared at him.

“We’ll talk later,” said Maggie hurriedly. “Do go back to your dinner, Fell.”

Fell looked at her in baffled fury. Then he became aware that the other diners were looking at him curiously. He flushed with embarrassment and went back to Melissa.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled.

“You didn’t strike me as the jealous type,” teased Melissa.

“I am not jealous. I don’t care what Maggie does!”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t marry her.”

Fell opened his mouth to say he had no intention of marrying Maggie, but then he was struck with an awful thought. Maggie was drinking quite a lot. What if she told Peter about his, Fell’s, parentage!

“So to get back to business,” Melissa was saying.

The first little hair crack appeared on the lacquer of Fell’s obsession. Just a little flash of irritation. Until he had seen Maggie, he had been finding Melissa’s description of how she wanted to start aromatherapy treatment fascinating. He had been lost in a warm dream of her gently stroking scented oils over his body. Now he wanted her to worry with him about what on earth Maggie was talking about. The reporter couldn’t fancy her, could he? Not Maggie.

Melissa was privately thinking that Maggie had set up the whole thing to make Fell jealous. It was just what she would have done herself. The little frump was positively glowing. If Fell wasn’t careful, she’d be off with that reporter. Melissa suddenly smiled. And that would leave the field clear.

She had shrewdly noticed that little flash of irritation that had crossed Fell’s eyes and she put a hand over his and looked deep into his eyes, and said, “Let’s cut this evening short. No pudding. No coffee. You can’t really listen to me properly until you get this business of Maggie and the reporter off your mind. If you don’t mind me saying so, Fell, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Maggie struck me as being a bit naive and probably thinks that reporter really fancies her.”

“I’m worried about what she’s telling him,” said Fell.

“Forget it. You go home and deal with it and we’ll meet again. I can’t say I’m enjoying this evening much.” Melissa signalled for the bill. Fell was immediately conscience-stricken and now consumed with the fear that he had bored her, that he was losing her.

“I am so sorry,” he babbled. “Look, I am really keen to invest in your business. Can we meet soon?”

“Let’s leave it a week,” said Melissa briskly, thinking, let him stew for a bit.

Maggie watched them go. Fell walked past her table after Melissa without stopping to speak.

Outside the restaurant, Fell said, “Please let me see you home.”

“Another time. It’s a fine night.” Melissa strode off. He stood with his hands hanging at his side, watching her go. Maggie’s laugh rang out through the open window.

Fell was consumed with fury. Maggie would have to go. She had ruined his evening.

He walked quickly home and sat in the living room, waiting and waiting.

At last, about midnight, he heard their voices outside. What had they been doing? The restaurant closed at eleven.

The front door opened and Maggie came in. She looked radiant because Peter had kissed her when they had been strolling along the river after dinner, and she had enjoyed it because she had imagined he was Fell.

“Just what the hell do you think you have been doing?” shouted Fell.

“I was out on a date, just like you,” said Maggie defensively.

“What did you tell him, you bitch? Did you tell him I was a bastard?”

“Of course not! He likes me. He thinks I’m pretty.”

“You!” said Fell with contempt.

“I’ll go and pack,” said Maggie quietly.

“Do that!”

Maggie was beyond tears. Slowly she went up to her room. She packed a suitcase and lugged it downstairs. “I’ll come tomorrow for the rest of my stuff,” she said.

Fell was sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. He did not look up.

♦

When Fell awoke the next morning, the memory of what had happened the night before came rushing into his head. He turned his face into the pillow. He had not had much to drink, and yet he felt he must have been drunk. He remembered Maggie saying that Peter thought her pretty and heard again his own contemptuous voice saying, “You!”

He would need to apologize to her.

He washed and dressed and went downstairs. It didn’t look like a home any more. There was no Maggie making coffee in the kitchen. He walked from room to room. The sitting room stood empty, all the furniture and knick-knacks having been transported to Aunt Agnes in Wales. He walked back into the living room. It was wrong. The white walls looked stark and the new three-piece suite – well – suburban. The kitchen looked warm and inviting, but then, most of that refurbishment had been Maggie’s idea. He knew the living-room furnishings were wrong, but could not think what he could do to change them. Perhaps his taste was locked for life into the working class. Melissa would know what to do.

He looked at the clock. He had slept late. It was nine-thirty. He would phone Melissa at the shop and ask her to come round and give him her advice. Eager to hear the sound of her voice, he dialled the shop number. But Melissa, who had decided that the idea of giving him time to himself was the best idea, said she was too busy. “Ask Maggie,” she suggested.

