Silence, complete and utter.
Gently snorted and reached for the painter. ‘Very well, then — for the present! But you’re in dangerous waters, my lad, and you’d better do some hard thinking. It may be that only the whole truth will save you from a long drop — and be a close call into the bargain!’
He pushed the dinghy clear. Once more the reed-warbler began to twitter from its world of tall stems.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Physically the Wolseley was an oven, spiritually it was an ice-box. You could almost feel the waves of refrigerating hate coming from the angry woman in the rear. Upright she sat, like a tiny princess. Her dark, flashing eyes tried to drill holes in Gently’s unexpressive back.
‘I still don’t understand, inspector!’
‘I regret the necessity, ma’am.’
‘I have already been into Norchester once this afternoon. If you had anything to ask me, it could surely be asked at “Willow Street”!’
‘We require your presence, ma’am.’
‘I shall certainly consult my solicitor!’
The briefest of ironic smiles flitted across Gently’s homely features as he pulled out to slide past a truck. He had been on the phone at ‘Willow Street’ before Mrs Lammas got back.
But the smile didn’t last. He was quite frankly a bit out of his depth. The more he delved into this case, the more perplexing it seemed to get. The more you found out, the less did it add up into a coherent and satisfying whole… as though each new piece in the jigsaw threw the others just a little out of true.
But they were all legitimate pieces — they had to fit into it somewhere!
And yet…
He banged on his horn and shook a wandering cyclist.
Well, you went on asking questions, and let the theory take care of itself.
The city was buzzing with the news of Cheerful Annie’s demise and the resultant manhunt. It leapt from the fly-sheets and made banner heads across both locals and Londons.
MANHUNT FOR MAD KILLER — link-up with Broads slaying, ran one of the latter. Body Taken From Dyke — Police Searching Marshes, said the more conservative Eastern Evening Star.
Gently pulled over to a news-stand and bought a sheaf. No mention of. 22 bullets… the Londons were guessing. ‘The Police are still eager to contact the chauffeur, Joseph Hicks, missing since the discovery of the remains of James William Lammas in a burnt-out yacht a few miles from the scene of last night’s tragedy. They believe he could assist them in their inquiries.’ A question of two and two!
‘Here… you may not have seen this.’
He handed the papers back to his icy passenger.
‘Another reason why we specially want you at Headquarters.’
She wouldn’t even bother to make a comment.
Hansom was waiting on the steps, looking badgered and ready to bite someone. But he cheered up at the sight of Mrs Lammas… wasn’t he free, white and forty-one? A quick glance passed between him and Gently.
‘This way, ma’am… we shan’t keep you waiting.’
He led her down the corridor and opened the door of an interrogation-room. Gently hung back and waited till the door was safely closed again.
‘You managed to pick him up?’
‘Yeah — but not without some agony.’
‘Never mind, as long as you’ve got him. Are there any results on that stuff I sent in?’
‘The rayon fits for sure — it came off the night-dress.’
‘But what about the rest?’
‘Someone has been very clever! There’s nothing on the tube — it’d been out in the weather. The shoe-box was weathered too. It had a nice set of your prints and a dirty smudge on the lid.’
‘That’d be Thatcher’s paw! But what about the notes?’
Hansom laughed nastily. ‘That’s where someone was clever. First of all they’d replaced the paper bands with rubber bands — you probably noticed that. Then they’d removed the top and bottom note from each bundle, making ninety-eight to a bundle instead of a hundred. Result, a clean bill of health. We can’t even trace the clerk who paid them over the counter.’
Gently nodded ponderingly. ‘Sounds a bit too intelligent for the average run in chauffeurs.’
‘That’s what I thought, but of course you never know.’
‘This romp on the marsh… has it flushed anything yet?’
‘Not a blasted sausage and the super’s as peeved as hell.’
‘Well… here’s an outside tip. I don’t promise it will pay off. Take a search warrant and two or three men and see what you can find at “High Meadow”, Ollby — that’s Marsh’s place. I’d put your men out back, by the way… there’s a plantation sheltering the house which might have been put there to fade into.’
‘You mean that house near the turn?’ stared Hansom.
‘Yes, and give the servants a once-over. I’m particularly interested to know what happened there on Friday evening.’
‘You darned-well bet I will!’
‘And ring through here.’
Hansom departed at great pace, the gleam of the hunter in his eye. Gently stood still a moment, gazing after the vanishing form. Then he sighed very softly to himself and turned the handle of the interrogation room door.
The Headquarters of the Norchester City Police was a modern building, completed shortly before the Second World War. Outside it was a well-flavoured and handsome pile in Portland brick and stone. Inside it bore an unhappy resemblance to a requisitioned morgue and the interrogation room was no exception to the prevailing climate. It was bleak and inherently depressing. The steel desk, steel chairs and steel filing-cabinets did nothing to relieve the gloom. Once you set foot in here, they seemed to say, you were as good as lost… you might just as well confess to something and have done. Mere innocence was stripped off you at the doorway.
The room, however, seemed to have made little impression on Mrs Lammas. It was doubtful whether she had even noticed it. She had appropriated the desk with her handbag and gloves, lit a cigarette and now stood glowering at nothing, in the centre of the floor.
‘Won’t you sit down, ma’am?’
Disdainfully she perched herself on the edge of the nearest chair. It seemed positively gigantic in relation to her. Gently glanced at the rather-superior chair behind the desk, but decided not. He sat down on the desk itself.
‘To begin with, I want you to know that this interview is informal.’
She breathed scathing smoke at him. Her cigarette was coloured and slightly perfumed.
‘What you may tell me now won’t be used as evidence unless you give your permission. It’s between you and me, without any witnesses.’
‘Thank you. But I am well aware of what is evidence and what is not.’
‘Then that point’s settled! Now — would you like to do the talking?’
‘Talking? What about?’
‘Why… about your movements on Friday.’
She stared at him without emotion. The cigarette hung like a pink ornament between two exquisite fingers.
‘Be good enough to explain! You are no longer satisfied with my statement?’
‘Not really, Mrs Lammas. That’s why I’m giving you this opportunity.’
‘An opportunity, indeed!’
‘Yes… to explain certain facts.’
