Herbert. I told him I'd let him know what I discovered. I'll speak to him myself.'
We argued that point for a good five minutes, and then Simon capitulated.
'It may be the best way after all,' he said. He settled the bill and then led me out of the restaurant. 'What matters is to put this behind you as soon as you can.'
We had reached the pavement when I remembered something. Hearing a quick indrawn breath, Simon turned to me. 'What is it?'
'I ran into Jack Melton outside the Marlborough Hotel when I was in London with Lieutenant Hart. I felt an obligation, I don't know why, to tell him that on the night she died I'd seen Marjorie with a man I didn't recognize, and I think I said something about the Yard searching for this man, to help them with their inquiries. And he told me that I ought to be looking instead at Michael Hart. Little did he know.' I paused. 'Or did he? No, somehow I have a feeling that Raymond Melton keeps himself to himself.'
Simon swore under his breath in Urdu, thinking I wouldn't recognize the words, but I did. Bazaar life is very colorful. A child's ear soon picks up bits and pieces of Hindi and Urdu. I quickly learned which words I could and could not repeat in front of my elders.
'How close is he to his brother, do you know?'
'I can't answer that,' I told him.
'Then the sooner you get to the Yard, the safer you will be.' He shook his head. 'There's something wrong with this whole affair, Bess. Don't you feel it as well? Something rather-sinister. You've learned too much, for one thing, and for another, the murder of Marjorie Evanson was particularly vicious. Don't tempt her killer, whoever he may be, to try again.'
'But Raymond Melton is in France.' I wasn't as convinced as Simon was.
'For the moment.'
'Do you think he knows where she was going after the train left?'
'Would she tell him? Perhaps she would, to make him jealous.'
What had been set in motion that rainy evening in the railway station? Was that only the tip of the problem, the more visible half? What about Michael Hart?
I realized all at once that we were standing in everyone's way as they came and went from the restaurant, forcing them to part like the Red Sea around us.
'We can't discuss it here.' Simon took my arm and led me to the motorcar, holding my door for me. He turned the crank with more than his usual vigor, then got behind the wheel. 'We can't talk in your flat either. Where would you like to go?' When I didn't answer, he said, 'Scotland Yard? Even if Inspector Herbert isn't there, we'll tell someone else what you know. It will be finished, Bess.'
'Yes,' I said. Reluctantly. But I knew he was right.
As it happened, Inspector Herbert had just returned from Bermondsey, and we had to wait half an hour for him to make his report to his superiors. Finally I heard his footsteps, loud on the bare floorboards, as he came down the passage, and then he opened his office door and was shaking hands. I explained Simon's presence, and after that we all sat down.
I had a distinct impression of cold feet-they wanted to carry me back out of the room again as fast as possible. But it was too late.
'Well,' Inspector Herbert was saying. 'What brings you here, Miss Crawford?'
Simon opened his mouth but I forestalled him.
Inspector Herbert listened carefully as I told him what I knew about the man at the station. And he asked to see the photograph that I'd given Simon.
'It belongs to someone. I promised to bring it back to her as soon as possible.'
He was busy scanning the face of Raymond Melton. After a moment, he reached into his drawer and drew out a looking glass. 'You're quite sure this is Captain Melton?' he asked after a moment, still bent over the picture. He reached up to turn on the lamp at his elbow and brought it closer. I thought to myself that by the time he gave that photograph back to me, Inspector Herbert would have memorized Melton's face.
Straightening up, he turned off the lamp, set the glass back inside his drawer, and leaned back into his chair. 'What did Marjorie Evanson say to this man, on that rainy evening in London?' he mused. 'What did it set in motion, that meeting?'
'She may have kept her own counsel,' Simon pointed out. 'Given his conduct.'
'Yes, that's possible. I expect she was too upset to dine anywhere, and she wouldn't wish to be seen by anyone she knew. We've looked into tea shops between the railway station and the river. Churches are more difficult-they're often empty at that time of day. She could sit quietly in one until she'd recovered, with no one the wiser. It seems unlikely that she'd turn to a friend-no one has come forward, at any rate. I'll try to bring Melton back to England for questioning. Although since he's made no effort to contact me, I don't have much hope in that direction. At least we have a witness who puts him there with Mrs. Evanson. We've tried to find others, but the stationmaster tells us it was very busy, and a weeping woman seeing a soldier off is too common. People try to pass by without looking, give them a modicum of privacy.'
'If he's Jack Melton's brother,' Simon commented, 'he can't claim he didn't know she'd been killed.'
I confessed, 'I've told his brother about seeing a man with Marjorie the night she died. But I didn't know then who he was. I was trying to help Jack Melton get to the truth before his wife did. She's frantically searching for someone to blame. Serena Melton is likely to do something rash. And it won't bring her brother back.'
Inspector Herbert was staring at me, weighing up what I was saying.
'Yes. Well. I don't think any harm has been done.' He leaned forward, his elbows on his cluttered desk. 'Since you didn't know his brother, and you aren't likely to meet him, Commander Melton won't be unduly worried. The likelihood is that his brother hasn't confessed his adultery, anyway. Especially if he learned Mrs. Evanson was murdered that evening. Is Captain Melton married, do you know?'
'Yes.' It was Simon who answered. 'So I've been informed. There are two children.'
'All the more reason to keep his-relationship-from everyone. Doesn't speak well of his character, does it?' Inspector Herbert turned to me. 'It's amazing that you found this photograph. Well done.'
I said, giving credit where it was due, 'It was Sergeant-Major Brandon who put a name to the face.'
Inspector Herbert smiled. 'You can safely leave this matter to us now. Which reminds me, about Michael Hart-'
I had done enough damage, talking out of turn. 'I see no reason for him to lie. If he says he was shot at, then he was. The local people will probably discover it was boys who came across their father's service revolver and were tempted to try it.' I cast about quickly for a way to change the course of the conversation. 'You haven't told me-has that man from Oxford been found?'
'He was apprehended in Derby. I don't think we need to concern ourselves with him any longer.'
'And Lieutenant Fordham?'
'Ah. That's another matter.'
I waited, and after a moment he said finally, 'Lieutenant Fordham knew Marjorie Evanson in London, before she was married. His mother was a friend of her late aunt's. As he had never married, we wondered if the friendship had been renewed while he was convalescing. Mrs. Evanson escorted him to medical appointments on a number of occasions. He was one of several wounded she volunteered to work with. She would meet a train, see that the patient got to his destination and then back to the train.'
That explained why no one in Little Sefton knew of him, and why Marjorie's staff didn't know the name. They had been hired after her marriage to Meriwether Evanson. Michael had helped select them.
But why had she let her aunt's staff go?
It seemed that everything I learned generated more questions.
I thanked Inspector Herbert, and he nodded.
'Finding this photograph was a piece of luck. We've been on the point of setting this inquiry aside for lack of new information.' He smiled ruefully at Simon. 'You'd think, in a time of war, when England is fighting for her life, people would put their petty differences aside and work together. But crime never goes away. We're shorthanded here at the Yard, but the number of cases seems to climb by the day.'
It was a way of reminding us that he was busy. But I had one more question for him. 'Captain Fordham,' I said. 'How did he die? You never told me the outcome of your investigation.'
At first I thought he would tell me it was police business and not mine. But he said, 'That's a very odd affair.