“Maggie’s left,” said Fell heavily.

“Oh, well, I’m not surprised,” said Melissa cheerfully, now feeling very sure of him. “Tell you what, I’ll ring you next week. Oh, got to go. Got a customer. Byee!”

Fell slowly replaced the receiver. He felt abandoned. He could not put it off any longer. He would need to apologize to Maggie or his conscience would not give him a quiet moment.

He first had to go to the hotel to find her home address. Then he walked through the airless day, hoping he would find Maggie alone and that he would not have to meet her mother.

Maggie’s home lay in a terrace of houses much like his own, but obviously containing younger people, judging from the children playing in the street. He hesitated outside the house and then went up and rang the bell. Children screamed, a car roared down the street behind him blasting heavy metal out of every open window, and an enormously fat woman looked at him over the hedge which separated Maggie’s home from the neighbour’s on the left.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone at home,” said Fell.

“She’s out looking for work.”

“Mrs. Partlett?”

“No, Maggie.”

“Where did she go?”

“Saw her this morning. Said she wanted work, told her to try Katy’s Kitchen, that caff down Garret Lane.”

“Thanks.” Fell walked off down the hot street. She had only left last night. How had she managed to get a job so quickly?

Garret Lane was off the High Street. He headed in that direction. The reason why Maggie had managed to find a job so quickly was answered as he approached the café. A woman was taking down a notice from the window which said ‘Waitress Wanted’.

The only customers in the café were a couple seated at a window table. Maggie emerged from the nether regions carrying a tray with coffee cups. The tray trembled in her hand when she saw Fell. With a sharp pang of guilt he noticed that her eyes behind her thick glasses were red with weeping. Maggie served the customers and then approached him. “I’ll be round later for the rest of my things,” she said. “Oh, and I forgot to give you this.” She fished in the pocket of her white apron and drew out the engagement ring. Fell flushed miserably. “I always meant for you to keep it, Maggie.”

“I don’t want it,” said Maggie.

Fell took the ring. “Look, Maggie, I’m…”

The door opened and a family of four walked in. “Excuse me,” said Maggie. Fell stood there, irresolute. Then he decided he had best wait at home until she came round for her things and apologize then.

The day stretched before him, hot, flat and empty. Without Maggie, he felt he had no energy to do anything. But at least when he got the painful apology over with, he would be free, free to court Melissa. Suddenly the Melissa dream came back and wrapped him round in rosy colours. With a half-smile on his lips, he walked home, unlocked the door and walked in…

To chaos.

Everything was topsy-turvy. Drawers hung out at crazy angles, papers were strewn across the floor.

He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He walked into the kitchen, picking his way over the kitchen utensils which had been thrown over the floor out of upended drawers. How had they got in? The front door had been locked and the panes of glass on the back door and windows were intact.

He would have to phone the police. But instead he picked up the phone book and searched it until he found the phone number of Katy’s Kitchen and dialled it. Maggie answered the phone.

“Maggie,” gasped Fell. “We’ve been broken into. They seem to have gone through everything.”

“Have you phoned the police?”

“No, I just got here.”

“Phone them. I’ll be round.”

Fell phoned the police. No, he didn’t know if anything of value had been taken. He had just got back. They said they would be round and he sat down on the sofa, noticing as he did so that the upholstery had been slashed.

In a short time, two policemen arrived. Fell’s frightened thoughts flew to the cash box still buried in the garden. He had not checked with the lawyer or the bank as to whether the money from his inheritance had been paid into his account. He had planned to pay for the dinner the night before, although, as it had turned out, Melissa had paid. But the day before, he had dug up the cash box and taken money out of it before replacing it and filling in the hole. He had made a hurried job of it. What if the police dug it up?

He gathered his wits and followed them from room to room. The few things of value, such as the television, were still there. Maggie arrived and exclaimed at the chaos. They both made statements and were warned not to touch anything until the place had been examined for fingerprints.

“How did they get in?” asked Maggie.

“There’s no sign of a break-in,” said Fell.

“You’ve only got a Yale lock on your front door,” said one of the policemen. Maggie suddenly remembered that she had never got in touch with a security firm after Andy’s visit. “Easy to open with a credit card. Better get yourself a decent lock. You’re lucky. The forensic team should be here any moment. It’s a quiet day.”

