“Buffs. There was a lodge meeting. Then I popped in at the club. That chap Lintz from the paper—know him?—he was there. I brought him back with me as a matter of fact. Ethel—no, Eileen—made us some supper and he stayed until...Oh, I don’t know, half-past one or two.”
“Doing what?”
“Heaven knows. Talking. Having a couple of beers. I really can’t remember.”
“You wouldn’t be playing chess by any chance?”
“Chess? I wouldn’t be surprised. Is that what he said?”
“You seem rather vague about it.”
“Not a bit of it. We played chess.” Bradlaw turned to Love and explained: “It’s a sort of complicated draughts, you know.”
“Anyway,” said Purbright, “you were definitely with Lintz all the time from, say, eleven until two?”
“Oh, yes. Except when he was out in the yard, of course.”
“In the yard?”
“He wanted some fresh air, he said. I remember that because he let the door catch and had to wake me up to get in again. Chess,” added Bradlaw feelingly, “can be bloody tiring.”
“So you don’t know how long he was out?”
“Not really. Can’t have been long, though. Too cold.”
“Could he have got out of the yard into the street?”
“Into the lane, yes; but why should he?”
“Was his car in the lane?”
“I think so...No, we’d come back in the Bedford—my van, you know.” Bradlaw frowned. “Here, but you’re not trying to make out that George nipped out for a jimmy riddle, and then took a fancy to slap down Uncle and got back here before I knew he’d gone?”
Purbright looked at him in silence for several seconds, then smiled. “Now you see what nasty people your policemen pals can be when they want.”
Bradlaw puffed out his cheeks indignantly.
“What did you know about Gwill?” Purbright resumed.
“Not much. Why?”
“You saw him at his house pretty regularly, didn’t you?”
“Now and again.”
“He didn’t play chess, I suppose?”
“Gawd, you are in a griping mood. Anyone would think you suspected me.”
“Perish the thought. Why did you go to see him?”
“Just to be sociable. I’m a steady advertiser, too.”
“He didn’t give dinner parties for all his advertisers, surely. Who else went with you?”
“Rodney Gloss was there sometimes—his solicitor. Doc Hillyard, too, occasionally. That’s all, as far as I remember.”
“What about Harold Carobleat?”
“Well, what about him? He’s dead.”
“That’s all right. I just wanted a general picture of social life at the Gwill’s. We have to start with something, you know.”
Bradlaw shrugged and began tracing numeral outlines on the desk calendar with one finger. “I’ll tell you this much,” he said slowly, “you needn’t waste time looking at Gwill’s friends for whoever killed him. I’ve known him, and them, for a good few years. Look, doctors and lawyers in a place like this don’t go round murdering people.”
“Nor undertakers?” murmured Purbright.
“No, not undertakers, either. Why the hell should they?” Bradlaw seemed to feel a sudden surge of resentment. “You flounder about and make all sorts of wild insinuations against people just because they knew somebody who’s been found dead. Damn it, I don’t think you even know yet how the fellow was killed.”
Purbright said patiently: “No, I don’t think we do,” and waited.
“Right; then why go casting around for suspects like...like a quizz-master or something?” (Bradlaw went to television for most of his derogatory similes.)
“He’s the one,” said Purbright to Love, jerking his thumb at Bradlaw. “Got the bracelets, Sid? Bracelets,” he explained to the now peeved undertaker, “are what we call handcuffs. Very slangy.”
Bradlaw grunted, looked at his watch and scowled. “Come on,” he pleaded. “I’ve people coming at twelve. What else do you want to know?”
“Just three more things, Nab, I think. Firstly, what business was Gwill mixed up in apart from his paper?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
