Late, Late in the Evening

'If that is your story,' I thought, 'we shall find out whether or not you are wise to stick to it.'

He looked at his watch and exclaimed that he was due in the surgery in five minutes' time. From the front window (for my sitting-room faces the village street) I watched him unhitch his horse and canter away. I am reluctant to think of him as a murderer. Besides, even supposing he had killed Merle Patterson, there seems no reason why he should also have murdered Mr Ward unless the latter had been an eyewitness of the first killing, and this, as the medical evidence has now established, is quite impossible, otherwise we might be that much further on in our enquiries.

Doctor Tassall had made one helpful remark during our conversation, although I doubted whether, in the end, it would prove to have very much significance. Even if his call to the pregnant Mrs Collins turned out to be as mythical as I was inclined to think it was, it did not necessarily mean that he had been determined to lie about it in order to give himself time and opportunity to commit murder. I still felt that the call was far more likely to have been for the reason I have already postulated; that is, in order to get out of an embarrassing situation at Hill House. I was prepared, therefore, to keep an entirely open mind on his behalf.

I did not know at the time whether Mrs Collins was a village woman or whether she lived in the town, but I did not think I should experience much difficulty in finding her. I did not want to ask Doctor Tassall for her address, this for obvious reasons, but to Doctor Matters I was unknown and the woman's name and address were certain to be among his files, even though theoretically she was now Doctor Tassall's patient.

A telephone call seemed the best way of making contact with Doctor Matters. I mentioned Mrs Kempson's name, which was politely but cautiously received.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

NO ALIBIS

In the end Doctor Matters suggested that I should call and see him. He said that, owing to his advanced years, he rested for an hour and a half every afternoon while Doctor Tassall was out on the rounds and that he would expect me at a quarter to three.

He lived in a detached, creeper-covered residence about halfway between the village and the town and he received me in a ground-floor room whose furniture had seen better days, but which had a pleasant outlook on to a colourful, untidy, extremely long garden.

He took my hand and then waved me to a chair, took the one opposite, leaned forward and looked me over as though I were a patient he suspected of malingering in order to obtain a medical certificate to remain away from work.

'Well,' he said, 'you look healthy enough to me.'

'Quite,' I replied, 'but it is not about my health that I came to consult you.'

'I don't support charitable enterprises.'

'I am wary of them myself. Allow me to come to the point.'

'Dear me!' he said, his less than benevolent gaze becoming hostile. Are you one of these troublesome women who think they ought to have equal pay with men?'

'I have been adequately paid for some years. I am also, like yourself, a medical practitioner. Perhaps you would care to see my credentials,' I retorted.

'No need,' he said shortly. 'You wouldn't offer them if you didn't have them. What do you want?'

'I want to know whether your patient, Mrs Collins, has had a baby within the past three weeks.'

'Paternity order?'

'Not so far as I am aware. I want to know whether Doctor Tassall, your assistant, attended her confinement and on what date.'

'Why? Does he say he did? Did the careless young fool lose the baby? Is he suspected of any kind of unprofessional conduct? What the devil is all this?'

'It concerns a possible charge of murder.'

'You can't convict a medical man of murder, even if he kills mother and child.'

'If you would be kind enough to look up your files? I assure you that it is of the utmost importance. Doctor Tassall is not suspected of killing Mrs Collins, nor her baby. It must be established, however, for his sake, that he did visit Mrs Collins late in the evening of last Saturday fortnight when he was called out from a birthday party at Hill Manor House.'

'What did you mean about a charge of murder? Young Tassall is a butterfly and a jackanapes, a trifler with young women's affections, a parasite and an arbutus, but he wouldn't murder anyone except in the course of duty and that, as I've already asserted, can't be held against him.'

'The murder of a young woman with whose affections he had trifled could be held against him,' I pointed out, picking up my cue, 'so the sooner you provide him with an alibi the better.'

'God bless my soul!' he said. 'I suppose you're serious?'

'I am officially concerned with the case as the accredited representative of the Home Office, because I am its consultant psychiatrist.'

'Oh? One of those...'

'Quacks?'

'No, no, of course not. I-let me see. Did the maid bring me your card? Yes, yes, here it is. Dear me! Oh, dear, dear me! Yes, of course, of course. And you want to consult our files. What was that date again?' I gave it to him. He had no filing cabinet, so he pulled out various drawers in a large desk and groped and fumbled among the miscellaneous contents, muttering to himself as he threw some of them on to the floor, 'List! List! There's a list of patients somewhere, I know there is! Ah!' he exclaimed at last.

Apparently he had found what he was looking for. He produced out of the miscellany a set of handwritten papers pinned together at the top left-hand corner, handed it to me and said,