He stretched out his hand and she put the paper into it. ‘Hoax Caller Strikes Again,’ he read aloud. Then he read on to himself:
Police are still mystified by continued complaints from a number of elderly people who have been receiving anonymous telephone calls from a male hoax-caller since August last year.
There may be more than one man behind the hoax. Reports on the type of voice vary from ‘very young’, ‘middle-aged’ to ‘elderly’, etc.
The voice invariably warns the victim, ‘You will die tonight.’ The aged victims’ telephones are being tapped by the authorities, and police have requested them to keep the caller in conversation if possible. But this and all other methods of detecting hoax-callers have so far failed, the police admitted yesterday.
It was thought at first that the gang’s activities were confined to the Central London area. But a recent report from former critic Mr Guy Leet, 75, of Stedrost, Surrey, indicates that the net is spreading wider.
Among numerous others previously reported to be recipients of ‘the Call’ are Dame Lettie Colston, O.B.E., 79, pioneer penal reformer, and her sister-in-law Charmian Piper (Mrs Godfrey Colston) the novelist, 85, author of
Dame Lettie told reporters yesterday, ‘I am not satisfied that the C.I.D. have taken these incidents seriously enough. I am employing a private agency. I consider it a great pity that flogging has been abolished. This vile creature ought to be taught a lesson.’
Charmian Piper, whose husband Mr Godfrey Colston, 86, former Chairman of Colston Breweries, is also among the victims of the hoax, said yesterday, ‘We are not in the least perturbed by the caller. He is a very civil young man.
A C.I.D. spokesman said everything possible is being done to discover the offender.
Henry Mortimer put down the paper and took the cup his wife was passing him.
‘An extraordinary sort of case,’ she said.
‘Embarrassing for the police,’ he said, ‘poor fellows.’
‘Oh, they’ll get the culprit, won’t they?’
‘I don’t see,’ he said, ‘how they ever can, all evidence considered.’
‘Well, you know the evidence, of course.
‘And considering the evidence,’ he said, ‘in my opinion the offender is Death himself.’
She was not really surprised to hear him say this. She had followed his mind all through its conforming life and late independence, so that nothing he said could surprise her very much. He had lived to see his children cease to take him seriously — his word carried more force in the outside world. Even his older grandchildren, though they loved him, would never now understand his value to others. He knew this; he did not care. Emmeline could never, however, regard Henry as a dear old thing who had taken to developing a philosophy, as other men, on their retirement, might cultivate a hobby. She did not entirely let her children see how she felt, for she liked to please them and seem solid and practical in their eyes. But she trusted Henry, and she could not help doing so.
She let him busy himself in the garden before she sent him indoors to rest. A few more weeks and he would be watching the post for that particular letter from his old friend in the country inviting him to come for a fortnight’s fishing. It seemed miraculous that another spring had begun and that soon Henry would announce, ‘I’ve heard from Harry. The may-fly’s on the river. I’d better be off day after tomorrow.’ Then she would be alone for a while, or perhaps one of the girls would come to stay after Easter and the younger children would roll over and over on the lawn if it was dry enough.
She sowed her parsley, and wondered excitedly what the deputation who were calling to see Henry this afternoon would look like.
The Mortimers’ house at Kingston-on-Thames was not difficult to reach, if one followed Henry’s directions. However, the deputation had found it a difficult place to find. They arrived shaken in nerve and body, half an hour late, in Godfrey’s car and two taxis. In Godfrey’s car, besides Godfrey himself, were Charmian, Dame Lettie and Mrs Pettigrew. The first taxi bore Alec Warner and Dame Lettie’s maid, Gwen. In the second taxi came Janet Sidebottome, that missionary sister of Lisa Brooke; accompanying her were an elderly couple and an aged spinster who were strangers to the rest.
Mrs Pettigrew, spruce and tailor-made, stepped out first. Henry Mortimer came beaming down the path and shook her hand. Godfrey emerged next, and meantime there was a general exit from the two taxis, and a fussy finding and counting of money for the fares.
Charmian, from the back of Godfrey’s car, said, ‘Oh, I have so enjoyed the drive. My first this year. The river is splendid today.’
‘Wait a minute, wait a minute, Godfrey,’ said Dame Lettie who was being helped out. ‘Don’t pull me.’ She had grown stouter and yet more fragile during the past winter. Her sight was failing, and it was obviously difficult for her to find the kerb with her foot. ‘Wait, Godfrey.’
‘We’re late,’ said Godfrey. ‘Charmian, sit still, don’t move till we’ve got Lettie out.’
Mrs Pettigrew took Dame Lettie’s other arm while Henry Mortimer stood holding the door. Lettie yanked her arm away from Mrs Pettigrew, so that her handbag dropped to the pavement and the contents spilled out. The occupants of the taxis rushed to rescue Lettie’s belongings, while Lettie herself drew back into the car and sank with a plump sound into her seat.
Young Gwen, who Dame Lettie had brought as a witness, stood in the gateway and laughed aloud.
Mrs Mortimer came briskly down the path and addressed Gwen. ‘Look lively, young person,’ she said, ‘and help your elders instead of standing there laughing.’
Gwen looked surprised and did not move.
‘Go and pick up your aunt’s belongings,’ said Mrs Mortimer.
Dame Lettie, fearful of losing her maid, called out from the car, ‘I’m not her aunt, Mrs Mortimer. It’s all right, Gwen.’
Mrs Mortimer, who was not normally an irate woman, took Gwen by the shoulders and propelled her over to the little group who were stiffly bending to retrieve the contents of the bag. ‘Let the girl pick them up,’ she said.
