was coming down Snowdon.’
Evans said roundly: ‘Kincaid, man,’ as though he had suddenly solved a problem.
Gently nodded again. ‘Yes, Kincaid, man. We owed him something. I thought his wife.’
He took the noon train for town after spending a Sunday morning with Evans, admiring Caernarvon, which was easy, and submitting to the Welshman’s long post-mortem. Evans had lost, but he bore no grudge for it; he appeared to have forgotten his dimmed hopes of promotion. His object now was to study that case and to dwell on each aspect of the way Gently had handled it. He wanted to learn and he acknowledged his master. He acknowledged the insufficiency of his restless logic. He had seized on the secret that logic was not enough, and he wanted to be logically certain that he was reading it aright. He developed his ideas with a native fervour, and Gently responded to him generously.
At the police station they met the Chief Constable again: another man who had been indulging in meditations on Kincaid. He succeeded in cornering Gently in the superintendent’s office, where after some introductory compliments he came down to the business near to him.
‘You know, I can’t help thinking that our man was a bit simple. Damn it, he might have waited a day before hanging a charge on Kincaid.’
Poor Evans. Gently was glad that the office door was closed between them. He paused before returning an answer and raised his brows in surprised dissent.
‘Our Assistant Commissioner was convinced we had a case against Kincaid.’
‘Oh, was he?’ The C.C.’s tone sounded deferential but doubting. ‘All the same, it was rather hasty. He showed a lack of judgement, I thought. It doesn’t do our name any good to go throwing capital charges around.’
‘In principle, of course.’ Gently conceded the point ungraciously. ‘But in the circumstances we felt your man acted properly and with intelligence. Kincaid’s apprehension was necessary: he appeared to have had a powerful motive for murder. He was also in funds and he had no ties. He might have disappeared at any moment.’
‘I see your point.’ The C.C. thought about it. He continued to look unenthusiastic. ‘Perhaps I’m being wise after the event, but you must admit I have some grounds for it.’
‘You’re doing less than justice to Evans.’
‘Oh no. I’ve always thought him a good man.’
‘He’s more than that.’ Gently took a plunge. ‘We could use him in Whitehall if you’d agree to his transfer.’
‘If I agree-!’ The C.C. was startled. ‘Good heavens no. I’ll hear of nothing like that.’
‘He’s the sort we need. I can vouch for him personally.’
‘No, Gently. We can’t let you pinch our Evanses.’
But now he looked pleased. He took a turn up the office.
‘It’s like this,’ he said abruptly. ‘Owens here is retiring. It’s been a toss-up whether we promote Evans or move in the superintendent from Bangor. But you’ve seen something of Evans and you seem to think him a deserving customer-’
‘I have to agree with our Assistant Commissioner.’
‘Exactly. And in view of his opinion…’
Gently was still chuckling over that interview when his train pulled away from Menai, leaving Evans, a waving figure, standing alone at the platform’s end. Then he settled to his papers: ‘Kincaid… Dramatic Move… Release’; but by Penmaen-mawr he’d fallen asleep, with the vestige of a smile still lining his face.
For how else could one look at the Kincaid affair? From first to last, it had been a preposterous business.
