The tableau in the study — constable and knife rampant, inspector passive, corpse couchant — was interrupted by the ringing of a concealed bell, followed by the entry of Superintendent Walker. ‘We’ve lost young Huysmann,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid he’s made a break. I should have had him pulled in for questioning right away.’
Hansom gave the cry of a police inspector who sees his prey reft from him. ‘He can’t be far — he’s probably still in the city.’
‘He went back to the fair after he’d been here,’ continued the superintendent. ‘He had tea with his wife in his caravan and did his stunt at 6.15. He was due to do it again at 6.45. I had men there at 6.35, but he’d disappeared. The last person to see him was the mechanic who looks after the machines.’
‘He was going to face it out,’ struck in Hansom.
‘It looks rather like it, but either his nerve went just then or it went when he saw my men. In either case we’ve lost him for the moment.’
‘His nerve went when he saw the paper,’ said Gently through a peppermint cream.
The superintendent glanced at him sharply. ‘How do you know that?’ he asked.
Gently swallowed and licked his lips. ‘I saw it. I saw him do his stunt. His nerve was certainly intact when he did that.’
‘Then for heaven’s sake why didn’t you grab him?’ snapped Hansom.
Gently smiled at him distantly. ‘If I’d known you wanted him I might have done, though once he got going he was moving faster than I shall ever move again.’
Hansom snarled disgustedly. The superintendent brooded for a moment. ‘I don’t think there’s much doubt left that he’s our man,’ he said. ‘It looks as though we shan’t be needing you after all, Gently. I think we shall be able to pin something on young Huysmann and make it stick.’
‘Gently doesn’t think so,’ broke in Hansom.
‘You’ve come to a different conclusion?’ asked the superintendent.
Gently shrugged and shook his head woodenly from side to side. ‘I don’t know anything yet. I haven’t had time.’
‘He found the knife for us, sir,’ put in the constable defiantly, thrusting it under Walker’s nose. The superintendent took it from him and weighed it in his hand. ‘Obviously a throwing knife,’ he said. ‘We’ve just found out that young Huysmann used to be in a knife-throwing act before he went into the Wall of Death.’
‘That’s one for the book!’ exclaimed Hansom delightedly.
‘All in all, I think we’ve got the makings of a pretty sound case. I’m much obliged to you, Gently, for consenting to help out, but the case has resolved itself pretty simply. I don’t suppose you’ll be sorry to get back to your fishing.’
Gently poised a peppermint cream on the end of his thumb and inspected it sadly. ‘Who was watching Huysmann from the room across the passage this afternoon?’ he enquired, revolving his thumb through a half-circle.
The superintendent stared.
‘You might print the door handle and the back of the chair that stands just inside,’ continued Gently, ‘and photograph the marks left on the carpet. Then again,’ he turned his thumb back with slow care, ‘you might wonder to yourself how the knife came to be in the chest in the hall. I can’t help you in the slightest. I’m still wondering myself…’
‘Well, I’m not!’ barked Hansom. ‘It’s where young Huysmann hid it.’
‘Why?’ murmured Gently, ‘why did he remove the knife at all? Why should he bother when the knife couldn’t be traced to him in any way? And if he did, why did he take it into the hall to hide it? Why didn’t he take it away with him?’
Hansom gaped at him with his mouth open. The superintendent chipped in: ‘Those are interesting points, Gently, and since you’ve made them we shall certainly follow them up. But I don’t think they affect the main issue very materially. We need not complicate a matter when a simple answer is to hand. As it rests, there is no suspicion except in one direction and the suspicion there is very strong. It is our duty to show how strong and to produce young Huysmann to answer it. I do not think it is our duty, or yours, to hunt out side issues that may weaken or confuse our case.’
Gently made the suspicion of a bow and flipped the peppermint cream from his thumb to his mouth. Hansom sneered. The superintendent turned to the constable. ‘Fetch the men in with the stretcher,’ he said, and when the constable had departed, ‘Trencham is going to meet me at the fairground with a search warrant. You’d better come along, Hansom. I’m going to search young Huysmann’s caravan.’
Gently said: ‘I’m still interested in this case.’
