Faintley Speaking

‘I think so,’ he replied, but he seemed uncertain.

‘Then, in that case,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘let us change the subject of conversation.’ Bannister looked surprised at the abrupt alteration in her tone. ‘Tell us about your pot-holing, and what you think of the prehistoric cave-paintings at Lascaux,’ she suggested.

‘Lascaux?… Oh, I suppose that young devil Street told you. He said he’d spent part of his holidays at Miss Menzies’ hotel, and I knew from the papers that Miss Menzies had found Miss Faintley’s body.’ He stopped short; then he added, ‘But you mean something deeper than that.’

‘I’ve been to Lascaux myself,’ Mrs Bradley assured him. ‘You are remembered in the district.’

Bannister grimaced, but made no comment. Mrs Bradley pressed the point by remaining absolutely silent and nodding her head very slowly, as though she had discovered something which gave her satisfaction. Bannister suddenly laughed.

‘I’m awfully sorry, but I’ve been tested for nerves, you know. The Gestapo technique was, if I may say so, bloodily more effective than yours. Still, I’ll give this much away: Faintley, whether innocently or not, was mixed up with something no good, but it wasn’t political, exactly. I’m pretty certain about that. I know all the symptoms, I think. And now… why did you ask me to come here?’

Mrs Bradley told him of Mandsell’s telephone call, and Laura added:

‘So far as we know, you and Mr Trench were the only men members of the staff who didn’t turn up at all at that end-of-term dance. The man who had to answer the telephone call that night walked away in front of Mandsell, he was either you or Trench. I don’t think it was you because… well, because I just don’t think it was. Have you an alibi, by the way?’

‘As a matter of fact, I suppose I have. I was fiddling about with my landlady’s television set most of the evening. You could check that if you wanted to. She and her husband were with me most of the time, and once I’d got home from school I didn’t go out any more until almost ten. I went down to the Lion then for a beer, and stayed until closing time.’

‘Before which the telephone call must have been made. That brings us to Mr Trench, then. What sort of man is he? I’ve met him in the staff-room, of course, but I haven’t gathered yet what he’s really like.’

‘And you won’t. He’s a bit of an homme incompris. Nobody knows much about him. He’s all right at his job, but his wife’s a chronic invalid and he seems to spend most of his time out of school in waiting upon the sick-bed. Trouble is, I gather, that he married above him, and hasn’t ever been able to live it down. I don’t think the wife is bitchy, but now she’s ill he feels he must try to make up to her for a disappointing sort of life. Odd bloke. Might be quite decent but for this rotten fixation.’

‘A man, in fact, who would be glad of a little extra dough?’

‘I should say so. Chickens and invalid diet and fairly exotic fruit and flowers, and a hefty library subscription, and taxi fares if she ventures out, can run into money, of course, and nothing’s too good for the lady – or so we gather. None of us has been permitted to meet her, by the way. Her blue blood, apart from her illness, has to be respected, and I imagine that our staff don’t measure up.’

‘Oh, I see!’ said Laura, enlightened. ‘Do you think he’s really an impartial witness?’ she asked Mrs Bradley next morning before Bannister had appeared downstairs for breakfast.

‘I think he’s sufficiently impartial for our purposes,’ Mrs Bradley replied, ‘but there is one point on which he is misinformed, I think.’

‘About Trench?’

‘About Mrs Trench… but we shall see! And, of course, he made a splendid Freudian slip of the tongue, did he not?’

As soon as breakfast was over Mrs Bradley sent Bannister and Laura out for a long walk and caused George to drive into Kindleford, where she herself picked up Mandsell, and, luring him from his new novel with the promise of luxurious food and the car to return him to the Deaks’ house immediately dinner was over, took him back with her to the Stone House at Wandles Parva.

‘There is only one thing I am going to ask you to do,’ she told him before they arrived. ‘I am entertaining a guest who might or might not be the individual you saw walking away from the telephone-box in Park Road.’

‘And you want to find out whether there’s any chance I can say yea or nay, I suppose? Well, there’s not much chance, I ought to tell you. You see, it was pretty gloomy, what with the evening and the rain and all that, and I only saw his back view, and not very close to, either. Still, I’ll do my best, of course. But if I’m not absolutely sure (and I don’t see how I can be) I’m not going to let the bloke in for trouble with the police.’

‘Fair enough, child, and I shall give you no prompting. I think myself that it is very unlikely that you will be able to commit yourself to any definite statement on the matter, but I feel compelled to try the experiment. Incidentally, this man is not suspected of having been Miss Faintley’s murderer. You need have no scruples about meeting him.’

‘I’m disappointed to hear that! I’ve never met a murderer except in wax, at Madame Tussaud’s, and I’d rather like to!’

They got back to the Stone House in plenty of time for lunch, and by the time the poverty-stricken young author had finished his meal and remembered that, on the same luxurious lines, there was dinner still to come, there was almost nothing he would not have done for his hostess. He eyed Bannister with cautious curiosity, and, as soon as opportunity offered (which was when Laura took Bannister off to look at Mrs Bradley’s pigs… her Oxfordshire nephew having insisted upon presenting her that year with a litter of Large Whites so that she need not eat ewe mutton unless she wanted to) he shook his head and said:

‘It’s all right. I’m absolutely positive. He’s far too tall. The fellow I saw was about my own height… certainly not more. Besides, this man’s got an entirely different walk. Even with his blazer collar turned up, as he’s got it now, and slouching along with his head forward and his hands in his pockets, he doesn’t look in the least like my bloke, who was walking with his coat collar up, too, because of the rain.’

‘You are positive?’

‘Positive. You see, my job makes me sort of register things, especially sensory impressions. Oh, no, this isn’t