Wednesday… well, is it my fault if you didn’t know about the beard?’
‘There must be some mistake, mam,’ came the discomfited voice of Copping, ‘I’m sure O’Reilly…’
‘Mistake, Inspector! I should just say there was a mistake. My daughter Deanna and my husband Ted both backed me up about it… “Beard or no beard,” I says, “the man on that photograph is our number seven”… and that was on Wednesday, Inspector, yet you come worrying me today of all days, a Saturday, and Race Week — it’s too bad, it is really! If it’s not making me all behind with my work, it’s what my people are going to think with all that lot gawping outside…’
Dutt gave Gently a knowing wink. ‘Aye, aye! I was waiting for him to run into that lot.’
‘Somebody’s boobed, Dutt.’
‘Yessir… and it isn’t you and me.’
Gently pushed in at the parlour door. It was a small but expensive room. The gilt-edge of Mrs Watts’s season expended itself on radiograms, television sets, slow-burning stoves, carpets and furniture notable for its areas of glossy veneer. The available floor-space was a trifle restricted by these evidences of wealth. It occurred, where it occurred in small islands of gold mohair. On the largest of these, which adjoined the multi-tile hearth, Mrs Watts was conducting her attack, while a red-faced Copping had got himself wedged into a triangle between a radiogram and a television set.
‘What do you send them round for?’ continued the stalwart matron, snaking a glance at the new intruder en passant. ‘What’s the idea of wasting our time asking questions when you aren’t going to believe us anyway? Is that how you run the police in Starmouth? Is that why they keep putting the rates up?’
‘I assure you, mam, if you’ll let me explain…’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt, you’ll be a wonderful one for explaining. And I dare say your explaining will get the work done by the time my people start coming in. If you ask me, Mr Inspector, we need someone in Starmouth who can teach you your job… that body on the beach was a show-up for you, wasn’t it just…?’
‘Ahem!’ coughed Gently, appropriating some mohair behind the door.
Mrs Watts shook her platinum locks and presented a square chin at him. ‘And who’s this?’ she demanded of Copping, ‘how many more have you brought down here to waste my time?’
‘This is Chief Inspector Gently, mam!’ explained the squirming Copping, ‘he’s in charge of the case… he wants to ask you a few questions.’
There was a pause while Mrs Watts digested this information. Then her expression underwent a change, passing from steely aggressiveness to steely affability. ‘Well!’ she said more placably, ‘well! And aren’t you the gentleman they’ve sent from Scotland Yard to clear up this body-on-the-beach business?’
Gently nodded gravely.
‘The same Chief Inspector Gently that did that case at Norchester?’
‘The same, Madam.’
‘Well!’ repeated Mrs Watts, ‘of course, if I’d known that…’ She favoured Gently with a smile in which steeliness was still the principal ingredient. ‘Do please sit down, Inspector… I shall be pleased to be of any assistance. Deanna!’ — her voice rose to a shout — ‘Deanna, leave what you’re doing and make a pot of tea, do you hear?’
There was a faint acknowledgement from without and Mrs Watts, satisfied, ushered Gently to the room’s most dramatic and veneer-lavish chair. He contrived to avoid it, however, and it was Copping who became the victim…
‘Now,’ pursued Mrs Watts, ‘I’d like you to know, Inspector-’
‘Just a minute,’ interrupted Gently, ‘has the room been interfered with?’
‘The room, Inspector…?’
‘Number seven — the room from which this man disappeared?’
Mrs Watts looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know what you mean, interfered with. I’ve changed the sheets and pillow-cases, and Ida (that’s the maid) has polished and hoovered, but that’s all… there’s nothing been moved about.’
Gently sighed softly to himself. ‘Well… we’ll look in there later, if you don’t mind. Now about the man himself…’
‘I recognized him directly, Inspector. There was never any doubt.’
‘You recognized him without the painted-in beard?’
‘As soon as I clapped eyes on the photograph… “Yes,” I says to the man, “that’s our number seven. Only he’s got a beard,” I says, “a lot of it — all over his face.”’
‘And that was on Wednesday, the day after your lodger was missing?’
‘That’s right — Wednesday evening. Naturally, I didn’t pay too much attention to him spending the night out… you can’t be too particular about that sort of thing, Inspector. But when it got near tea-time and still no sign of him…’
‘You rang the police and were shown the photographs. You acted very properly, Mrs Watts.’
‘But the man didn’t believe me, Inspector — I could see he didn’t!’
Copping made a rumbling noise. ‘It was O’Reilly,’ he brought out, ‘he was going on transfer to Liverpool the next day… he didn’t want to believe it…’
Gently nodded comfortably to one and the other. ‘Everyone is human
… even the police. And of course you recognized the touched-up photograph, Mrs Watts?’
‘Naturally I did — and so did Deanna — and so did my husband Ted, who was in after his lunch.’
‘You’d be prepared to swear to the identity in court?’
‘I’d take my Bible oath on it, Inspector… and so will they.’
Gently nodded again and felt absently in the pocket where he stowed the peppermint creams. ‘When was it he arrived?’ he asked, struggling with the bag.
‘It was last Wednesday week — in the morning, just after breakfast.’
‘Go on. Describe what happened.’
‘Well, I answered the door, Inspector, and there he stood. “I see you’ve got a room vacant,” he says — only he had a queer way of slurring it, as though he were trying to be funny — “do you think I might see it?” he says. I mean, the cheek of it, Inspector! People are usually glad enough to get rooms in the middle of the week at this time of the year, without being awkward about it. And him a foreigner too, and smelling as though he’d just walked off a fishing boat…!’
Gently paused in the act of transporting a peppermint cream to his mouth. ‘A fishing boat?’ he queried.
‘Yes — that’s just the way he smelt. Mind you, I don’t want to accuse him of having been a dirty man. It was something that wore off later and the first thing he did was have a bath. But there’s no doubt he had a fishy smell on that particular morning… well, I nearly slammed the door in his face!’
Mrs Watts pulled herself up in a way which reminded Gently of a baulking mule.
‘How was he dressed… can you remember?’ he asked.
‘He’d got his light grey suit on — he nearly always wore that… a bit American, it was, with one of those fancy backs to the jacket.’
‘Tie?’
‘That was a bow.’
‘Hat?’
‘He never wore one that I can remember.’
‘Did he have some luggage with him…?’
‘He’d got a couple of cases, one bigger than the other… the big one is still in his room.’
‘How about the other — what happened to that?’
‘I suppose he took it with him, Inspector. He always did when he went out… he seemed to think there was something very precious about it.’
‘Did you see him leave with it the last time you saw him?’
‘No… I didn’t see him after I’d given him his tea. Deanna saw him go out, perhaps she noticed. Deanna!’ — Mrs Watts’s voice rose piercingly again — ‘come in here — the inspector wants to ask you a question!’
‘Coming, Ma!’ replied a sugary voice just without the door, and a moment later Deanna made her entrance bearing a chrome-and-plastic tea-tray.
‘Put it down here, Deanna — I’ll pour it out.’ Mrs Watts was obviously proud of her daughter and wanted her