The superintendent paused. He was not too sure of his position. While the matter was doubtful, the sudden appearance of Gently on the scene had seemed providential and he had gratefully enlisted the Chief Inspector’s aid, but now that things were straightening out he began to regret it. There seemed to be nothing here that his own men couldn’t handle. It was only a matter of time before young Huysmann was picked up: the superintendent was positive in his own mind that he was the man. And the honour and glory of securing a murder conviction was not to be lightly tossed away.
At the same time, he had brought Gently into it, and though the official channels had not been used, he was not sure if he had the power to dismiss him out of hand. Neither was he sure if it was policy.
‘Stop in if you like,’ he said, ‘it’s up to you.’
Gently nodded. ‘It’s unofficial. I won’t claim pay for it.’
‘Will you come along with us to the fairground?’
Gently pursed his lips. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s Saturday night. I feel tired. I may even go to the pictures…’
The constable left in charge was the constable who had found the knife. Gently, who had lingered to see his finger-printing done, called him aside. ‘You were present at the preliminary questioning?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. I came down with Inspector Hansom, sir.’
‘Which cinema did Miss Huysmann go to?’
‘To the Carlton, sir.’
‘Ah,’ said Gently.
The constable regarded him with shining eyes. ‘You’ll excuse me, sir, but I would like to know how you knew where the knife was,’ he said.
Gently smiled at him comfortably. ‘I just guessed, that’s all.’
‘But you guessed right, sir, first go.’
‘That was just my luck. We have to be lucky, to be detectives.’
‘Then it wasn’t done by — deduction, sir?’
Gently’s smile broadened and he felt for his bag of peppermint creams. ‘Have one,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Thank you, sir. It’s Letts.’
‘Well, Letts, my first guess was that there’d been some post-mortem monkeying because the knife was missing and there was no reason why it should have been. My second guess was that the party who was watching from the other room this afternoon was the party concerned.’
‘How did you know the party was watching this afternoon, sir?’
‘Because the room was cleaned up before lunch and it was cleaned up today before lunch — witness the tulips with dew on them and the absence of dust. Hence the marks on the carpet were made after lunch. My third guess was that the party concerned was an inside party and not an outside party, and that the odds were in favour of them hiding the knife in the house. Now a person with a bloody knife to hide doesn’t waste time being subtle. It could have been in the chest-of-drawers at the end of the passage, but the polished floor in that direction has an unmarked film of dust. The only other easy hiding-place was the chest in the hall. So I guessed that.’
The constable shifted his helmet a fraction and rubbed his head. ‘Then it was all guessing after all, sir?’ he said slowly.
‘All guessing,’ Gently reiterated.
‘And yet you were right, sir.’
‘Which,’ said Gently, ‘goes to show how much luck you need to be a detective, Letts… don’t forget that when you apply for a transfer.’
‘But you’ve given the case a different look, sir. It could be that somebody else was in this job as well as young Huysmann.’
‘Could be,’ agreed Gently, ‘or it may just mean that somebody’s got some pretty virile explaining to do. Remember what the super said, Letts. He was quite right. It’s our job to make a case, not to break it. Justice belongs to the court. It’s nothing to do with the police.’
The hall, which was gloomy enough by evening light, seemed even gloomier when lit by the low-power chandelier which depended from its high ceiling. As Gently passed through it on his way out a tall figure stepped towards him. Gently paused enquiringly.
‘Chief Inspector Gently?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I’m Rod Leaming, Mr Huysmann’s manager. They told me you wanted to see me.’
He was a man of about forty, big, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with small well-set ears and features that were boldly handsome. His voice was rounded and pleasant. Gently said: ‘Ah yes. You were at the football match. How did the City get on?’
There was a moment’s silence, then Leaming said: ‘They won, three-one.’
‘It was a good match, they tell me.’
Leaming gave a little shrug. ‘There were a lot of missed chances. They might have won six-one without being flattered, though of course Cummings was a passenger most of the match. Are you interested in football?’
Gently smiled a far-away smile. ‘I watch the Pensioners when I get the chance. Is your car ZYX 169?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s got mud all over the rear number plate. I thought I’d mention it to you before you were stopped. It’s fresh mud.’
‘Thanks for the tip. I must have picked it up on the car park this afternoon.’
‘It’s a clay mud,’ mused Gently, ‘comes from a river bank, perhaps.’
‘The car park at Railway Road lies between the river and the ground.’
‘Ah,’ said Gently.
