‘Don’t go, Miss Playford… you may be able to help us. I dare say you have records of what occurred here last Thursday.’
‘Last Thursday!’ echoed Pershore. ‘I fail to understand, Inspector.’
Gently shrugged. ‘It’s quite simple. I’m proposing to reconstruct the day of the crime.’
He got Pershore quiet at last, though wriggling with resentment. The second citizen of Lynton was alarmed by this fresh attack on his shining tenantry.
He took a seat in a corner from which he could command the proceedings, and seemed to be daring Gently to find one smutch on the miller’s record.
To an unprejudiced eye the task could not have seemed a difficult one. Fuller, sitting slumped near the typewriter, had the appearance of being at the end of his tether. His clerk was looking shaken too. She kept darting agonized glances at her distressed employer.
In this connection, was it barely possible that Blacker’s hint had been genuine…?
‘As far as you can remember it I want an account of Thursday the twelfth. Begin where you left home after breakfast, and continue to when you locked up to go to tea.’
‘You can’t expect… it’s nearly a week ago…’
‘So was the stag party — but you seem to have remembered that pretty well!’
About to say something, Fuller hesitated. Instead, he looked up at Gently with a wild appeal in his eyes.
Put him out of his misery — that was the message! He’d had as much as he could stand, and now he would welcome the inevitable touch on the shoulder…
‘Go on — when did you leave the house?’
The relief of arrest was not coming yet.
Fuller’s eyes sank again and his fists clenched tightly; when he spoke it was to the rough planks of the office floor.
‘I… half past eight. That’s my usual time. As far as I can remember I wasn’t late that morning.’
‘You drove straight to the mill?’
‘Yes… no, I stopped to buy something. There was a milling article in The Listener — they mentioned it before the news.’
‘Where did you buy it?’
‘At Smith’s in the Watergate.’
‘Who did you talk to there?’
‘Nobody… the assistant.’
‘You spoke to nobody else on your way here?’
‘No. I drove straight on to the mill.’
‘Describe to me what happened directly after you arrived.’
‘I–I parked my car outside.’ Fuller sounded lost without the lead of interrogation. ‘Mary showed me the mail… it was just the usual. Some invoices, receipts, an order from Bretts’ — a stupid firm in Norchester wanting to sell me a cash-register. I told her what to get on with and then went into the mill.
‘Two of the men were loading a lorry with the hoist — maize, supers, Kositos, the usual mixture for our farmer customers. Two more were sacking flour… Tom was minding the engine. The rest were putting some oats through — later on it was English wheat.’
‘You saw that all of them were at their jobs, did you?’
‘Naturally — I go round every morning. And I check stocks and keep an eye on the belting and machinery.’
‘You noticed nothing out of the ordinary that morning?’
‘There was a slipping belt on one of the bolters…’
‘What was Blacker doing, for instance?’
‘Blacker…’ Fuller’s voice wavered. ‘I don’t particularly remember
… he might have been helping to load.’
‘How long were you in the mill?’
‘An hour, the best part of. After that I checked the loading on Bob Tillet’s lorry… then one of my customers came in to pay his bill, and another about a wrong consignment. There’s always plenty to do in the office, with the phone ringing every five minutes.
‘At one o’clock I went to lunch-’
‘Just a minute! Who were those customers who came in?’
Fuller gave a feeble shrug. ‘One day is like another. Mr Blakey from Torrington was one of them — then there was a farmer called Howard, and the man from Hillside Dairies. They were all customers — Mary can tell you that.’
‘What about Mr Blythely — didn’t you see him that morning?’
‘I suppose so… yes, I did. I met him in the yard.’
‘And you had a conversation?’
‘I… not what you could call one.’
‘What do you mean by that, Mr Fuller?’
‘Well, we passed the time of day!’
‘Hmn.’ Gently’s dissatisfaction was emphatic. ‘Who else is there you’ve forgotten to mention? Take your time, Mr Fuller… wewon’t rush this memory of yours!’
‘Excuse me, Chief Inspector!’
The mayor-elect was butting in.
‘Since you’ve such a passion for the truth, however irrelevant it may seem-’
Wearily Gently fished out his pipe and stuck it into his mouth. Before long he was going to jump on this Lynton worthy, though it blighted the super’s life from now until Christmas…
‘Would you mind not interrupting, sir?’
‘Interrupt, sir? I have something of importance to contribute!’
‘I am endeavouring to conduct an enquiry-’
‘And I, sir, am trying to assist you — however pointless your mode of proceeding appears to strike me!’
With an effort Gently held his peace. It was a long time since he had enjoyed the luxury of losing his temper officially. As a rule he suffered fools, if not gladly, at least intelligently…
‘Very well, sir — provided it’s relevant.’
‘Thank you, Inspector. I feel sure you will think it so. The fact is that on Thursday last I paid a visit to the mill — though I am not surprised at my tenant having forgotten it, considering your hectoring treatment of him. Now why this should be-’
‘At what time was that, sir?’
‘Time?’ Pershore snorted. ‘I was in Lynton during the morning — naturally, I had no occasion to allot times to my movements. But if you will permit me to say so-’
‘What was the purpose of your visit?’
‘Eh?’ Pershore’s eyes opened wide. ‘Do you dispute that this is my property? I came to view it, sir — I frequently overlook my investments! The keystone of success in business — and, speaking personally-’
‘You went over the mill, did you?’
‘And the bakehouse, since you are so precise.’
‘Accompanied by Mr Fuller?’
‘Certainly, as regards the mill.’
‘Asking him questions, no doubt?’
‘It has always been my unswerving policy-’
‘So you were aware that the furthermost hopper contained spoiled flour?’
‘That was something which I was unlikely to miss.’
Gently shook his head with monumental slowness.
‘A little advice! Your position is ambiguous, if you don’t mind my saying so. Your alibi is flimsy. You are apparently a frequenter of Newmarket. As the owner of this property, you will no doubt have some keys. And to cap it all, you admit knowing about the hopper of spoiled flour. Can’t you see what the attitude of the average
