foreigners, anyway. They've often got a way with them, but you never know, do you? Some of those Poles during the war! And even some of the Americans! Never let on they're married men until it's too late. Rudi talked big and all that – but I always took it with a grain of salt.'
Craddock seized on the phrase.
'Talked big, did he? That's very interesting, Miss Harris. I can see you're going to be a lot of help to us. In what way did he talk big?'
'Well, about how rich his people were in Switzerland – and how important. But that didn't go with his being as short of money as he was. He always said that because of the money regulation he couldn't get money from Switzerland over here. That might be, I suppose, but his things weren't expensive. His clothes, I mean. They weren't really class. I think, too, that a lot of the stories he used to tell me were so much hot air. About climbing in the Alps, and saving people's lives on the edge of a glacier. Why, he turned quite giddy just going along the edge of Boulter's Gorge. Alps, indeed!'
'You went out with him a good deal?'
'Yes – well – yes, I did. He had awfully good manners and he knew how to – to look after a girl. The best seats at the pictures, always. And even flowers he'd buy me, sometimes. And he was just a lovely dancer – lovely.'
'Did he mention this Miss Blacklog to you at all?'
'She comes in and lunches here sometimes, doesn't she? And she's stayed here once. No I don't think Rudi ever mentioned her. I didn't know he knew her.'
'Did he mention Chipping Cleghorn?'
He thought a faintly wary look came into Myrna Harris's eyes but he couldn't be sure.
'I don't think so… I think he did once ask about buses – what time they went – but I can't remember if that was Chipping Cleghorn or somewhere else. It wasn't just lately.'
He couldn't get more out of her. Rudi Scherz had seemed just as usual. She hadn't seen him the evening before. She'd no idea – no idea at all – she stressed the point, that Rudi Scherz was a crook.
And probably, Craddock thought, that was quite true.
Chapter 5
MISS BLACKLOG AND MISS BUNNER
Little Paddocks was very much as Detective-Inspector Craddock had imagined it to be. He noted ducks and chickens and what had been until lately an attractive herbaceous border and in which a few late Michaelmas daisies showed a last dying splash of purple beauty. The lawn and the paths showed signs of neglect.
Summing up, Detective-Inspector Craddock thought: 'Probably not much money to spend on gardeners – fond of flowers and a good eye for planning and massing a border. House needs painting. Most houses do, nowadays. Pleasant little property.'
As Craddock's car stopped before the front door, Sergeant Fletcher came round the side of the house. Sergeant FIetcher looked like a guardsman, with an erect military bearing, and was able to impart several different meanings to the one monosyllable: 'Sir.'
'So there you are, Fletcher.'
'Sir,' said Sergeant Fletcher.
'Anything to report?'
'We've finished going over the house, sir, Scherz doesn't seem to have left any fingerprints anywhere. He wore gloves, of course. No signs of any of the doors or windows being forced to effect an entrance. He seems to have come out from Medenham on the bus, arriving here at six o'clock. Side door of the house was locked at 5:30, I understand. Looks as though he must have walked in through the front door. Miss Blacklog states that that door isn't usually locked until the house is shut up for the night. The maid, on the other hand, states that the front door was locked all the afternoon – but she'd say anything. Very temperamental you'll find her. Mittel-Europa refugee of some kind.'
'Difficult, is she?'
'Sir!' said Sergeant Fletcher, with intense feeling. Craddock smiled.
Fletcher resumed his report.
'Lighting system is quite in order everywhere. We haven't spotted yet how he operated the lights. It was just the one circuit went. Drawing-room and hall. Of course, nowadays the wall brackets and lamps wouldn't all be on one fuse – but this is an old-fashioned installation and wiring. Don't see how he could have tampered with the fuse-box because it's out by the scullery and he'd have had to go through the kitchen, so the maid would have seen him.'
'Unless she was in it with him?'
'That's very possible. Both foreigners – and I wouldn't trust her a yard – not a yard.'
Craddock noticed two enormous frightened black eyes peering out of a window by the front door. The face, flattened against the pane, was hardly visible.
'That her there?'
'That's right, sir.'
The face disappeared.
Craddock rang the front-door bell.
After a long wait the door was opened by a good-looking young woman with chestnut hair and a bored expression.
'Detective-Inspector Craddock,' said Craddock.
The young woman gave him a cool stare out of very attractive hazel eyes and said: 'Come in. Miss Blacklog is expecting you.'
The hall, Craddock noted, was long and narrow and seemed almost incredibly full of doors.
The young woman threw open a door on the left, and said: 'Inspector Craddock, Aunt Letty. Mitzi wouldn't go to the door. She's shut herself up in the kitchen and she's making the most marvellous moaning noises. I shouldn't think we'd get any lunch.'
She added in an explanatory manner to Craddock: 'She doesn't like the police,' and withdrew, shutting the door behind her.
Craddock advanced to meet the owner of Little Paddocks.
He saw a tall active-looking woman of about sixty. Her grey hair had a slight natural wave and made a distinguished setting for an intelligent, resolute face. She had keen grey eyes and a square determined chin. There was a surgical dressing on her left ear. She wore no make-up and was plainly dressed in a well-cut tweed coat and skirt and pullover. Round the neck of the latter she wore, rather unexpectedly, a set of old-fashioned cameos – a Victorian touch which seemed to hint at a sentimental streak not otherwise apparent.
Close beside her, with an eager round face and untidy hair escaping from a hair net, was a woman of about the same age whom Craddock had no difficulty in recognising as the 'Dora Bunner – companion' of Constable Legg's notes – to which the latter had added an off-the-record commentary of 'Scatty!'
Miss Blacklog spoke in a pleasant well-bred voice.
'Good morning, Inspector Craddock. This is my friend, Miss Bunner, who helps me run the house. Won't you sit down? You won't smoke, I suppose?'
'Not on duty, I'm afraid, Miss Blacklog.'
'What a shame!'
Craddock's eyes took in the room with a quick, practised glance. Typical Victorian double drawing-room. Two long windows in this room, built out bay window in the other… chairs… sofa… centre table with a big bowl of chrysanthemums – another bowl in window – all fresh and pleasant without much originality. The only incongruous note was a small silver vase with dead violets in it on a table near the archway into the further room. Since he could not imagine Miss Blacklog tolerating dead flowers in a room, he imagined it to be the only indication that
