“What’s that?”
“One of them is named Brown.”
Roger sat back in his chair. Eddie Day, who was making a pretence of working but was actually listening, exclaimed: “Crikey!”
“Another Brown, is he?” murmured Roger. “Tony Brown’s brother lived out there, remember.”
“I remember. Where shall I meet you?” Turnbull asked.
“C Division Headquarters,” Roger said.
He was there in half an hour, and Turnbull drove him to the home of Mr Brown. He had already picked up some information about the man. Brown was married, and had just moved into a flat which he and his wife shared with a man called Deaken. Little else was known about him, and it was not even certain that Brown was still at the flat, which had not been under observation until nearly five o’clock that afternoon. Brown might have left at any time during the day.
A plain-clothes officer from the Division was strolling along the street. He recognised West and saluted, but walked on.
The house was a modern villa, turned into two flats. Roger and Turnbull walked up a short path to the front door which was unlatched; there were two doors inside a tiny hall, and one of them stood open.
A girl of three or four came solemnly towards them, stared, and asked shyly: “Do you want to see my mummy?”
“It’s the upstairs flat, sir,” said Turnbull.
“Not just now, thanks,” said Roger, smiling down, and pressed the bell of the upper flat as the little girl stood watching. A woman called out to her, but she ignored the summons. Roger wished the woman would keep quiet; it was impossible to hear any movement on the stairs.
He rang again.
“Mary, come along in!” A flustered, sharp-faced woman appeared at the door of the ground-floor flat. “I’m sorry she’s so disobedient. I simply can’t do anything with her.”
“I’ve two boys of my own, so I’m used to children.” Roger made himself smile. “Do you know if anyone’s in upstairs?”
“Well, I think Mrs Brown is.” The woman tidied her hair, and looked at the bell. “I should ring again if I were you; that bell doesn’t always work properly. I do hope there isn’t anything the matter.”
“What makes you think there might be?” asked Roger.
“Well—I think Mr Brown hurt himself last night; he was out late, I know,” the woman answered. “And it was quite early this morning when Mrs Brown came downstairs to borrow my first-aid kit. That’s right, sir, keep your finger on the bell. Listen.” She craned her neck towards the door. “There it is now. I can hear it.”
Footsteps on the stairs became audible, too.
The woman showed no inclination to go, and as soon as die door opened she burst out: “Oh, Mrs Brown, this gentleman couldn’t make the bell ring, so I told him to keep his finger on it. I do hope Mr Brown is better.”
The girl in the doorway said, “Sure, he’s all right.”
She was a plump little creature with a mop of fair hair, a good figure, and round blue eyes. She looked tired, and the sight of the callers obviously alarmed her. She licked her lips, glancing from Roger to Turnbull, and then asked sharply: “Well, what is it?”
“I’d like to sec Mr Brown, please,” Roger said.
“He’s out.” The words seemed to leap from her.
“Then perhaps you can spare me a few minutes, Mrs Brown?”
“Oh, you’d better come in,” she said at last, and stood aside, glaring at her neighbour and the child.
Roger and Turnbull stepped inside, and followed her up a flight of narrow stairs which were carpeted in plain green. Mrs Brown walked quickly, and Roger could see the back of her knees and half way up her sturdy, bare thighs, because her linen frock was too short. She had very full calves, arid ankles which tapered away to small, sandal- clad feet. Turnbull made a smacking motion with his big right hand.
“I’ve told you: no, he isn’t! I wouldn’t have let you in, either, if that damned busybody downstairs hadn’t been gawking; she never could keep her nose out of our business!” Mrs Brown turned to face them, her lips trembling, her voice hoarse with emotion. Fear? “I can’t tell you anything, it’s no use asking me!”
“So you know who we are?” asked Roger.
“You aren’t the first policemen I’ve seen.”
“I don’t suppose we are,” Roger said, dryly. “We want to ask your husband a few questions about what he was doing last night.”
“I don’t know where he was.”
“You know what time he got in.”
“—was asleep. I’m a heavy sleeper, and I didn’t notice. It’s no use asking me.”
“Three of you share this flat, and the two men were out last night. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Mrs Brown moistened her lips, and said nothing.
Roger said: “Sit down, Mrs Brown.”
