‘So you saw this man walking along the road?’
‘Yes, that’s right. He’d parked his car right down at the far end of the road and he came walking along on the opposite side. He came along past me and I noticed he was looking at the numbers. So, naturally, I thought he didn’t quite have his bearings and so he’d left his car while he looked for the house he wanted on foot. Well, as I was saying, he passed our house on the other side of the road and then I saw him stop at Mrs Perking’s house. I wasn’t taking all that much notice, of course, it being no concern of mine, but I do happen to know they never have any callers. Leastways, not at the front door. So I was quite surprised to see this man open the garden gate and walk up to the front door. He rang the bell and after a bit Mrs Perking came. I could see her quite clearly and I know her very well by sight so there aren’t any doubts on that score. Well, she said a few words to him and he went inside the house and they closed the door behind them.
‘Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather, because, like I said, they never have any visitors, not neighbours or anybody. They keep themselves very much to themselves, the Perkings do. Of course, I’ve no doubt she thought herself a cut above the rest of us and with him working at that travel agency place he doesn’t meet people at work like the Wibbley’s men do. Still, it was none of my business. Well, naturally, I waited to see what was going to happen next. And do you know how long I had to wait? Five-and-twenty minutes if it was a second. I thought he was never coming out. I was beginning to get worried about Mr Withycombe’s tea but I said to myself it wouldn’t do him any harm to have to wait for once. Well, it was just beginning to get dark when I saw the front door open and out he came.’
‘Did Mrs Perking let him out?’ asked MacGregor.
‘Not as far as I could see,’ said Mrs Withycombe, relishing the attention her recital was getting, ‘and I thought it was funny, even at the time. He just came out and pulled the door shut behind him. Well, I thought to myself— there’s manners for you! I was always taught it was a matter of common politeness to see your visitors off the premises, but then I suppose I’m a little old-fashioned about some things. Still, I was surprised about Mrs Perking. Some people’ —Mrs Withycombe just happened to be looking straight at Mrs Carruthers — ‘some people you could understand but not Mrs Perking, not with her breeding.’
‘What did this man do then?’
‘You might well ask!’ Mrs Withycombe lowered her voice dramatically. ‘He pulled his hat down over his eyes, turned up his overcoat collar and all but ran back to his car as if all the devils in hell were after him! Most suspicious behaviour, if you ask me. Then he turned his car round in the road and off he shot, back the way he’d come from.’
‘That would be back towards the centre of the town, would it?’ asked MacGregor.
‘That’s right,’ agreed Mrs Withycombe. ‘And it was all so quick. He ran away from that house as though Satan himself was on his heels. Of course, when I got to know later on what had happened, I began to put two and two together. I said to Mr Withycombe, Albert, I said, I believe I saw Mrs Perking’s murderer! And he said, well, my dear, in that case you had better go and make a statement to the police. You’re right, Albert, I said, that’s just what . . . ’
‘Here, hold your horses a minute!’ Everybody turned to look at Dover who, up till now, had been displaying an elaborate lack of interest in what Mrs Withycombe had to say. ‘When this chap left the house, was it raining?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs Withycombe, ‘pouring down it was. I remember thinking it would, just when Mr Withycombe would be coming home and I’d have all his wet things cluttering up my clean kitchen.’
‘Well, there you are!’ snorted Dover, addressing MacGregor. ‘That explains it, doesn’t it? Fellow turns his collar up and hurries off to his car because he doesn’t want to get wet. Nothing sinister in that, is there?’
‘Well, not by itself, sir,’ admitted MacGregor. ‘But the timing, sir, that strikes me as being very significant.’
‘It would!’ Dover sniffed disparagingly and turned to Mrs Withycombe. ‘Did you know this man?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Likely to recognize him again if you saw him?’
‘Well,’ —Mrs Withycombe was doubtful—‘I wouldn’t say yes and I woudn’t say no. I might, but I didn’t really get a good look at his face.’
‘Take a note of the car number, by any chance?’
Mrs Withycombe shook her head sadly.
‘Well, that’s that, isn’t it?’ said Dover, not unpleased by these negative answers. ‘Well, thank you very much. We know where to get in touch with you if we need you.’
‘Is that all?’ Mrs Withycombe’s face fell. She’d been preparing herself all morning for this dramatic encounter—her best coat, clean underwear and everything—and she felt she was entitled to something more than this rather off-hand dismissal.
‘That’s all!’ said Dover flatly.
‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’ve got a few further questions that I should like to put to Mrs Withycombe.’ From MacGregor’s point of view it was now or never. If he didn’t take the control of the investigation into his own hands at this stage, they’d finish up with yet another of Dover’s typical cases in which either nobody or the wrong man was charged. MacGregor had had too much experience of the Chief Inspector’s methods to harbour any doubt as to which way this one would go
