he had a murder charge pinned on him?’
Gently gave him a rueful grimace. ‘There’s Kincaid for you, man,’ he replied.
‘I know. And to think that it’s me who’s responsible for it. Now we can’t lay a finger on him. “Take a note,” he says. It makes you wonder why you ever joined a police force at all!’
‘He’s screwed, that’s what,’ observed the station inspector comfortably. ‘You don’t have to worry, boy. He’s booked for Broadmoor anyway.’
Gently said: ‘How does his present behaviour compare with yesterday’s?’
‘It doesn’t,’ Evans snorted. ‘And for why? Because then I had the drop on him.’
‘Would you say he was building it up, then?’
‘He doesn’t need to build it up!’
Gently shrugged. ‘He could be sweating on an insanity plea.’
‘Oh… I see.’ Evans was silent for a moment, eyes glaring at nothing. Then: ‘Yess… it could be that. It could be that very well.’
‘There’s another thing too.’
Gently began filling his pipe; slow, squarish-tipped fingers packing the rubbed tawny tobacco.
‘“Like a Tibetan smells his village” — you remember that bit? It had me wondering at the time… how near do you suppose it was to the facts?’
‘What facts do you mean, man?’
‘The facts of last Monday. Kincaid’s journey to Wales, his being in Llanberis and on Snowdon. It’s all very romantic and might be due to E.S.P., but there’s a simpler explanation: somebody tipped him off that his wife would be there.’
Evans’s hand crashed down on the desk, making the issue ink-pots jump. ‘But that’s brilliant, man!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s a bloody brilliant piece of surmising!’
‘It suggests a certain sequence. I wouldn’t like to go any further.’
‘But it’s brilliant — don’t you see? It gives us a whole new angle to work on!’
Gently struck himself a light. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘You tell me.’
‘Why, it’s over his wife he murdered Fleece, and not what happened on Everest at all.’
‘Unless it was part of the same story.’
‘Man, there’s no keeping pace with you. You’re right — of course you’re right: it must all have begun in thirty-seven. Fleece was after Kincaid’s wife, which is why that Everest incident happened.’
‘And he was still after her in fifty-nine?’
‘Of course! And somebody warned Kincaid. And he traced the pair of them to Wales, and took his chance up there on Snowdon. Heslington — he’s the man to have warned him, and he was on the spot at the time. I’m telling you, man, you’ve been inspired. It’s making sense of the whole affair.’
Gently drew in a mouthful of smoke and blew the smallest of rings at Evans. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But it’s doing nothing of the kind.’
‘But why? Why not, man?’
‘Only ask yourself the question. There are too many things which don’t square with the hypothesis. For instance, if Heslington was in it, why did he mention seeing Kincaid? Why was he on the summit at all, when he might have had an alibi with the others?’
‘He might not have known what Kincaid would do.’
‘Then why did he hedge with what he told us? He’d either spill the lot or nothing, not just enough to make us curious. Then again, there’s the cigarette-case — don’t tell me that Heslington was the one to drop it! Because if he was, then the moral is plain: we’d better scratch Kincaid and start again.’
‘But look, if you rule out Heslington for a moment-’
Gently grinned. ‘Then we’re left with conjecture. And a crying need for some facts before we worry our brains any further.’
Poor Evans hung his head. ‘I’m not so sure… it’s a fine connection…’
‘It’s an alluring theory, so we won’t kill it. Only file it for later reference.’
‘Then where do you reckon we go from here?’
‘We’ll go to the bottom, as usual. We’ll start with the firm whom Kincaid last worked for and try to pick up the trail from there.’
Gently hooked up the phone and dialled the Central Office desk. Metropolitan Electric, he was told, still flourished out at Hendon. On the point of ringing off he gave the office a further task:
‘Check Kincaid in Who Was Who and read me over the entry.’
As he listened a pleased smile crept over his face. He dropped the phone back on its cradle and took a few thoughtful puffs.
Evans asked: ‘What did they say, man?’
Gently said: ‘What you’d expect. Kincaid’s story checks with the book. He gave us nothing fresh at all.’
He blew another couple of rings.
I’m beginning to like this case,’ he said. It’s what the Americans would call a lulu… in Wales, you’d have a different name for it.’
CHAPTER THREE
By midday an uncertain sun had developed in the London sky, warming the grey flood of the Thames and softly colouring the weight of buildings. It was one of those atmospheric moments which occasionally redeemed the grim metropolis, bringing a sentimental glamour to its meaningless pageant of business and poverty. Gently, who loved and hated London, was glad that it had something to show Evans. He felt oddly responsible towards the latter, as though he were entertaining a country cousin. When they left the station at Bow Street he directed their driver to the Cheshire Cheese; they had grilled trout, and he was naively pleased by the commendations of the Welshman. Evans ate silently and intently. He was obviously a man who respected his food.
When the coffee came he sighed and lit a comfortable cigarette. He said:
‘I’m enjoying myself in spite of it… it’s a pleasant way to be losing promotion.’
Gently nodded, stirring his coffee.
‘Who have you left in charge at Caernarvon?’
‘A Sergeant Williams, a right good man. He’ll be checking on Kincaid’s alibi this moment.’
‘I’d like him to extend his inquiries a little. With special reference to Mrs Kincaid.’
‘Oh yes. I was going to suggest it.’
‘And Fleece, of course. I’d like to pinpoint his movements.’
They returned to the divisional station before driving to Hendon, and Evans rang his sergeant from there with the current instructions. When he rejoined the car he was wearing a slightly puzzled expression.
‘Here’s a curious thing that Williams has just told me!’
One of their witnesses had given them a false name and address. The address was in Bangor and was factual enough, but the occupiers knew nothing of a ‘Basil Gwynne-Davies’. The falsehood had come to light when the author was sought for to sign a statement.
‘What was he witness to?’
‘That’s the thing which surprises me. He’s the young fellow who came forward to tell us about seeing Kincaid in Llanberis. It doesn’t matter, of course; it’s no longer important. But why did he come forward if he didn’t want to be mixed up in it?’
Gently grunted. ‘Not from a pure love of justice, I’d say! You told Williams to see if he could find him, did you?’
‘Yes, and I think he may. The fellow is obviously a local. He may be an undergraduate from Bangor who was cutting lectures on that day.’
The sun had faded and the drizzle returned by the time they reached Hendon. They discovered Metropolitan Electric in a cul-de-sac near the airport. It was huge: an industrial mammoth filling all one side of its street, its approaches lined with parked cars of which most had a new appearance. Its central block had been rebuilt in the
