to that reporter about my birth. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” said Maggie wearily. “I don’t think anything matters much any more.”
They sat side by side in silence.
At last Fell said, “I think I hear them packing up. I’ll go and look. If they’d found that gun, Maggie, the detective would have been back here like a shot or a least one of them would have brought it out and asked you where you had got it.”
“I’ve thought of something else,” said Maggie, turning a muddy colour.
“What? What is it?”
“I didn’t wipe the gun. It’ll have my fingerprints on it, yours, and Andy Briggs’s.”
“I’m sure they’re leaving,” said Fell. “Wait here.”
So Maggie waited, hugging herself, feeling cold despite the heat of the day.
She could hear the murmur of voices and then the street door slammed. Fell came back. “They’ve gone. Let’s go and look.”
Together they went indoors and up the stairs, Maggie leading the way to her old room. The suitcase, the one she had not taken with her, was poking out from under the bed, covered in fingerprint dust. She pulled it out and threw back the lid. She searched frantically among the clothes. She turned a white face up to him. “It’s not here!”
“Then they didn’t find it,” said Fell grimly. “Whoever searched the house did.”
Maggie raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “I’m frightened.”
Fell took her hands and raised her to her feet. “You’re going to have to move back in, Maggie.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to have to look out for each other from now on, and we can’t do that from opposite ends of the town.”
“But Melissa…”
“I’ll continue to see Melissa, but I think we should stick together.”
Maggie wavered. “I couldn’t stand another quarrel, Fell.”
“Then we’ll just need to make sure we don’t have another. Let’s go downstairs and have a stiff drink.”
Maggie followed him down, her thoughts in a jumble. She felt she should be glad that the quarrel was over, but all she felt was a shaky mixture of fright and weariness.
Fell poured two stiff whiskies and handed one to Maggie. “This furniture is ruined,” he said.
“I think an upholsterer could repair it.”
“I don’t think I want it repaired. It’s wrong, suburban, but I don’t know what it should look like.”
“I didn’t like to say anything at the time,” ventured Maggie. “But I do have a suggestion.”
“What?”
“There’s a second-hand furniture shop just out of town. They have some pretty pieces, not matching, but good stuff. You could trade this lot for part of the price. They could repair this and get a good price for it.”
“What sort of things?”
“Well, there’s some pretty fruitwood furniture. Some of it’s Dutch. We could have a look after we’ve cleared this up. Perhaps if we work all day on it, we’ll feel tired, but not so worried.”
“You’re a good sort, Maggie,” said Fell. Melissa had retreated to a corner of his mind. He would not admit it to himself for fear of losing his dream, but he had been annoyed at Melissa’s dismissal of him when he had needed her help.
“Let’s finish our drinks and get started.”
“Why don’t you go and bring back your stuff and we can settle everything first?”
“Right.” Maggie drained her drink and then said shyly, “And it’s all right if I go on seeing Peter?”
“Yes,” said Fell, although he did not like the idea one bit. The doorbell rang and they both jumped.
“What now?” asked Fell, going to answer it.
His face darkened when he found Peter and a photographer standing on the doorstep.
“Little bird told me you had been burgled,” said Peter.
“You’d better come in,” said Fell coldly.
Peter breezed past him, followed by his photographer. He stooped and gave Maggie a smacking kiss on the cheek. Fell was at first glad in a mean little part of his soul that Maggie was looking such a mess, but Peter sat down beside her and took her hand. “Oh, will there have to be a story on this?” wailed Maggie.
“Do you some good, love,” said Peter. “Let the buggers know you’ve got the press on your side. Now go and put some make-up on that pretty face and pose for a nice picture.”
“My make-up isn’t here. It’s at home,” said Maggie.
“What’s it doing at home? Home, home? I mean, I thought this was your home.”
“It is,” said Maggie. “But I was sorting things out.”
“I’ll get you something. Be back in a tick.”
Fell waited, irritated, while Maggie made coffee for the photographer in the kitchen by dint of scooping some instant coffee into a cup from the pile of it on the kitchen counter. The searcher, or searchers, had even tipped out the contents of the coffee jar.
When Peter returned, he said cheerfully, “Let’s go up to your bathroom and I’ll make you up. Did I ever tell you I used to be in amateur theatricals?”
Fell made desultory conversation with the photographer while listening to Maggie’s laugh floating down the stairs. What right had Maggie to be so cheerful in the middle of all this mess?
When they finally came down the stairs, Fell said sharply, “What have you done to her? She looks like a clown.”
“Trust me,” said Peter. “She’ll look great in the photograph.”
So Maggie and Fell posed amongst the ruins while the photographer snapped away busily. “Now,” said Peter, “that bit’s over. What happened?”
Fell described how he had gone out and when he had come back it was to find the chaos.
“So someone must have been watching the house,” said Peter. “What did they take?”
“Nothing,” said Maggie quickly.
“Aha. So whoever it was must be connected to that train robbery.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Maggie faintly.
“Stands to reason. A story appears about you two in the newspaper, about how you’re trying to find out the truth about the train robbery. Someone gets nervous and wonders if you’ve found out anything.”
“Couldn’t it just have been an ordinary burglary?” asked Maggie.
Peter snorted. “What? When they’ve even ripped up the upholstery?”
“Is that all?” said Fell wearily.
But Peter asked more questions: How had they felt when they saw the mess; what do they think would have happened if they had come back and surprised the burglar? Maggie shuddered, remembering that gun.
“It was someone experienced,” Fell said. “There was no sign of a break-in.”
“So you’re going on with your investigations?”
“This has made me even more determined,” said Fell, although he did not feel determined at all.
Finally Peter left, whispering to Maggie as he went, “Phone me.”
“Well,” said Maggie faintly. “Let’s get started.”
¦
They worked diligently for the rest of the day, tidying and cleaning. “We’ll go to that second-hand furniture place you were talking about,” said Fell. “We’ll go in the morning.”
Tired though Maggie was, a little glow of happiness was beginning to spread inside her. She and Fell were working together again.
They both slept late the next morning. Once he was dressed, Fell said he would go out and get a copy of the
“Not very well. I had a burglary yesterday.”
“Yes, I heard about that,” said Mr. Jamieson. “I believe it’s in the paper.”
“I’m thinking of going into business,” said Fell. “I meant to call round and ask you how soon my inheritance
