‘I see that Rupert’s found you. You’ve been told he’s friendly?’
‘Telling me so himself, isn’t he?’
Atkins was behind Denton now, over by the fireplace. Denton looked towards him, made a face and rolled his eyes towards the trunk before saying to the detective, ‘Ah, I’m working, you know.’
‘Yes, sir, but so are most people. No good time to talk to the Metropolitan Police, is what it comes down to.’
‘Is this about Cosgrove? Why are you coming to talk to me
‘Yes, sir. It won’t surprise you to hear that the police have been busy, too, I’m sure.’
While this had gone on, Atkins, with one smooth movement, had picked up a travelling rug from the chair opposite Denton’s and draped it over Mary Thomason’s trunk, then brushed the chair seat as if that was what he had meant to do all along, and thrown nonexistent dirt into the coals. ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ he said now in a voice that made both men look at him. Atkins had put on a stern expression. ‘You expressly wanted the sweep in this morning while you wasn’t in this room. If I may, I recommend you repair to your study so as not to suffer the discomfort of the chimney.’
‘Oh — ah — yes, I’d forgotten. Detective Markson — if you don’t mind — upstairs-?’
Markson murmured apologies for upsetting the whole house, but by the time he’d finished they were on their way up to the next floor. Denton’s bedroom-study looked sufficiently workmanlike, Denton thought — Atkins had long since made the bed and hung up the clothes — and he pulled out a chair for Markson as he sat at his desk. ‘As you see — I was working-’
‘I’ll make this quick, sir. Only two things, really. First, a question or two.’ His questions were the ones Denton had already answered — why he’d gone into the house behind, was there any possibility that ‘the man Cosgrove’s’ letters were still about somewhere. Had he received any more letters from the man Cosgrove? When they were done with those, Markson opened the black box and held up the manuscript that Albert Cosgrove had left in the other house.
‘You’ve seen this, sir?’
‘Some of it.’
‘Which you allege is lifted from a book of your own, is it?’
‘I thought so.’
‘Which one?’
‘It’s the opening paragraph of
‘Left in this house while you were away, sir?’
‘In a drawer of this desk.’ He pulled open the drawer as if to prove that, there being a drawer there, it must be where the outline had been left.
Markson sniffed. Munro had said Markson was capable; Denton would take his word for it. The questions seemed to him repetitive and obvious, but Markson was perhaps the dogged kind who dotted every i. Now, he said, ‘We’d like to have your reading of this manuscript, Mr Denton.’ Before Denton could say anything, he went on, ‘Literary criticism isn’t common at New Scotland Yard. We’d like to know what you see in it — if there’s anything more of your own, for one thing. And what you find in it — what sort of mind this chap has, what he thinks he’s doing.’
‘Detective, I’m trying to finish a book!’
‘And we’re trying to catch a criminal that attacked you, sir.’
‘He didn’t hurt me.’
‘Also broke into the house over there and, it looks like, broke into this house as well. Anything else missing, by the way?’
Denton stared at the desk. ‘I think a pen.’ It sounded absurd. He’d noticed only that morning that a pen he sometimes used wasn’t there.
‘Yes, sir. That sounds right. Anything else? How about clothing? ’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Underclothing?’ The question surprised Denton, suggested a sophistication he hadn’t expected in Markson.
‘You’d have to ask Atkins. I don’t keep track.’
‘Yes, sir. You’ll read the manuscript?’
‘Oh — if I have to-’ He reached for it.
‘At New Scotland Yard, I’m afraid, sir. Evidence. I had to sign for it, myself. This afternoon?’
Denton allowed himself the luxury, later to be the cause of self-flagellation, of blowing up. It had no effect. One of the qualities Munro may have been thinking of when he’d said that Markson was capable was a calm stubbornness. When Denton’s tantrum was over, Markson said, ‘Yes, sir. What time would be best for you?’
Denton had another, lesser eruption. When he had subsided, he was aware of voices downstairs, then that one was a woman’s, which he sorted out as Janet Striker’s. He was out of the chair and down the stairs in seconds. She was standing at the far end of the room with Atkins and the dog. The trunk, which he’d feared Atkins would already have uncovered again, wasn’t there.
‘I’ve just come for the-’ she began.
‘Detective!’ Denton shouted. ‘I’m with a detective from the Metropolitan Police. Uuuhhh-’ He was aware of Markson’s coming up behind him.
Janet Striker smiled and held out her hand. ‘How nice to see you again, Mr Denton. I’ve just come for the donation you promised us.’
‘Aaahh-’ He was shaking her hand. ‘This is Mrs Striker of the Society for the Improvement of Wayward Women. Um — Detective Markson.’
Then Denton said he’d write a cheque; she said that would be very fine of him; Atkins took the dog away; and Markson said he would go. ‘Three o’clock today, sir?’
‘Oh, if I have to. Yes, all right — all right-’
Markson went down the stairs quickly, seeming light on his feet. Moments later, Denton heard Atkins close the front door on him.
Janet Striker was giggling. He’d never heard her giggle before; it was a minor revelation. He said, ‘I was afraid you’d mention the damned trunk.’
‘I know!’ She went off into laughter again, this time more boisterously. He thought perhaps he was seeing some sort of metamorphosis in her, the result of leaving the Society — maybe of leaving an entire way of life. ‘Is he gone?’
Denton looked out, didn’t see Markson, glanced up and down out of habit for Albert Cosgrove. ‘You brought a cab.’
‘I’m not about to carry the trunk to Euston station on my shoulder. Well!’ She laughed again. ‘That was fun.’
‘I have to go to New Scotland Yard at three to read that damned lunatic’s scribbles.’
‘I’ll be on my way back from Biggleswade by then. Did you get the drawing photographed?’
‘Atkins did, I hope.’ He turned to bellow for Atkins, found him standing ten feet away with the trunk in his arms.
‘Of course I did,’ Atkins said. ‘Prints ready tomorrow.’
‘Where’s the drawing?’
‘In the trunk.’
She interrupted, ‘We found it under most of the other things.’
‘I put it towards the bottom, with the sketchbook, madam.’
‘You’re a pearl of great price.’
Atkins smiled the gracious smile of royalty receiving tribute. ‘I’ll just put it in the cab.’
When he was gone, Denton said, ‘I’m losing my mind, between the book and these interruptions.’
‘No you’re not. You’re the sanest man I’ve ever known — also the best. There! You see what comes out when I’m contented.’
‘So I’m forgiven? Will you have dinner with me?’
‘Can’t — I’m having dinner with my solicitor. It’s all about money, mostly about when I get some from the lawsuit. I’m as poor as a church mouse, Denton — getting that money is important to me. What did Geddys