Sure enough, just as he had finished, the men in white overalls arrived. “I hope all this hasn’t made you lose your job,” said Fell to Maggie. Her eyes were still red and his heart ached for her.

“As a matter of fact, it has,” said Maggie with a shrug. “But I’ll get another one soon enough. There’s a shortage of waitresses.”

“You could always…,” began Fell, but just then, the doorbell rang.

Fell opened the door. A large crumpled man stood on the doorstep. He was carrying his jacket over his arm. His wrinkled shirt was stretched over his stomach. His voluminous trousers sagged down to his dusty shoes. His face, like his clothes, looked sagging and crumpled. There were great pouches under his eyes. His thick greyish lips were permanently turned down at the corners, and small intelligent eyes stared at Fell from under fleshy lids.

“Detective Inspector Dunwiddy,” he said.

“Fell Dolphin. Come in.”

“You’ve had a burglary?”

“It looks more of a search.”

Dunwiddy followed him into the living room and stood looking around, dwarfing the small room with his bulk. “Better not disturb the fingerprint work,” he said. “Got a garden at the back?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll take chairs out there. Is this Maggie Partlett?”

“Yes, how did you…?”

“Read about you pair in the local paper.”

Fell and Maggie collected chairs from the kitchen and then exchanged nervous glances as they carried them out into the back garden, for the plot where the cash box was buried looked glaringly obvious to them.

“Lucky this bit’s in the shade,” said Dunwiddy, sitting down with a sigh. “Now, the situation is this: There’s been a lot of break-ins recently, all for drugs. Telly, videos, stereos, jewellery taken to hawk for drugs. But you say nothing’s really been taken, and that’s what interests me. It appears in the paper that you are researching that old train robbery, and hey, presto, someone or some people break in and ransack the place. So it looks to me as if someone’s worried you’ve found something, or someone thinks your father might have hidden cash from that robbery.”

“My father was innocent,” said Fell defiantly.

“Maybe. Anyway, you’ve got someone rattled and that’s the way I see it. Phoned your lawyer before I came here. Rumour in this town is that you’ve been left a good bit of money. Lawyer says your parents were right misers and never spent a penny. Right?”

“Right,” echoed Fell.

“So if you’ve got someone worried, then to me that means that someone who had a hand in the robbery is still around. Well, you amateur detectives, how far have you got?”

“Not very far,” said Fell. “Have we, Maggie?”

Maggie took off her glasses and passed a hand wearily over her eyes. “No,” she said. “We got a book on the robbery out of the library and we spoke to the other signalman, Terry Weal, and then the editor of the paper. Oh, and Inspector Rud-fern.”

“You wouldn’t get far with him,” snorted Dunwiddy. “Arrogant bastard. He thinks because he couldn’t solve it, nobody can. Then we come to a chap called Andy Briggs.”

Fell wanted to look at Maggie but was aware that the big detective was studying them carefully.

“Wasn’t that the name of the fellow who was murdered recently?” he said as casually as he could.

“The same. Now he was Tarry Briggs’s boy, and Tarry Briggs was our only sure suspect. Did a runner to Spain and lived like a king. The point is this: What did Andy Briggs come back for?”

The gun, thought Maggie with a stab of panic. They’ll find the gun!

Fell had the same thought at the same moment. Should they say anything or sit it out and pray that the forensic team wouldn’t look in that suitcase under the bed where Maggie had hidden it?

Suddenly overcome with fright and distress, Maggie began to cry.

“There, now, miss.” Dunwiddy stood up and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “When they’re finished here, try to get a rest before you clean up. I’ll call back tomorrow and we’ll take it from there. Don’t worry; I’ll see myself out.”

Fell waited until he heard the street door slam, then he handed Maggie a clean handkerchief. She blew her nose and said in a shaky voice, “The gun. What if they find the gun?”

“We’ll wait and see,” whispered Fell. He took her hand in his. “I’m sorry about last night, Maggie. You are pretty. Honest. I was just mad at you. Frightened you might have let something slip to that reporter about my birth. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” said Maggie wearily. “I don’t think anything matters much any more.”

They sat side by side in silence.

At last Fell said, “I think I hear them packing up. I’ll go and look. If they’d found that gun, Maggie, the detective would have been back here like a shot or a least one of them would have brought it out and asked you where you had got it.”

“I’ve thought of something else,” said Maggie, turning a muddy colour.

“What? What is it?”

