style of the New Towns, a tall, soft-brick building with blue panels between vertical windows. In a courtyard below it stood a Rolls and a Bentley and two Jaguars, while above it trailed a yellow pennon bearing the firm’s contracted nomenclature: MET. L. The whole street was pervaded by a regular murmur of industry and from the tall windows of the workshops came occasional bright flashes.
Their driver parked in the courtyard; they went up steps to the main door. Beyond it lay a large reception hall with a softly carpeted floor. An ash-blonde in a black dress was sitting at a varnished sapele-wood counter, and she rose with a touch of hauteur to deal with Gently’s inquiry.
‘Superintendent Gently, C.I.D. I’d like to have a word with your personnel manager.’
‘Er — is it the police?’ She seemed slow on the uptake.
‘That’s correct, miss.’
‘Oh, in that case… Mr Stanley did say…’
Her hand crept involuntarily towards the telephone on the counter and then faltered; she smiled brilliantly, as though to cover an indiscretion.
‘Then if you’ll please wait a moment…’
She tripped out through a door behind the counter, leaving a delicate perfume of violets to mingle with the odour of new furnishings.
Gently shrugged; surprise was a waste of emotion when you were dealing with l’affaire Kincaid. They were expected, that was obvious, though why was beyond all conjecture. After twenty-two years and a world war, what was Kincaid to Metropolitan Electric? He’d been only a unit when he was there, a lowly employee among several thousands…
The blonde returned.
‘If you’ll come this way, please… Mr Stanley will see you now.’
‘Who’s Mr Stanley?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Mr Stanley is our managing director.’
They followed her down a corridor lit by a succession of plant windows and watched her tap, very softly, on a grained walnut door. The response was scarcely audible, but she had inclined her head to catch it; immediately she threw open the door and announced:
‘Detective Gently, sir.’
They went in. The room was spacious and set out with grained walnut furniture. A buff carpet of ultimate softness extended from one skirting to the other. The two windows were fully screened with featherweight venetian blinds, and when the door closed behind them the hum of the workshops was knifed away. A tall, lion-faced man came forward from his desk to meet them.
‘Mr Gently — I didn’t catch your rank, I’m afraid.’
He was about sixty years of age and had wavy iron-grey hair, and was dressed in a black suit of a subduedly expensive cut. He smiled, holding out a large, manicured hand.
‘Ah yes — superintendent. I believe I’ve seen your name in the papers. But sit down, gentlemen, and let me hear what I can do for you. We don’t often have the pleasure of a visit from the Yard, and when we do we like to offer all the facilities we can.’
Gently chose one of the larger chairs. Evans sat to one side of them. Stanley returned to the desk and drew his trousers before sitting. He put his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his palms, then he leaned forward towards Gently as though to drink in his every syllable.
‘Now, Superintendent,’ he said.
Gently cleared his throat prefatorily. ‘We’re investigating the identity of a… certain person,’ he replied. ‘By his own account he was employed here roughly twenty-two years ago. We’d like to check on that with your records and your personnel manager.’
‘I see.’ Stanley stared, his heavy brows slightly elevated. ‘That’s quite a time ago, if I may say so, Superintendent. A number of changes have been made since then and there may be some difficulties. As you are no doubt aware, we employ a large number of people.’
‘But you keep records, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes. Very full ones. Our administrative department is the most highly automated in the industry. But twenty-two years! That’s asking rather a lot, you know. Some of our older files, I seem to remember, went for salvage during the war.’
‘Including your personnel records?’
‘Well, no, perhaps not those. But since our rebuilding I couldn’t be certain where the earlier ones are housed.’
‘Where were they housed during the rebuilding?’
‘Oh, we moved into the south warehouse.’
‘Would that be a good place to look?’
Stanley sank into his palms. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.
‘Hmn.’
Gently knew the symptoms of obstruction when he met them, and this had the appearance of a calculated obstruction. He had no doubt that Stanley knew whom the inquiries concerned, and it was plain that they had been anticipated, and probably prepared for. But to what credible purpose? It seemed like straining to swallow a gnat. After all, the information they sought was harmless enough, surely…?
‘So you can’t produce any records?’
‘Now, I didn’t say that, Superintendent. But I thought it only fair to warn you that they might be difficult to come at. It may take us a long time to find them.’
‘I can call back tomorrow.’
‘No… I don’t think you fully appreciate the difficulties involved. But I’ll help you as much as I can. I’ll call in our personnel manager.’
Gently shook his head abruptly. ‘It seems hardly worthwhile, does it?’
‘I thought you wanted to talk to him?’
‘I find I’ve changed my mind about that. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe he can help my inquiries much.’
‘Then what…?’
Stanley extended one hand from under his chin. He was doing his best, it seemed to say: he would be cooperative if he could. By way of reply Gently rose and crossed to the other side of the room, where, housed in a walnut bookcase, was an extensive collection of reference books. He took down the copy of Who Was Who and returned with it to the desk. Then he leafed through it to a reference, picked up a pencil and marked the page.
‘Take a look at this… in case you haven’t seen it before.’
Stanley stared at him hard before condescending to read the paragraph. Then he gave an exclamation.
‘Good Lord! The chappie the stink was about.’
‘And you notice something else?’
‘Yes, of course. And I’m amazed.’
‘Amazed that he worked for this firm, Mr Stanley?’
‘I never knew of it until this moment.’
Gently nodded very slowly and behind him Evans shuffled a foot. ‘You’re a bloody liar, man!’ was what the shuffle seemed to convey. Stanley continued to gaze at the entry, his eyebrows pushing up his forehead; then he thrust the book aside and met Gently’s eyes firmly.
‘Well, Superintendent, you’ve taught me something by calling here.’
Gently’s head continued to nod. ‘I’m learning something, too,’ he said.
‘This happened before my time, of course. I was with Intrics before the merger. But I must say I’m surprised not to have heard about it before.’
‘So naturally you didn’t know Kincaid?’
‘No. I couldn’t have done, could I?’
‘And in spite of all the publicity he’s had you never learned that he was once employed here?’
‘I — what do you mean, Superintendent?’
‘I’m just considering probabilities.’
Stanley coloured. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘I’m not so sure I like this.’
