‘And I didn’t want her to know the rest. I didn’t want her to be mixed up in it. That’s why I made that girl go to you, so you’d know the truth without us being mixed up in it. I had to pay her; she didn’t want to go. I shelled out fifty quid for your benefit…’
‘So we’d know the truth.’
‘Yes, the God’s rotten truth! What happened in the end to Father’s dear Paula. While you thought she was alive you’d have kept on and on at Mother, but I knew she was dead, and I intended to let you know it. And this is all the thanks I get for it. To be treated like a criminal!’
‘ How did you know the woman was dead?’
Gently was leaning back in his chair, his eyes half closed, but never wandering from the pair that thrust at him so persistently. Askham had wavered; but only for a second. Now his reply came strongly:
‘How else do you think? Because I’d met her daughter and heard the same tale she told you.’
‘Where did you meet her?’
‘That doesn’t matter. The important point is that I did. I heard her name mentioned if you want to know, and it naturally struck me as being a coincidence. That was recently, after Kincaid returned, and before he pushed that man over Snowdon. From the first he’d been creating about his wife and trying to find out who she’d gone off with. And when I heard that name, immediately…’
‘Was it Mrs Kincaid you expected to find?’
‘Yes, it was. I was going to bribe her. I was going to get her to go back to Kincaid but to tell him nothing about being with Father. But as it turned out it was her daughter I met — my own half-sister, if you please! — and before I could work anything with her you’d arrested Kincaid for murder.’
‘And you believed the girl’s story, of course?’
‘Good grief, and why shouldn’t I? She doesn’t know my name, so she could have no reason for lying to me.’
‘You knew her real name was Phyllis Waters?’
‘I knew she went under that name. But having two names is nothing: it’s the usual thing with pros.’
‘I notice you’re familiar with their habits.’
Back flooded the embarrassment.
‘All right, then… I’m not so innocent! My father didn’t set a good example. But what does it matter? I heard her talked about… recommended; you can put it that way.’
‘As Phyllis Waters?’
‘No, Paula Kincaid! Why else do you think I went to see her?’
‘On a recommendation.’
‘Because of the name, I tell you.’
‘Or because her youthfulness would fit the story.’
Askham was keeping his eyes blazing, but now he didn’t find it so easy; they would like to have dropped before Gently’s calm gaze. He could also sense Evans watching him, steadily, suspiciously, and Dutt’s silent presence was somewhere behind his chair. He must have felt himself beginning to stare. He made a feint at rising.
‘Look, if you’re calling me a liar…!’
‘Keep seated, Mr Askham.’
‘In the first place, what right have you got; to order me about? You’ve none, and you know it.’
‘We’ve a perfect right to ask you questions.’
‘But not to call me a liar. And I won’t stand for that.’
He was whipping himself up to a fresh pitch of indignation, perhaps even considering the possibility of flinging out of the room. He darted a glance at the door. Dutt absently changed his position. Gently swivelled his chair slightly so as to rest an elbow on the desk.
‘Did you think we were going to believe it, a convenient story like that?’
‘It’s true. I know it’s true. The girl told it me in good faith. I asked her casually about her people…’
‘We can check her background quite easily.’
‘But there’s nothing one can check. And how could she have known about Paula Kincaid?’
‘How indeed?’
‘She couldn’t, could she? I mean, the thing proves itself. Either she is the woman’s daughter or else it’s all completely absurd.’
‘Unless someone primed her, obviously.’
‘But who would do a thing like that?’
‘Someone very interested in Mrs Kincaid. Who wanted to keep her out of the hands of the police.’
‘But that’s ridiculous… I won’t be accused! You can’t be serious about this.’ He was staring now and having to like it: the wind was going out of him fast. ‘I tried to help you. It cost me money. I didn’t care. I thought it was worth it. If you knew how it affected my mother… then, for you to turn on me like this!’
‘Did your mother know about Phyllis Waters?’
‘No — I told you! It would hurt her terribly.’
‘Why are you so interested in Paula Kincaid?’
‘I’m not. She’s nothing… it’s only Mother.’
‘Yet your mother didn’t seem so concerned.’
‘She is. She doesn’t show it, that’s all.’
‘How did you come to meet Arthur Fleece?’
Askham only stared. His lips were trembling.
An hour later it was bearing the marks of an all-night session, marks that Dutt understood well, though Evans still had to learn about them. Gently had sunk his teeth into Askham and time was no longer of any moment to him; he would go on and on now till he’d shaken the truth from the unlucky fellow. He’d made his mind up about Askham. That was the way Dutt read it.
And it was true. Gently could feel the ecstatic thrill of making contact. At last the fates had put in his hand one of the key figures of the enigma! Against the others he had been powerless, Kincaid, Stanley, Mrs Askham; Paula Kincaid was far to seek, Heslington he half believed in. But here, unsuspected and self-betrayed, was the weak link in the chain, and with him Gently could wrestle for the illuminating fact. Time was certainly no longer important. It was outside the reference of the problem. It was merely a symbol of infinity invoked to balance the equation.
‘Where is Paula Kincaid now?’
He leant on the desk, his chin on his hands; his eyes were narrowed, his face a blank, he was questioning, questioning: one question after another.
‘She’s dead. You know she is.’
‘Why don’t you want us to find her?’
‘How can you, when she’s dead?’
‘What did your father tell you about her?’
‘Nothing. I tell you-’
‘What does she know?’
‘She’s dead; you’ve got to believe her daughter-’
‘What does she know about Met. L?’
‘Nothing-’
‘How much does your mother know?’
‘Nothing! Except what she told you today.’
‘It could have been lies. I’m asking you.’
‘And I’m telling you, aren’t I?’
‘When did you last see Fleece?’
Askham’s bearing was very altered now. That last disintegrating hour had ripped his veneer into tatters. From his pose as the heir to the Askham millions with power and influence behind him he had been reduced to a naked unit, clinging fearfully to his straw of innocence. He sat crumpled and flush-faced. His lips were dry, his eyes rolling.