“I didn’t wipe the gun. It’ll have my fingerprints on it, yours, and Andy Briggs’s.”

“I’m sure they’re leaving,” said Fell. “Wait here.”

So Maggie waited, hugging herself, feeling cold despite the heat of the day.

She could hear the murmur of voices and then the street door slammed. Fell came back. “They’ve gone. Let’s go and look.”

Together they went indoors and up the stairs, Maggie leading the way to her old room. The suitcase, the one she had not taken with her, was poking out from under the bed, covered in fingerprint dust. She pulled it out and threw back the lid. She searched frantically among the clothes. She turned a white face up to him. “It’s not here!”

“Then they didn’t find it,” said Fell grimly. “Whoever searched the house did.”

Maggie raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “I’m frightened.”

Fell took her hands and raised her to her feet. “You’re going to have to move back in, Maggie.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to have to look out for each other from now on, and we can’t do that from opposite ends of the town.”

“But Melissa…”

“I’ll continue to see Melissa, but I think we should stick together.”

Maggie wavered. “I couldn’t stand another quarrel, Fell.”

“Then we’ll just need to make sure we don’t have another. Let’s go downstairs and have a stiff drink.”

Maggie followed him down, her thoughts in a jumble. She felt she should be glad that the quarrel was over, but all she felt was a shaky mixture of fright and weariness.

Fell poured two stiff whiskies and handed one to Maggie. “This furniture is ruined,” he said.

“I think an upholsterer could repair it.”

“I don’t think I want it repaired. It’s wrong, suburban, but I don’t know what it should look like.”

“I didn’t like to say anything at the time,” ventured Maggie. “But I do have a suggestion.”

“What?”

“There’s a second-hand furniture shop just out of town. They have some pretty pieces, not matching, but good stuff. You could trade this lot for part of the price. They could repair this and get a good price for it.”

“What sort of things?”

“Well, there’s some pretty fruitwood furniture. Some of it’s Dutch. We could have a look after we’ve cleared this up. Perhaps if we work all day on it, we’ll feel tired, but not so worried.”

“You’re a good sort, Maggie,” said Fell. Melissa had retreated to a corner of his mind. He would not admit it to himself for fear of losing his dream, but he had been annoyed at Melissa’s dismissal of him when he had needed her help.

“Let’s finish our drinks and get started.”

“Why don’t you go and bring back your stuff and we can settle everything first?”

“Right.” Maggie drained her drink and then said shyly, “And it’s all right if I go on seeing Peter?”

“Yes,” said Fell, although he did not like the idea one bit. The doorbell rang and they both jumped.

“What now?” asked Fell, going to answer it.

His face darkened when he found Peter and a photographer standing on the doorstep.

“Little bird told me you had been burgled,” said Peter.

“You’d better come in,” said Fell coldly.

Peter breezed past him, followed by his photographer. He stooped and gave Maggie a smacking kiss on the cheek. Fell was at first glad in a mean little part of his soul that Maggie was looking such a mess, but Peter sat down beside her and took her hand. “Oh, will there have to be a story on this?” wailed Maggie.

“Do you some good, love,” said Peter. “Let the buggers know you’ve got the press on your side. Now go and put some make-up on that pretty face and pose for a nice picture.”

“My make-up isn’t here. It’s at home,” said Maggie.

“What’s it doing at home? Home, home? I mean, I thought this was your home.”

“It is,” said Maggie. “But I was sorting things out.”

“I’ll get you something. Be back in a tick.”

Fell waited, irritated, while Maggie made coffee for the photographer in the kitchen by dint of scooping some instant coffee into a cup from the pile of it on the kitchen counter. The searcher, or searchers, had even tipped out the contents of the coffee jar.

When Peter returned, he said cheerfully, “Let’s go up to your bathroom and I’ll make you up. Did I ever tell you I used to be in amateur theatricals?”

Fell made desultory conversation with the photographer while listening to Maggie’s laugh floating down the stairs. What right had Maggie to be so cheerful in the middle of all this mess?

When they finally came down the stairs, Fell said sharply, “What have you done to her? She looks like a clown.”

“Trust me,” said Peter. “She’ll look great in the photograph.”

So Maggie and Fell posed amongst the ruins while the photographer snapped away busily. “Now,” said Peter, “that bit’s over. What happened?”

Fell described how he had gone out and when he had come back it was to find the chaos.

“So someone must have been watching the house,” said Peter. “What did they take?”

