‘I think he’s afraid to,’ said Hambridge, fishing a piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘Would you read that, please?’
She took it from him. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s an article that Cyril wrote for the parish magazine. He gave me a copy. It wasn’t printed in the magazine. Father Howells said that it was unsuitable.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know but it upset Cyril.’
As she read the article, Ruby could hear Ablatt’s voice declaiming the words. His style was so distinctive. At the same time, his argument in favour of pacifism was cogent and sincere. She recognised phrases that Gordon had quoted to her from time to time. Now she knew from whom they came. She passed the article back to him and he slipped it into his pocket.
‘Why did you bring that, Fred?’
‘I wanted you to understand what Gordon believes in.’
‘He’s told me dozens of times.’
‘That article isn’t only what Cyril thought. It covers all four of us. He let us read it before he sent it off.’ He rubbed his hands nervously. ‘All I’m trying to say is that you put Gordon in an awkward position.’
‘I want to marry him,’ she said. ‘What’s so awkward about that?’
‘You’re trying to make him join a non-combatant corps.’
‘Well, yes, I think it’s a good idea.’
‘It’s a very bad idea for Gordon,’ he argued. ‘If he does that, he’ll feel rotten. He’s dying to marry you, Ruby. He talks of nothing else when I’m alone with him. But he doesn’t want to betray his ideals — the sort of thing you read about in that article. Gordon is a good Christian. He hates the very idea of war.’
‘So do I.’
‘Then let him do what he’d planned to do all along.’
Her suspicion was aroused. ‘He
‘No, no, I swear it.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Fred.’
‘I came because I thought it might help. Gordon is suffering.’
‘How does he think
‘He doesn’t know what to do.’
‘Then you can pass on this message,’ she said, angrily. ‘He can start by speaking for himself instead of sending you to speak for him. This is between me and Gordon. You shouldn’t be butting in, so I want you to leave now and not come back. If he hasn’t got the courage to talk this over, then he doesn’t deserve me.’ Close to tears, she opened the door to show him out. ‘You can tell him that as well.’
Hambridge was chastened. He left the house wishing that he’d never gone there in the first place. His intervention had only made matters worse.
The problem was that Alice Marmion might have been mistaken. The offer that Hannah Billington had made was ambiguous. It could well have been an example of the older woman’s kindness and had no other implications. As she thought it over in the safety of her digs, Alice began to feel guilty. Her abrupt departure must have seemed very rude to her hostess. Not that Hannah had complained. On the drive back, she was unfailingly polite to Alice and made no mention of her earlier invitation. To show that she hadn’t taken umbrage, she said that Alice was welcome to come back for tea on a future occasion.
‘You can bring Vera next time,’ she said. ‘The girl needs some kind of treat.’
Something had happened in the bedroom but Alice still didn’t know what it was. She might have had nothing to worry about. Had she stayed, she could have slept in a borrowed nightgown in one of the other bedrooms. She would have been driven to the depot next morning by Hannah and been very grateful. At the back of her mind, however, was the outside possibility that there’d have been an alternative sequence of events. While the other woman was married, she was happy in her husband’s absence and had stressed the importance of having plenty of elbow room for herself. She was clearly fond of Alice and had complimented her on her appearance a number of times since they first met. Hannah had also got her to admit that there was no man in her life. Such deliberate probing could have had a purpose.
The frustrating thing was that Alice would never know the truth. It would only have emerged if she’d had the courage to stay. Though she planned to tell Vera all about the house, she’d make no mention of the strained moment in the main bedroom. Vera was too innocent about the ways of the world. Yet Alice did feel in need of the support and protection of a close friendship. Alone in Hannah’s house, she’d been isolated and defenceless. Alice never wanted to be in that position again.
Sitting at the table, she began to write a letter to Joe Keedy.
Superintendent Chatfield was disappointed. They had a confession out of the prisoner but it wasn’t the one for which he’d hoped. Harvey Marmion was much more tolerant. A crime was involved but he was nevertheless amused.
‘It’s all to do with rabbits,’ explained Keedy.
‘Rabbits?’ echoed Chatfield, wrinkling his nose.
‘That’s how he got the blood on his trousers, sir. On the night in question, Waldron broke into the garden of a house and opened every hutch there. That’s why he had the spade with him, you see. He used it to kill them and some of the blood inevitably spattered his trousers. After putting the rabbits in a sack, he hid his spade near the Weavers Arms and went round to the back door.’
‘I can imagine why,’ said Marmion. ‘It’s to do with food rationing.’
‘It’s to do with a criminal act,’ insisted Chatfield.
‘The inspector is correct,’ resumed Keedy. ‘Waldron was clever enough to kill and steal over a dozen rabbits but he had no means of selling them. That’s where Stan Crowther came in. He knew which of his customers would be ready to pay up for a rabbit and ask no questions. Waldron got a share of the spoils.’
‘Why didn’t he tell you all this when you arrested him?’
‘He’s afraid of repercussions, sir. Stan Crowther terrifies him.’
Chatfield banged his desk. ‘Well, it’s about time we terrified the landlord of the Weavers Arms. I’m not having anyone running a black market during severe food restrictions.’
‘The matter is in hand, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘As soon as the sergeant told me what was afoot, I rang the police station in Shoreditch. Mr Crowther will soon be arrested and I fancy that we’ll discover he had far more than rabbits on offer.’ He indicated to Keedy. ‘I think that the sergeant should be congratulated on getting Waldron to spill the beans.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Chatfield, grudgingly. ‘Well done, Sergeant. It’s a pity you didn’t work your wonders on the librarian.’
‘Mr Fussell will be more difficult to crack, sir,’ said Keedy.
‘That’s a pity, a real pity. Well, I suppose we’ve had a success of sorts, but stopping the illegal sale of rabbits is small beer compared to a murder and an attempted murder.’
‘We’re closer to solving both crimes than you think,’ said Marmion.
‘I feel that, too,’ added Keedy. ‘We’re getting warm.’
Chatfield sniffed. ‘The trail looks pretty cold to me.’
‘We’ve made some advances, sir. Now that we know that Mr Fussell actually went to see Father Howells, we can connect him even more closely to both of the crimes we’re investigating.’
‘We also caught him out lying,’ said Marmion. ‘He clearly has a lot to hide.’
‘Then find out what it is!’ snapped Chatfield. ‘I want progress. I need an arrest.’ The phone rang on his desk. He snatched it up with obvious irritation. ‘Superintendent Chatfield here.’ His brow furrowed as he listened to the message. After nodding a few times, he replaced the receiver. The whisper of a smile touched his lips. ‘It’s the hospital again,’ he said. ‘Father Howells wants to speak to Inspector Marmion.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
