‘However, she said nothing about any new boy-friend and there wasn’t a ghost of a hint that she intended going away. In fact, there was a tentative arrangement that she would call round for one of the girls next Tuesday and go to the pictures with her.
It all depended whether Gordon Pilley was going to be in Creedon and whether the other girl got herself fixed up with a male date. Apparently, if neither girl could find anything better to do, they’d spend the evening together- Well, after Juliet had been hanging around for about half an hour, the owner of the shop came back and Juliet completed her purchases and left. She bought some stuff for tinting her hair, a box of mascara and this green nail-varnish stuff that Gordon Pilley mentioned.
‘After the chemist’s, she went to the post office and deposited seven pounds in her Post Office savings-book. We had a bit of luck there, sir. The post-office assistant also knew her, like everybody else in the place if you ask me, and she remembers that Juliet’s savings-book had to be sent up to the head office – to have the interest put in or something. Well, Juliet just filled in the envelope and handed the book over. It’s the same old story, isn’t it, sir? Doesn’t look like the action of someone who’s on the point of running away, does it?’
There was a long pause. ‘Humph,’ said Dover at last, still not opening his eyes. He eased himself slightly in his chair. ‘How much had she got in her savings account?’
‘I asked about that, sir,’ said MacGregor, not without a modest satisfaction. ‘The assistant couldn’t remember exactly, but it was a fair amount – about one hundred and fifty pounds, she thought. Of course, we can get the exact figure if you think it worth while.’
‘Humph,’ said Dover. ‘Well, go on.’
‘As far as I can gather, Juliet must have gone straight to the cinema cafe then. The waitress remembers her quite well, too. She was a regular customer, always with some man or other, usually Gordon Pilley, but the waitress described two or three others as well. While Juliet was waiting for Pilley, she spent the time undoing her packages and having a look at the things she’d bought. Then she opened up this green nail varnish and started doing her nails. The waitress says she’d already got some sort of silvery-pink varnish on and she just daubed this green stuff on top. The waitress thought it was a bit off-Juliet painting her nails at the tea table, but, apparently, she contented herself with black looks and didn’t say anything.
‘Then Pilley came and joined her and they had a high tea-plaice and chips, the waitress thinks.
‘I checked with the cinema and the pub too but I couldn’t get anything very definite in either place. Still, there was nothing to indicate that Pilley’s account of the evening isn’t pretty accurate.’
Sergeant MacGregor closed his notebook. ‘And that’s the lot, sir,’ he announced.
Dover’s mind crawled back laboriously from wherever it had got to and he groped lethargically for his beer.
‘Got another cigarette?’ he demanded. ‘Well,’ he went on with a sigh, ‘I reckon that just about leaves us where we were before. Frankly I don’t see much point in hanging about down here any longer. We shan’t get any further until that body turns up.’
‘If she’s dead,’ MacGregor put in.
‘Of course she’s dead!’ snapped Dover. ‘It’s the only explanation, so don’t start yapping on about kidnapping! I’ve told you before, kidnapping’s completely out of the question! Anyhow, I reckon we’d better go and see that old fool Bartlett tomorrow morning and tell him we’re getting nowhere fast. With a bit of luck we should be able to get away after lunch at the latest. You’d better look the trains up. Oh, and there’s one other thing I’d like you to check. You can nip up to Irlam Old Hall first thing before we go into Creedon – won’t take you a minute. They push Sir John Counter out in a wheel chair. Apparently the wheels used to squeak. Now, somebody’s oiled ’em recently, put quite a lot on, too. Eve Counter says she didn’t do it, but it’s possible that William Bondy might have done. Now, I want you to check whether he did. If he didn’t, find out if you can who did and where that wheel chair was on Tuesday night.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said MacGregor, ‘you think somebody might have used this bath chair thing for transporting Juliet?’
‘Yes.’ Dover didn’t sound over enthusiastic even though it was his idea. ‘It’s all a bit of a long shot, but you never know. Somebody might have killed Juliet on Tuesday night after Colonel Bing saw her, and found himself with this enormous corpse on his hands. She’d be the devil’s own weight to move any distance, even for a strong man. Well now, he might have thought about Sir John’s wheel chair, got hold of it, oiled the squeaking wheels and loaded Juliet into it.’
‘Yes,’ agreed MacGregor, rather surprised at the chief inspector’s ingenuity, ‘on the other hand, the murderer might have oiled those wheels before the murder. That’d make it premeditated, wouldn’t it? And in any case, sir,’ he pointed out eagerly, ‘this would narrow the field down a good bit, wouldn’t it? I mean, the murderer would have to know about the bath chair, and about the squeaky wheels, so it looks like somebody up at Irlam Old Hall. And it narrows down the field of the actual murder, too, doesn’t it? I mean, you wouldn’t go pushing a bath chair for miles in the middle of the night, either empty or with a
