“I don’t know. He must have been there before it started snowing.”
“When was that?”
“Sometime after eleven. Maybe a little later. I can get the exact time for you.”
“Good, but how did he get in? Maybe he was there the whole time.”
“He wasn’t there earlier in the evening. Constable Sticks had the duty till three o’clock. From eleven till three. The cat must have slipped in sometime during his tour.”
“Did Sticks… did he open the door?”
“Yes, when he first came on duty. He’s very conscientious — wanted to make sure everything was in order when he began his tour. I checked this with him myself.”
“I see. So that’s when the cat slipped in.”
“I suppose so.”
Thomas and Wilson came into the room.
“All ready, Lieutenant. Everything’s finished. Calls is driving the doctor to the train station but he’ll be back in a few minutes. Are we going now?”
“Yes. Put this in the trunk of the car. Sorensen is going to get a little extra work,” said Gregory, not without a certain amount of malice. He shook hands with the commander.
“Thank you very much for all your help. If it’s at all possible I’d like to have Williams transferred to a hospital in London. Meanwhile, please get in touch with me if anything else comes up, all right?”
They went downstairs. Gregory glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was already past noon. He began to feel hungry.
“Let’s have something to eat,” he said to the others. There was a small restaurant nearby, a little place with tables and a lunch counter. Calls drove past just as they were sitting down. Wilson ran out to get him, and, after parking outside the restaurant, the sergeant came in and joined them. The four men ate in silence. Wiping his dark, slightly too elegant mustache, the photographer ordered some beer for himself and turned to Gregory.
“Can I buy you a drink, Lieutenant?”
“No thank you,” said Gregory.
The sergeant joined in declining the offer. “I’m driving,” he explained.
By the time they finished eating it was nearly two o’clock. The snow had melted, except for some grayish ice sparkling on the rooftops, and there were puddles of dirty slush all over the street. Gregory suddenly felt like driving. The men piled into the car, Calls next to him in the front seat, the other two in the back, and he pulled away from the curb, kicking up a fountain of muddy water. As he accelerated, Gregory peeked out of the corner of his eye to see whether the sergeant thought he was driving too fast, but Calls was staring out the window with a glazed, sleepy expression on his face. Gregory drove well, although, in his own opinion, a little too stiffly; this had always been a matter of some concern to him because he very much wanted to achieve the indifferent nonchalance, the automatic composure that marked the experienced driver, and he was able to maintain this pose only as long as he could keep his mind on something else. The tires hissed shrilly as he drove up the street and within a few minutes the windshield was covered with thousands of dark exclamation points. Past Wimbledon the traffic got heavier. Gregory was tempted to turn on the siren to clear the way, but since they weren’t really on an emergency call his scruples wouldn’t permit him to satisfy this desire. They reached London about an hour later. Wilson and Thomas had work to do in the lab. Gregory asked the sergeant to drop him off at home. The two of them were alone in the car, and when they reached his house Gregory didn’t get out. Instead, he offered Calls a cigarette, lit one himself, and then spoke:
“Did you see… out there?”
Calls nodded his head slowly, then rolled his window down.
“Sergeant, we’ve known each other for a long time. Tell me what you really think about all this. Is there anything you would run away from, even if you had a loaded pistol in your hand?”
Raising his eyebrows slightly, Calls glanced quickly at Gregory; then, with great deliberateness, flicked his ash. It looked as if he wasn’t going to say anything, but suddenly he blurted out:
“A tank.”
“Come on, you know what I’m talking about.”
The sergeant took a deep drag on his cigarette.
“I looked around pretty good myself, sir. The way I see it, this Williams is circling the place the way he’s supposed to; somewhere around five, or a little after, he sees something he don’t like too much. He don’t clear out right away, though. That’s important. He stands his ground… draws his pistol, only he don’t have time to release the safety.”
“Couldn’t he have drawn his pistol after he started running?” Gregory asked. His eyes sparkled as he studied the sergeant’s face. Calls smiled unexpectedly.
“You know yourself it can’t be done. These holsters of ours are pretty tight. You saw those footprints, didn’t you? This guy took off like a bat out of hell. A man who’s running like that can’t wrestle with a holster flap. He had to get it open first. Even in the worst fog you can see a pair of headlights at thirty feet, especially if they’re shining right in your face. But Williams didn’t see them, he didn’t see nothing. Whatever it was, it really got him.”
“Who would an armed constable run away from?” Gregory repeated, a blank expression on his face. He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one.
4
“Well?” said Sheppard. Gregory handed him the written report.
“This is a complete summary, sir.”
Sheppard opened the folder and began reading:
“9:40 a.m. J. Hansel dies at breakfast of heart attack. Dr. Adams certifies death.
“2:00 p.m. Undertaker arrives. Hansel’s sister doesn’t want to give clothing. Undertaker puts naked body in coffin, takes it to mortuary.
“5:00 p.m.
Constable Atkins begins tour at mortuary. Body in open coffin. Door held shut by piece of lath stuck through latch.
“11:00 p.m. Constable Sticks begins tour. Checks mortuary by opening door. No changes. Begins to snow. N.B. Cat may have slipped into mortuary around this time while Sticks not looking.
“3:00 a.m. Williams relieves Sticks. Doesn’t open door, shines flashlight through window in presence of Sticks, who ascertains nothing is changed, then returns to town.
“5:25-5:35 a.m. Smithers telephones Pickering police station, reports running over policeman.
“5:50–6:00 a.m. Ambulance from Hackey arrives on scene with Dr. Adams. Pickering police commander arrives on scene. Williams, still unconscious, taken to hospital. He has fractured skull and three broken ribs. Bentley sedan smashed into tree about 183 yards from mortuary; either trunk or rear bumper hit Williams. Commander proceeds to mortuary, ascertains that door is half-open; finds corpse, contractile, lying on side, about three feet in front of door; one window of mortuary broken, pane smashed from inside, pieces of glass embedded in snow. Commander finds cat inside mortuary. Takes it with him. Cat goes into convulsions, dies on way to town.
“Prints discovered around mortuary:
“1. Footprints of Constable Williams, corresponding to impression of his boots; in circular path around mortuary, then veer away from mortuary, head toward broken window, then toward road, ending up at scene of accident.
“2. Footprints of Pickering police commander. Difficult to distinguish since they follow directly on Williams’s prints, obliterating part of outline left by instep.
“3. One very clear print of bare foot, identified as left foot of dead man, found just outside broken window of mortuary; facing toward wall, toes turned slightly inward; print very deep, as if impressed by substantial weight.
“4. Prints leading from window around corner of building to door; may have been made by someone crawling
