“Of all the silly places to park oneself in a fog.” Hitchcock grabbed the sheet of paper on which he’d been making notes, folded it and slipped it into his inside jacket pocket. Alma was in the sitting room at the mirror putting on her hat.
“Come on,” urged Hitchcock, “we’ve no time for fussing.” They hurried out of the flat, Hitchcock closing the door behind them. As they hurried down the stairs, they could hear the phone ringing, but there was no time for turning back.
In his office, Michael Jennings decided to let the Hitchcocks’ number ring a few more times and then gave up. Then he returned his attention to Peter Dowerty, who was seated across the desk from him. “Strange. He phoned only half an hour ago.”
“Hitchcock?”
“Yes. I suppose they’ve gone out, but in this weather, one need but question why?”
“Angus will be on their tail.” He referred to his notebook. “Shall I get on with this?” Jennings nodded and leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind the back of his head, staring at the ceiling and absorbing the information he was hearing. “The blonde was quite a looker and spent at least a half hour with the Hitchcocks. She fits the description of the woman the sheriff reported was at the inn last night in Shamley Green.”
“He didn’t report any other strangers in the village?”
“Just some lorry drivers who had coffee and sandwiches at the local coffee shop. It stays open late for the lorry drivers.”
“You got a good look at this woman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Despite the fog?”
“I was under the lamppost which was where she parked her car.”
“And so?”
Dowerty smiled broadly and winked. “I wouldn’t mind finding her head on my pillow the next morning.”
“The license number, you nit. Did you get the license number and did you check it out?”
“Yes, sir, yes, sir,” said Dowerty hastily. “I’ve got a tracer on it. I recognized the code number on the license plate. It’s from a car-hire firm.”
“And when she left the Hitchcocks?”
“I was on the other side of the street then. She might remember if she’d seen my face under the streetlight, and I didn’t want to arouse her suspicion.”
“All you aroused was yourself.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Anything else?”
“Angus arrived to replace me.”
“And you distinctly heard her say into the intercom, It’s me, Nancy Adair. “
“Yes, sir.”
Jennings yawned and stretched. “You know something, Dowerty, I sometimes think police work could be very injurious to one’s health.” The phone rang. “Get that, will you, Dowerty? I’m feeling a bit wilted.”
Dowerty said into the phone, “Detective Superintendent Jennings’ office.”
In the sitting room of their flat, Hitchcock, looking harassed, asked to speak to Jennings. When Jennings came on the phone, he told him about being called away to meet Regner in Hyde Park. “He wasn’t there,” said Hitchcock, “and of course it was most annoying, especially in this dreadful weather. But I’m afraid we fell into some sort of trap.”
“Trap? What do you mean? You weren’t attacked by someone, were you?” Jennings was clutching the phone tightly, his concern infecting Dowerty, who leaned forward, to be able to catch snatches of Hitchcock’s conversation. “Oh, nothing so melodramatic. It seems we were tricked out of the flat so someone could break in and steal Regner’s manuscript/’ He could hear Jennings relaying the information to Dowerty. “It’s not a terribly good manuscript, but then, it’s the only clue we’ve got, isn’t it?” Then he remembered. “Hold on! I made a sheet of notes of my own and that’s safely in my jacket pocket. Now why would anyone want to steal a manuscript? That’s a bit hairy, don’t you think?” Then he thought again. “I wonder if it could be that blasted Adair woman.”
Jennings played his role suavely and asked, “What Adair woman?”
Hitchcock told him about her persistence in seeking an interview, which he’d finally granted, and then remembered to tell Jennings of his experience with her on the road to the cottage the previous day. Jennings carefully made notes and then asked Hitchcock, “Is there anything else missing from the flat?” Hitchcock told him Alma had made a hasty inventory and certainly no jewelry was missing, although there was nothing else of much value in the place.
On another phone in Jennings’ office, Dowerty was listening to Angus McKellin’s report on the wild-goose chase trailing the Hitchcocks to Hyde Park, McKellin phoning from the kiosk across the street from the Hitchcocks’ building, a vantage point from which he could still keep an eye on the place. Dowerty told him Jennings was getting the details from Hitchcock himself on the other phone, and McKellin rang off, wishing the bloody fog would lift.
Hitchcock was saying to Jennings, “My conversation with Regner last night was quite brief and certainly fraught with emotion on his part, but I should have guessed I was being fooled by an imitator.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t an impersonation,” suggested Jennings. “Perhaps it really was Regner.”
“Why would he wish to steal his own manuscript?” Jennings smiled and said, “Quite right, Mr. Hitchcock. Quite right. Is the lock on the
