he said, well I want it done just the same and thanks for the lecture but will you kindly get on with it Miss. So I said, just as you like then but don’t blame me if they look muzzy.”
“Well, like I said—bossy. And sarcastic. He was dreadfully rude the second time he came in. You know, when one of the pictures had got lost.”
“Yes, but what did he look like?”
The girl considered, frowning. “Well...” She gave a shrug. “Nothing much to look at, really. Sort of young middle-aged, not tall, a bit pasty looking...oh, and pop-eyed—I noticed that. His suit could have done with a press, too.”
“Colour of eyes?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t all that bothered.”
Secretly gladdened, Love wrote down ‘eyes, mud-coloured’.
He looked up. “Hair?”
“Didn’t notice that, either. I’m not sure that he had much.” A tiny breeze of amusement was in her voice.
‘Hair, thin, mousey,’ wrote the sergeant. He raised the pencil and casually scratched at his own fertile hair line. “Anything else you can remember?”
She said there wasn’t and half rose from her chair.
“Just a minute, Miss Evanson...” (
“Oh, but”—she leaned forward in eagerness to stop him writing down something wrong—“it wasn’t a person. It was a dog.”
The sergeant blinked. “A what?”
“A dog. A little woolly dog. Begging.”
Chapter Fifteen
Inspector Purbright sipped tea from a cup of the frailest china, patterned with forget-me-nots. At first taste, he had fancied there was a curious, faintly spirituous smell about it, but this seemed to have worn off.
“What you have told me,” he said to Mr Hive, sitting opposite, “interests me very much indeed. You are absolutely sure, are you, that the man you now know to be Palgrove did not move from that cottage during the whole time you were watching, from ten-thirty onwards?”
“Absolutely.”
After a somewhat edgy start, Hive’s response to Purbright’s questions had grown increasingly confident. He was now openly enjoying himself.
Miss Teatime, seated like a referee at the third side of the table, found that no intervention was needed beyond the handing of fresh cups of tea. She was so pleased that her two good friends had taken to each other.
“Didn’t he leave the room at all?” asked Purbright.
“Only twice. Presumably to see a man about St Paul’s.”
“To...?”
“To have a slash, Inspector,” said Miss Teatime, in a kindly aside.
“You are quite happy, then, Mr Hive, that between half past ten that night and three o’clock the following morning Palgrove could not possibly have paid a visit to his home in Flaxborough.”
“Not the slightest chance of it.”
Purbright sighed. “There is something to be said for being put under observation by a conscientious inquiry agent, it seems. Mr Palgrove is a singularly lucky man.”
“Do you mean he was going to be arrested for poor Mrs Palgrove’s murder?” Miss Teatime looked shocked.
“That was a possibility.”
Miss Teatime reached and patted Hive’s arm. “You see, Mortimer? Are you not glad that I dissuaded you from rushing back to London?”
Mr Hive smiled a little sheepishly. The inspector noticed. “Had you made arrangements to return before today?”
“I was going yesterday, as a matter of fact. But there have been so many counter-attractions.”
“I trust they will not diminish. I’m going to need you.”
“No, no—I must leave tomorrow. I shall be desolate, but I really must.”
“Surely a few more hours will not make all that difference, Mr Hive. You’ve said yourself that your assignment here came to an end before you expected.”
Mr Hive looked uncomfortable. “I don’t wish to appear obstructive, but my first duty is to my client.”
