‘What?’
Dover was beginning to go oft Miss Tootle in a big way. ‘Well, how long has she been staying here?’
Miss Tootle inclined her head and read the information oft her card. ‘She arrived just over a week ago.’
‘Wherefrom?’
‘I’ve no idea. She gave me a home address in Birmingham.’ Miss Tootle broke off to administer a stinging rebuke. ‘Would you mind not scuffling about on the carpet with your feet like that, Dover? It takes all the goodness out of the pile.’
Dover’s jaw dropped but, under Miss Tootle’s steely gaze, he kept his feet in their filthy boots under control. ‘Did the Jones girl give any references?’
Miss Tootle looked down her nose. ‘I don’t hold with references. I prefer to rely on my own judgement and the tact that all my inmates pay a fortnight’s rent in advance and no credit. That usually weeds the sheep out from the goats.’
Dover was running out of steam. ‘What about her friends?’
‘What about them?’ Miss Tootle didn’t give an inch.
‘Well, does she have any?’
‘How should I know?’
‘A boy-friend?’ asked Dover hopefully. He looked hard at the chair standing m front of Miss Tootle’s desk but the mental telepathy didn’t work and he still wasn’t invited to sit down.
‘No men are allowed in the hostel,’ said Miss Tootle with an air of such viciousness that MacGregor cringed back involuntarily.
Dover raised his bowler hat slightly and scratched the top of his head. ‘Does she have any phone calls?’
‘Not allowed, except in cases of dire emergency and through me.’
‘Er – do you know where she works?’
‘In a cafe somewhere, I think,’ said Miss Tootle indifferently. She put her card index away. ‘In the evening, I believe. She’s never in for supper.’
Abruptly Dover chucked in the sponge and it was left to MacGregor to carry on with the questioning. ‘Is Miss Jones in the hostel now?’
‘I should be very surprised if she were.’
‘Oh?’
Miss Tootle shrugged her shoulders. ‘She’s skipped. Thursday, I think it was. Annie caught her leaving with a suitcase. She asked her where she thought she was going and the girl said she was just taking her washing round to the launderette. Naturally, we don’t permit any washing to be done in the rooms or bathrooms here. Of course, the minute Annie reported the incident to me I suspected what had happened. I checked her room. She’d done a Hit all right, but the sheets and blankets were still there and that’s all I was worried about.’
MacGregor was getting quite excited and he even risked a glance of triumph at Dover. ‘We’d like to see Miss Jones’s room,’ he said.
‘You can’t. There’s already another girl in it. A Japanese. Besides, it wouldn’t do you any good, even if our rules permitted it which they don’t. The room was thoroughly cleaned out before re-letting and bears no traces of the Jones girl’s occupancy. Annie has a very heavy hand with the duster.’
‘You don’t waste much time,’ said MacGregor sourly.
‘We have a very rapid turnover,’ agreed Miss Tootle with evident satisfaction. ‘Nobody stays here long.’
‘No?’ MacGregor refused to be down-hearted, though ‘Miss Jones’s stay may have been short,’ he said, ‘but she was here for some time. Didn’t she make friends with any of the other girls?’
‘Miss Jones kept herself very much to herself.’
‘Oh, come now!’ MacGregor chided Miss Tootle in a rather familiar way. ‘She must have chummed up a bit with somebody.’
‘There’s Miss Montmorency, I suppose,’ allowed Miss Tootle, if only to prove that nothing escaped her aquiline eye.
MacGregor rewarded this cooperation with his most dazzling smile. ‘And where can we find Miss Montmorency?’
In for a penny, in for a pound. Miss Tootle consulted the man’s pocket watch which she wore on a bootlace round her neck. ‘She might still be in her room. She works in a supermarket in the mornings and then goes to shorthand and typing classes in the evening. Or so she says. Personally I never believe a word these girls say. Most of them are augmenting their incomes in some disgraceful way or another. If Miss Montmorency is in, you may interview her out in the hall.’ While she had been speaking Miss Tootle had pressed a bell on her desk. Now the door opened and the ubiquitous and omnipresent Annie came shuffling into the room, bearing a tray which contained one – and one only – cup of tea.
‘There was no call to go ringing that dratted bell,’ muttered Annie. ‘I was just bringing it.’ She dumped the tray on the desk and jerked her head at the two detectives. ‘Do they want any?’
‘Yes!’ cried Dover.
‘If it isn’t too much trouble,’ said MacGregor.
‘No!’ said Miss Tootle, and it was her word that carried weight. ‘I wasn’t ringing for my tea, anyhow. I want you to go and see if Miss Montmorency is in her room Fifty-three. Tell her a couple of policemen from Scotland Yard want to see her right away in the hall.’
‘She’ll have a fit if I tell her that!’ protested Annie.
‘Let her!’ said Miss Tootle.
Miss Montmorency, however, was not in the least perturbed by the prospect of two flatties come to see her. She came bouncing down the stairs like a breath of fresh air and the American cavalry. She was a large, happy-natured girl who prided herself on having a really cracking sense of humour. ‘Welcome to Colditz!’ she called as soon as she was within loud-hailer distance. ‘Have they told you you’ve got to share your Red Cross parcels?’
Dover was resting his seventeen and a quarter stone of flab and fat on a wilting umbrella stand. It was not the sort of thing he would have chosen to sit upon but it was the only piece of furniture in a hall chilly with shiny brown tiles and glossy bottle-green paint.
Miss Montmorency acknowledged the introductions with undiminished cheerfulness and listened eagerly as MacGregor gave a very circumspect
