‘How many cars have you owned?’
‘Well, five or six, one time or another.’
‘Have you ever owned a Citroen?’
‘No, I stick to English makes.’
‘I’d like you, if you would, to describe the car that pulled in.’
In doing so he used terms which showed that the subject was familiar to him. One could hardly have pitched on a better witness for the description of a car.
‘Of course it was dark at the time?’
‘Yes, but I’ve got a big light over the pull-up.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t a blue car?’
‘No — green. It was a light-coloured green.’
‘What else was parked in the pull-up?’
‘Just a Leyland truck and the Commer.’
‘Wouldn’t they have hidden the other car?’
‘No. Because of them he parked near my window.’
‘Describe the man who came in.’
Without a shadow of doubt it was Mixer. His eyes, his skin, his accent: one could almost smell his sweat. He had tipped his hat to the three of them and ordered a strong cup of char. He had been wearing a dark blue suit and a matching wide-brimmed hat.
‘Who else was in the cafe?’
‘The driver and his mate from the Leyland.’
‘Who were they — people you know?’
‘They’re from Brum… G.U.S., I believe.’
‘Don’t you have an assistant at the cafe?’
‘Not after ten. It’s just me and the missus.’
‘Where was she when this man came in?’
‘She was having her snooze in the room at the back. Ten till three, three till eight is how we work it. Then our man comes in and we both knock off.’
Mixer had paid for his tea and joined the others at their table. From their attitude it was clear that he was known to and expected by them. He pulled something from his wallet and laid it on the table. This they appeared to study while, keeping his voice low, he talked to them as though giving instructions.
At the end of five minutes they got up and left together.
‘Why did you take so much interest in them?’
‘As I said, he was a bit of an unusual customer. On top of that it seemed rum, him knowing those other three. They looked a rough lot and they didn’t come from these parts.’
‘From which direction did the Citroen come?’
‘From the town way, from Starmouth.’
‘You’re quite positive of that?’
‘As certain as I’m sitting here.’
Gently shrugged and picked up a sandwich, a plate of which had lately been put by him. There was no shaking evidence of this description: it was a bonus for any prosecuting counsel. And Mixer, if he’d come from Starmouth, was just about in the clear. He’d have had to go miles out of his way to avoid arriving by the Castra Road.
Unless… dare one build any hope on it?
‘Would you have been busy about then?’
‘Not on a Tuesday. It’s usually pretty quiet.’
‘How long had you been washing up?’
‘I don’t know. Quarter of an hour, might have been twenty minutes.’
‘And you were watching the road all the time?’
‘You have to watch something on that job.’
‘Did you see much traffic pass?’
‘Not at that time on a Tuesday.’
‘How many cafes are there on the Castra Road?’
‘There’s three besides me, one nearly into Castra.’
‘Have they names and signs?’
‘Only that one — the Blue Owl. The rest of us just stick up “call” or something.’
‘I want you to think back very carefully, Mr Blaydon.’
Gently rocked forward on the back of his chair.
‘This is very important and a lot may depend on it. Would you have seen that Citroen if it had first passed the other way — not appearing to slow down or take an interest in your cafe?’
Blaydon frowned for a moment or two in careful obedience, but the answer was plainly on the tip of his tongue.
‘I’d have seen it of course, but I might not have noticed it. There were still one or two cars going back into town.’
‘You didn’t, in fact, notice it?’
‘Can’t say I did.’
‘Or any other car in particular?’
‘No, they were just cars.’
Gently let his chair sink slowly and reached for another sandwich. The case was still an inch or two ajar with regard to Mixer.
The identity parade was held in the canteen, this being the largest room at Starmouth Borough Police H.Q. Copping had supplied eleven stand-ins, five of them were policemen; at that time of night it was the best he could do, though at any time it would have been difficult to match Mixer. Gently watched the proceedings without enthusiasm. It was an open-and-shut case as far as the robbery was concerned. Neither witness was hesitant and Hannent swore at Mixer — the watchman’s head was still bandaged, so his enthusiasm was understandable. The only interest now remaining was in Mixer’s proficiency as a liar.
They returned to the super’s office for the final act of the drama, Symms leading the way and Mixer urged on by Copping and Dutt. As usual the fellow was perspiring heavily, his mouth gaping open and his small eyes blinking. More than ever one wondered what a woman could see in him… especially such a woman as Rachel Campion.
‘Alfred Joseph Mixer, company promoter, of West Hampstead, Middlesex?’
He grunted some reply through his beak-like nose.
‘It’s my duty to warn you, Mixer — I daresay you know the formula. You’re not bound to make a statement but if you do it will be taken down, and later it may be used in evidence. Have I made that perfectly clear?’
The super, quite visibly, was enjoying this part of the business. He had a relish for the details which bordered on the comic. Sitting upright behind his desk, he eyed the unhappy Mixer wolvishly; but he was being the classic model of an official accuser.
‘I’m charging you that, on the morning of Wednesday, 7th August, in the company of three other men…’
In strictly regular phrasing the charge was rolled off. Mixer listened without reaction, unless it was the twisting of his hands. All the time his mouth hung open and his breath was sucked in hoarsely.
‘… and that you then entered the premises of Messrs. Svandal at 54 Hammond’s Quay, and removed from there furs to the value of thirteen thousand two hundred and thirty-six pounds… have you anything to say in answer to this charge?’
‘I wasn’t there and I didn’t do it.’
Mixer’s croak didn’t pretend to conviction. His eyes were wandering uneasily to Gently, as though seeking the answer to an unexpressed question.
‘Would you like to tell us where you were?’
‘I wasn’t in Starmouth — not then, I tell you.’
‘When weren’t you in Starmouth?’
