overcrowded with oppressive furniture; the walls were hung with some insipid watercolours and the light bowl was of mottled glass.
‘Daddy will be with you in just a minute…’ This time it was Mrs Farrer who came to look them over. She was a heavy, dowdy woman and had prominent brown eyes, and seeing her, one at once understood the room.
‘You won’t keep him, will you? We’re driving over to Lynton…’
She brought a smell of bath salts with her, and like the others, wore a dressing gown. Seeing the cushions still awry, she deftly shook them and set them straight. Then she piled the cups together, smiled uncertainly and went out.
Finally, Farrer made his entrance — by way of contrast, neatly dressed. He came forward with his manner of a man who was used to handling business.
‘Something new about Johnson, is it?’
He smiled engagingly from one to the other; nevertheless, one could tell from his eyes that he was far from feeling at ease.
‘No… this is a little different. It’s to do with the exhibition.’
‘I don’t know much about that, I’m afraid.’
‘Would you care to tell us how you spent last night?’
After a pause he told them, without any hedging. He had been to his club for a game of tennis. Then he had returned home to watch the television, and had gone to bed soon after it closed down.
‘What time did you get up this morning?’
‘Oh… about nine. Does it matter?’
Now he was beginning to look visibly unhappy, his smile becoming fixed and without conviction.
‘Perhaps I’d better tell you what happened.’ Gently briefly related the facts. Hansom, sprawling in an easy chair, kept his hard eyes fixed on the bank manager. And he had been right, quite right about one thing: Farrer’s smile was not proof against this. Before Gently had done, the last vestige had vanished and a look of unmistakable fear had replaced it.
‘So it looks very much as though someone…’
‘My God!’ Farrer had turned almost grey. The shock, indeed, had exceeded Hansom’s estimate; it seemed to have dealt a mortal blow to the man.
‘I wouldn’t be too alarmed… it may be coincidental-’
‘No!’ Farrer’s head shook with exaggerated insistence.
‘You don’t think it is?’
‘My God — I know it isn’t! You don’t know the half of it… the other half is here!’
He touched his breast with his hand as though making a dramatic gesture, then, without any warning, he flopped down in a chair. He was shaking so badly that he could hardly get to his wallet. Muscles twitched in his face and at the corners of his eyes.
‘It’s a nightmare… I don’t know… I wasn’t going to show it to you! It was a joke, I thought… just somebody taking the rise. I found it this morning. They had shoved it through the door… My God — but now! I don’t know where I am…’
He had managed to get from the wallet a carelessly opened manilla envelope, and this he held out tremblingly for Gently to take. Inside it was a folded sheet of softish grey paper, to one side of which had been pasted some printed capitals:
YOU HELPED HIM TO GET AWAY THERE’S ANOTHER KNIFE WAITING
They were all of one typeface and had been very neatly arranged. The envelope was a common one such as are sold by the thousand, but the paper was unusual, seemingly of linen manufacture.
‘It’s a nightmare, I tell you…!’
The bank manager’s voice sounded hoarse. He made an attempt to get up, then sank back weakly in his chair.
‘What have I done to deserve it… nothing! I’ve done nothing at all. He’s a madman, whoever it is… I want protection until he’s arrested!’
Gently passed the missive to Hansom, handling it carefully by its edges. He stared for a moment at the appealing face on which blank terror was stamped so plainly.
‘Another time you may not be so ready to fool the police!’
‘But I didn’t — I didn’t know — he didn’t tell me you were watching him!’
‘Someone thinks you knew, by the look of that letter.’
‘But it’s a mistake, a crazy mistake! You’ve got to give me police protection…’
Gently shrugged. ‘In that case, perhaps we can have your cooperation — you must admit that up till now it hasn’t been a conspicuous feature.’
‘I’ll tell you anything you want to know!’
‘Right — what precisely did Johnson tell you?’
‘He said that he had to get out for a bit — there was nothing else, I’m willing to swear it!’
‘Didn’t he tell you who he thought had done it?’
‘He asked me that. He thought it was one of us.’
‘And what was your opinion about it?’
Farrer swallowed, pointing falteringly at the letter. ‘I was certain of that from the first — it had to be one of us who’d done it. Aymas, he was the one I bet on… they’d had a flaming row that evening …’
‘And the letter seems to confirm it?’
‘Good Lord! Haven’t you noticed what paper it’s on? That’s a special watercolour paper… at first, I told you, I thought it was a joke…’
Gently reached for the letter again and examined the sheet of paper closely. It was certainly of an uncommon type, a class of paper he had rarely met with. Though soft and thin, it had the appearance of strength and the surface was finely grained. Held up to the light it showed part of a watermark — a piece of design, with the
letters: O… DA… VI.
‘Do you know what sort of paper this is?’
‘Of course! I’ve made a study of papers. That’s an Italian one, the “Leonardo da Vinci” — supposed to be the same as da Vinci used.’
‘Where can you buy it over here?’
‘I don’t think you can, unless they have some in London.’
‘Have you seen any of the members use it?’
‘No… I’ve only seen it in reference books.’
Gently lingered a little over the panicky bank manager — just then, he was wanting to be especially helpful! The rest of the bank house was suspiciously silent, and one wondered if some surreptitious eavesdropping was in progress.
‘Your wife tells me that you are driving over to Lynton today…?’
Farrer shuddered involuntarily. ‘We were going to visit her people
…’
‘It might be wise to postpone the trip.’
‘I’m not stirring a foot till you’ve got him inside!’
Rather against Hansom’s wishes, Gently agreed to the police protection — Hansom was thinking more in terms of manpower than of scared bank officials. When the door closed behind them he gave vent to his ill humour:
‘On top of all the rest we’ll need a whole bunch of search warrants!’
That was the case — interrogations were unfortunately now not enough. Because of the letter they would have to search for incriminating evidence. For some more of that paper, for the source of the printed characters — on the very slim chance that neither of these had been destroyed.
‘What’s the betting that we don’t get a print off that letter — not apart from yours and mine, and the boyo’s back there?’
Hansom leant on the Wolseley’s wheel and brooded darkly over the problem; he wore a sub-Byronic scowl when he felt that things were piling up on him.
‘There wasn’t one on the knife…’
