stolen? The law made little distinction between the two states, but the individual conscience was a much more refined beast, able to pick and crop at definition and qualification.
These thoughts ran through his mind as he made his way silently and swiftly upstairs. Davenant was using the room which Ellie had occupied. There was surprisingly little evidence of his presence – pyjamas, toilet articles, all with his initials monogrammed on them; but nothing really personal.
He left the room and stood a moment on the landing. Still silence below.
Now he moved on to what his memory of the geography of the house told him was Culpepper's room. While it was clearly a man's room there was sufficient evidence of occasional female occupation to indicate Marianne's departure from the marriage bed was by no means a permanent move.
What am I doing here? wondered Pascoe as he gazed at the Chinese watercolours which decorated the walls. Backhouse would not be pleased if Culpepper found me and started making a fuss.
Stuff Backhouse.
He began searching. It didn't take long.
No attempt had been made to hide it. It lay beside the pastel-green telephone on the bed-side table.
The Sellotape binding was still intact. Whatever the packet contained, Culpepper hadn't felt the need, or perhaps had the time, to check.
Unpicking the Sellotape as neatly as possible, Pascoe pulled the white wrapping paper open.
It didn't look very much at first glance, but a quick check gave him the exact figure.
It was surprising how little space was taken up by a thousand pounds in fivers.
Chapter 10
It took Pascoe a moment's thought and a five-minute telephone call to decide what to do. The time had come for drama.
He pushed open the lounge door, stepped in, and threw the money on the coffee-table. They all looked at him in amazement. A slow-motion camera and a trained psychiatrist might have made much of the kinds of amazement displayed, but Pascoe had to make do with snap judgements. Honest bewilderment from Palfrey and Dixon, but something else from the other three. A reasonable division.
'There's a thousand pounds there,' he said. 'What's it for?'
Culpepper was white with indignation.
'What right have you to search my house? This is an outrage!'
'Yes. Why did you bring it here, Mr Pelman?'
Pelman and Marianne exchanged glances, not easily readable.
'I think that's my business, don't you?' said Pelman.
'Perhaps. Blackmail is a crime, of course. And that's my business.'
Pelman looked flabbergasted, then began laughing. It sounded genuine.
'I'm glad you can be amused, Angus,' said Culpepper. 'I'm sorry, but I can't be. Excuse me.'
He strode from the room.
'What the hell's going on?' asked Dixon, his open face creased in puzzlement, while Palfrey reached for the coffee-pot, eyeing the money greedily.
Culpepper returned. With him was Backhouse, with Crowther and Davenant bringing up the rear.
'Superintendent,' said Culpepper, 'I should like you to explain by what authority a police officer, uninvited and without warrant, can search a private house.'
'The end sometimes justifies the means,' said Backhouse. 'What did you find, Inspector Pascoe?'
Wordlessly Pascoe showed him the money.
'Interesting, but not incriminating. I presume you've got a theory.'
He's not going to blow his top, thought Pascoe. Not yet. He's going to let me do his dirty work for him.
'This is not the point,' said Culpepper angrily.
'Yes, sir. I've got a theory. Mr Pelman brought this money with him. Let's call it a loan for the moment.'
'He thinks I'm being blackmailed,' interjected Pelman. 'What I'm supposed to have done this time, God knows! Oh, and Hartley, too, as I presume he's doing the blackmailing.'
'This gets worse!' said Culpepper.
'I trust not,' said Backhouse seriously. 'Inspector!'
'Let's call it a loan,' repeated Pascoe. 'The more important question at the moment is why did Mr Culpepper want it so quickly and in cash? My suggestion is simple. You wanted it for Mr Davenant.'
'But why should I wish to give Davenant a thousand pounds?' asked Culpepper.
'Why? Because he has been supplying you with pieces for your collection which you may have known or suspected to be stolen. Now he's in a hurry to get on his way. He realizes we're on to him. He heads straight down here, and is just hanging around for the money to arrive when unfortunately I turn up.'
Culpepper smiled. His anger seemed to have left him now, which was a pity. He looked cool and alert.
'You tell a good story, Inspector. But it's a fairy story, of course. You're very welcome to inspect my collection for stolen articles.'
'I don't doubt they've been removed since Mr Davenant's arrival,' replied Pascoe. Pelman, he noted, was looking more worried now than at any time hereto, which was interesting. It was time Backhouse made a move. He had been very insistent that the Brookside Cottage case was his. Pascoe had delivered into his hands Davenant, who admitted he was there on the night of the murders, and now also Pelman, who had just delivered a thousand pounds in used notes to the house of the woman whose story supported his alibi. Let the superintendent pick the bones out of that.
But Backhouse showed no sign of being ready to make a move. Palfrey glanced at his watch and stood up.
'I think this is outrageous, Hartley,' he said, shooting a malicious glance at Pascoe. 'If you want any witnesses to this gross misuse of police authority, just let me know. But I've got to push off now and see to my pub.'
'Thanks, JP,' said Culpepper. 'Your story falls down elsewhere, Pascoe. For example, if I wanted money in that much of a hurry, why should I go through the complicated business of contacting Angus? Why not just get it myself?'
He smiled round as if he had produced a rabbit out of a hat.
You poor bastard, thought Pascoe.
He felt reluctant to go on. A man had a right to his areas of privacy. Why should Culpepper's small secret be revealed here?
Because, he told himself looking round at the ring of expectant faces, because it had or might have or could have something to do with a crime.
And perhaps also because of something in those faces – wariness, expectancy, warning, or in the case of Marianne Culpepper, supercilious disinterest. That especially.
'Because, Mr Culpepper,' he said, 'you no longer work for the Nordrill Mining Company. In fact I believe you no longer work for anyone. You are unemployed, have been unemployed for six months and are practically destitute.'
If he had expected this to be an explosive revelation, he was disappointed.
True, Culpepper stood very still, his expression freezing as though a film had stopped on a single frame. But the others were manifestly unsurprised.
'I don't see what Hartley's financial affairs have to do with you,' said Pelman scornfully.
'So what?' said Dixon with a surprising amount of aggression.
Even Palfrey risked a contemptuous sniff, and Marianne merely turned away.
Only Davenant looked surprised.
'You all knew?' he said. 'Well, well. Isn't that an interesting thing? They all knew, Hartley, old son.'
'So much for your bombshell,' murmured Backhouse, taking Pascoe into the window bay. 'Even I knew. It was in Crowther's first batch of background notes. How did you find out?'