“Nothing,” said Maggie quickly.

“Aha. So whoever it was must be connected to that train robbery.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Maggie faintly.

“Stands to reason. A story appears about you two in the newspaper, about how you’re trying to find out the truth about the train robbery. Someone gets nervous and wonders if you’ve found out anything.”

“Couldn’t it just have been an ordinary burglary?” asked Maggie.

Peter snorted. “What? When they’ve even ripped up the upholstery?”

“Is that all?” said Fell wearily.

But Peter asked more questions: How had they felt when they saw the mess; what do they think would have happened if they had come back and surprised the burglar? Maggie shuddered, remembering that gun.

“It was someone experienced,” Fell said. “There was no sign of a break-in.”

“So you’re going on with your investigations?”

“This has made me even more determined,” said Fell, although he did not feel determined at all.

Finally Peter left, whispering to Maggie as he went, “Phone me.”

“Well,” said Maggie faintly. “Let’s get started.”

♦

They worked diligently for the rest of the day, tidying and cleaning. “We’ll go to that second-hand furniture place you were talking about,” said Fell. “We’ll go in the morning.”

Tired though Maggie was, a little glow of happiness was beginning to spread inside her. She and Fell were working together again.

They both slept late the next morning. Once he was dressed, Fell said he would go out and get a copy of the Buss Courier. He was just emerging from the newspaper shop when he bumped into his lawyer. “How are things going, Mr. Dolphin?” asked Mr. Jamieson.

“Not very well. I had a burglary yesterday.”

“Yes, I heard about that,” said Mr. Jamieson. “I believe it’s in the paper.”

“I’m thinking of going into business,” said Fell. “I meant to call round and ask you how soon my inheritance will be in the bank.”

“It’s all wound up. The cheque should be in your bank by now. What kind of business were you thinking of going into?”

“That health shop in the High Street.”

“Wait until I get my paper. I would like to talk to you about that.”

Fell looked at the newspaper while he waited for the lawyer. He and Maggie were photographed on the front page. Maggie did not look at all like Maggie. She looked quite beautiful. “Threat to Our Detectives,” said the headline.

The lawyer emerged. “Let’s go to my office for a chat.”

“1 really should be getting back to Maggie.”

“You can phone her from my office.”

They walked together to the lawyer’s office in the town square. The market was in full swing. On such a day, thought Fell, did I learn of my inheritance.

Once in the office, he phoned Maggie and said he was at the lawyer’s and would be back shortly.

“Sit down, Mr. Dolphin,” said Mr. Jamieson. “I assume you are talking about going into business with Mrs. Melissa Har-ley.”

“Yes.”

“You must realize, Mr. Dolphin,” said the lawyer, “that this is a small market town and gossip spreads quickly, particularly in the Rotary club, of which I am a member. Mrs. Harley is running into financial difficulties. The business rates in this town are quite high and her shop is in a prime site in the High Street. I believe it was suggested to her that she choose a more modest place to start her business, but she would not listen. The majority of people in this town like smoking and junk food. She has only a short lease on the shop, so she would not get all that much for it if she sold now. Mrs. Harley almost got a businessman to invest in her shop, but, if you understand me, his wife stepped in and stopped it. I feel it is my duty to advise you that you would be throwing your inheritance away.”

Fell turned red. “I don’t believe you,” he said passionately.

“You do not need to. All you have to do is bring her to me and ask her to bring her books with her. If she has nothing to worry about, she will do so.”

“Thank you,” said Fell coldly. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, but do be cautious.”

I hate this nasty little town, thought Fell furiously as he walked through the market. It’s a hotbed of false and malicious gossip.

He met the editor of the Buss Courier, Tommy Whittaker. “If it isn’t Mr. Dolphin,” said the editor cheerfully. “Good story, hey?”

Fell looked blankly down at his hand as if expecting to see the newspaper still there. “I haven’t read it,” he said. “I must have left it somewhere.” He looked at the editor and suddenly burst out with, “Do you know Melissa Harley?”

“Oh, Harpy Harley, the one that runs the health shop? Why?”

“Nothing.”

“So why ask?” Tommy’s red-veined eyes sharpened. “Got nothing to do with the robbery, has she?”

“Of course not,” snapped Fell. He brushed past the editor and walked rapidly away.

But instead of going home, he went round to the High Street and positioned himself opposite Melissa’s shop. He watched.

He watched for an hour. No one went in and no one came out.