We have, ma'am. He hasn't been back for two days.
But why do you want him? What has he done wrong?
Macmurdo smiled.
There's no need to get upset, ma'am. Most of the people the police interview haven't done anything wrong. Mr Sorme, do you have any idea where we might contact Mr Nunne?
I'm afraid not. What about his parents' home?
No. He's not there. When did you last see him?
I… I think… on Saturday. I had lunch with him on Saturday.
Have you had any contact with him since?
No. I've tried to phone him at his flat several times.
I see. For any particular reason?
No. He's quite a close friend of mine.
You've no idea where he might be?
None at all. Miss Quincey might have more idea than me.
Miss Quincey shook her head.
I'm afraid not. But he often goes off for days without bothering to tell anyone.
Macmurdo asked Sorme:
Did he tell you he was likely to be going away for a few days?
No.
I see. Well, thank you very much. Sorry to have troubled you.
Miss Quincey said:
But can't you tell us what it's about? His family must be terrified… with the police making enquiries about him.
Why, ma'am? Have they any reason to feel worried about him?
Well… no. But when the police start to enquire… it would be hardly surprising if they were worried. Can't you give me some idea of whether it's serious?
Before Macmurdo could reply, Sorme said:
You're investigating the Whitechapel murders, aren't you?
Yes. How did you know?
I've seen your name in the papers.
Miss Quincey sat down. She said:
Murders? Is Austin involved in…?
Her voice trailed off. Watching her, Sorme was surprised and pleased; she was showing exactly the right degree of uncertainty. Macmurdo said soothingly:
We only want to ask him a few questions. He might be able to help us.
Sorme said:
I thought the murderer had been caught?
The Inspector and the sergant exchanged glances. It was the sergeant who replied:
So did we, until last night.
Has there been another murder?
Macmurdo said: Yes.
He walked towards the door, followed by the sergeant. Miss Quincey said:
But what could Austin know about it?
Macmurdo said:
He may know nothing, ma'am. That's why we want to see him. If you hear from him, I'd be grateful if you'd let us know. You too, Mr Sorme. Good morning.
Miss Quincey sat, staring at him, until the door closed. They watched the two figures walking back up the drive. She said:
So… it looks as if it is Austin they're looking for?
I… don't know. If there was a murder last night… it's hardly surprising, is it? They'd want to question everybody even remotely connected with it. Besides, they can't be very suspicious of Austin, or they'd have asked more questions. They didn't even ask me about the Kensington flat…
Do you think they know about it?
Surely they must. They aren't as slack as all that.
He stopped, staring out of the window; they heard the sound of a car engine starting. He said slowly:
I just… don't know. I don't know what to believe.
She said quietly:
If he's guilty, there's nothing we can do.
She went out of the room before the meaning of her words came home to him. He switched off the fire, and went out. He heard her bedroom door open; when he went in, she was powdering her nose at the dressing-table. He said:
Listen, Gertrude. Tell me something. Supposing he is guilty. Would you let them hang him?
She looked at him from the mirror; her face was surprised.
What could I do?
Wouldn't you even try to help him?
She turned around to stare at him.
You mean… if Austin had killed all those women?
As she said it, he saw the dawning of belief in her eyes. It was no longer a remote possibility, too improbable to consider. The shock was reflected back in him. It was the first time he had considered it as a simple matter of crime and punishment. He said:
I can't believe he's the killer. After all, he's homosexual. But I'm certain he knows something about it. All the evidence points that way.
But how? How can he?
He moves among perverts. There's a kind of freemasonry. Anyway, it might not be one man who's responsible. It could be several… a society, even.
You mean… a society for killing?
Well, it could be. There have been stranger things. The thugs of India were a religious society.
He could see her clutching at the idea; it was a way out. He sat on the edge of the bed, and sank deeply into it. She said:
You think Austin could be somehow involved…
He knew what she meant; 'involved' was a euphemism for 'misled', 'corrupted'. He said:
It's possible. Most of these sadistic ventures seem to be communal. Anyway, it's probable that he knows something about it.
She said:
We ought to find him. Do you think it's safe to go to Leatherhead?
We could try. Perhaps if we went to see Glasp on the way, they wouldn't bother to follow us. Anyway, they may not be interested.
As he spoke, he was remembering the fact that Macmurdo was in charge of the case, and that nothing was less likely. For a moment, he was assailed by a temptation to leave it alone. He recognised the same doubt in Miss Quincey's face. He said: We'd better find out about this other murder before we do anything. It may have no connection with the previous murders. Perhaps they've really got the killer…
She said:
If it was Austin, there'd be nothing we could do.
He looked at her, and recognised the incipient defeat in her eyes. He said quickly:
Maybe.
You don't think it is, do you?
He resisted the impulse to turn the question aside; it sprang from a desire to protect her, and the time for protecting her might be limited. He said deliberately:
My sweet, it's no use ignoring it. He could be the killer. It is possible. I don't want to believe it. I don't want it
