Hopjoy Was Here

In fact, there proved to be no wind at all, while ‘front’ was scarcely an accurate designation for a rampart some two miles from the nearest wave. But at least the smell of the sea was there: a cool yet pungent compound of weed and salted mud, threading through the scents of hot sand and yellowing dune grass.

“And surely,” Periam was saying, “somebody has to be reported missing—officially, you know—before you chaps start looking into things. Who would report Bry missing?” The voice was level, untroubled, like that of an inquirer into natural history.

“Some of the neighbours are a little apprehensive, I believe. And there are one or two rather odd circumstances that we do feel need explaining.” Purbright’s gaze was now upon a steamer smudging almost imperceptibly the grey-green rim of the horizon. “You see, sir, we’ve taken the liberty of looking inside your house.”

“But...but why? I can’t understand this, inspector. Really I can’t.” The slightest frown of reproof clouded Periam’s brow.

Purbright sighed, as if acknowledging the distasteful and inconvenient nature of his investigation. “When,” he asked, “did you last see Mr Hopjoy?”

Periam considered. “It was one night last week; wait a minute...yes, Thursday night.”

“And where was this?”

“Oh, at home.”

“That would be before your marriage.”

“The day before, actually. Doreen and I were married on the Friday.”

“I see. Now tell me about Thursday, will you? You said you saw Mr Hopjoy that evening. Were you not together earlier?”

“No, he hadn’t got up by the time I left the house. I drove over here after breakfast and brought some things—mine and Doreen’s. The room had been booked and I’d arranged to move in the day before the wedding so that everything would be ready. Well, that’s just what I did. Once the stuff had been shifted out of the car I just killed time toddling around and having meals. Then I went to bed. It was quite early: about nine, I should say. I’d just nicely dropped off when the phone rang—there’s one by the bed, you know.

“It was rather a queer call, really, now that I come to think, but I was a bit muzzy, being wakened like that, and I didn’t ask the girl’s name. She just said she was speaking for Bry and would I come over right away. Then she rang off. Well, what could I do? I dressed and drove back to Flaxborough.

“Bry was at home on his own. Naturally, I’d thought there’d be something wrong, but there wasn’t. He just said he wanted to ask me a few things—oh, I can’t even remember them: they weren’t important. Strictly entre nous I got the impression he was a weeny bit tiddly. If it had been anyone else it would have got my rag out, but it’s never any good getting waxy with Bry, it’s like water off a duck’s back. In any case, he’d been very decent about letting us have the car.

“To cut a long story short, I made allowances for his having imbibed not wisely but too well and humoured him. But I certainly lost some beauty sleep that night. Dor must have thought I’d been out on the tiles when I turned up at the registry office. No, you mustn’t take that seriously—Dor’s terribly sweet and...and loyal.”

Periam wound up his speech by taking from his pocket a paper bag which he offered to Purbright. The inspector declined graciously and resumed his contemplation of the horizon. He wondered if the production of the sweets had been a reflex comment on the bride.

“What is your general opinion of your neighbours, Mr Periam? In Beatrice Avenue, you know, and round about.”

Periam carefully unwrapped a toffee. “Quite decent old sticks, mostly. I don’t have much to do with them now that Mother’s passed on.”

“Is there anyone amongst them who might have a grudge against you, do you think?”

“I’m sure there’s not. Why?” Periam chewed very slowly and deliberately. The action gave his cheeks a melancholy elongation. Moose, thought Purbright.

“The fact is that we have received an anonymous letter. I don’t see why you shouldn’t know about it. It hints that you and Mr Hopjoy were having a row on that Thursday night, a violent row.”

“That’s absolutely untrue, inspector. I told you I was a bit tetchy at being brought over for nothing, but I don’t think I let it show. There certainly wasn’t a tiff, or anything like that.”

“You arrived and later went off again in Mr Hopjoy’s car?”

“The Armstrong, yes.”

“Which he had lent you for the wedding and the holiday following.”

“That’s right. For our honeymoon.” Periam rummaged in his bag, drew out a toffee in green paper, then dropped it back in favour of one wrapped in pink.

“Where did you leave the car while you were in the house?”

“I put it in the garage.”

“So you’d expected to stay a while—long enough to make it worth putting the car away?”

“No, I hadn’t, actually. But Bry doesn’t like the car left on the street even for a few minutes. Whenever I borrow it I automatically take it right into the garage afterwards.” The double operation of talking and chewing seemed at this point to imperil Periam’s retention of saliva. He sucked noisily and clapped a knuckle to his lips. “Pardon me: wind in the willows.”

“Mr Hopjoy knew about your marriage, I suppose?”

“Of course.”

“He didn’t attend, though?”