Leaming relaxed a little. He pulled out a gold cigarette case and offered it to Gently. Gently took a cigarette. They were hand-made and expensive. Leaming gave him a light and lighted one himself. ‘Look,’ he said, forcing smoke through his nostrils, ‘this is a bad business, Inspector, and it looks pretty black for young Huysmann. But if an outside opinion is any help, I’m one who doesn’t think he’s the man. I’ve seen a good deal of Peter at one time or another and he’s not the type to do a thing like this.’
Gently blew a neat little smoke-ring.
Leaming continued: ‘Of course, I realize there’s everything against him. He’s been in trouble before and the reason he was estranged from his father is well known.’
‘Not to me,’ said Gently.
‘You haven’t heard? But it’s bound to come out in the questioning and it’s not so very serious. You’ve got to remember that he was the only son; he was brought up to regard himself as the automatic heir to the business. Well, there’s no doubt that Mr Huysmann was a little hard on Peter when it came to pocket money and one day Peter decamped with a hundred pounds or more.’
Gently exhaled a stream of smoke towards the distant chandelier.
‘But that was merely youthful high spirits, Inspector. If Peter had had a proper allowance, it would never have happened. It wouldn’t have happened then if Peter hadn’t fallen in love with an office girl — she’s his wife now — and if Mr Huysmann had treated the affair with
… well, a little more feeling. But there it was, he wouldn’t hear of the idea of Peter getting married and though he might have forgiven the embezzlement, he treated the marriage as though it were a personal affront. Poor Peter had a rough time of it after he left home. He wrote to Mr Huysmann on several occasions asking for small sums, but he never received a penny. I’m afraid their relations were very embittered towards the end.’
Leaming paused for comment, but Gently contented himself with another smoke-ring.
‘It got so far that Mr Huysmann threatened to cut Peter out of his will and I believe he meant to do it, if he’d had time, though between you and me it would have been a gross injustice. Apart from his temper — and he inherited that from his father — there was nothing vicious in Peter at all. He’s a very likeable lad, with a lot of initiative and any amount of guts. He’d have made a very worthy successor in the firm.’
‘And you don’t think he did it?’ queried Gently dreamily.
‘I’m positive he didn’t! I’ve known him for ten years and intimately for eight — saw him every day, had him up to spend the evening, often. I’ll tell you something more. If you get this lad and try to pin the murder on him, I’ll brief the best counsel in England for his defence, cost what it may.’
‘It will cost several thousand,’ said Gently, helpfully.
Leaming ignored the remark. He breathed smoke through his nose under high pressure. ‘I take it that Peter is your guess as well as theirs?’ he demanded.
‘My guessing is still in the elementary stage.’
‘Well, I could see clearly enough what Inspector Hansom thought about it.’
‘Inspector Hansom is a simple soul.’
Leaming’s powerful brown eyes sought out Gently’s absent green ones. ‘Then you don’t think he did it — you’re on my side in this?’
Gently’s smile was as distant as the pyramids. ‘I’m not on anybody’s side,’ he said, ‘I’m just here on holiday.’
‘But you’re assisting on the case? Look here, Inspector, I’ve been thinking this thing over. There’s one thing that’s going to tell a lot in Peter’s favour. It’s the money.’
Gently nodded one of his slow mandarin nods.
‘There was forty-two thousand pounds in that safe, more or less, and they won’t find it with Peter.’
‘Why?’ asked Gently brightly.
‘Why? Because he didn’t do the murder, that’s why. And as soon as some of those notes that are listed start turning up, it’ll be proof positive that the real murderer is still at large.’
Gently surveyed the burnt-down stub of his cigarette thoughtfully, moved over to the chest and stubbed it against the massive iron clasp. Then he raised the lid and dropped the end inside. ‘It might work out if themurderer started on the right side of the forty-two thousand,’ he said, ‘but then again, he might start in the middle…’ And he let the lid fall back with a bang.
Leaming stood, feet apart, watching him closely. ‘At least it’s a good lead,’ he said.
Gently sighed. ‘Police work is full of leads. It’s the tragedy of routine… and ninety-nine per cent of them lead nowhere.’ He came back from the chest. ‘If you’re going back to the city I could use a lift,’ he said.
Leaming dropped him off at Castle Paddock. Gently shambled away, head bent, following the crescent wall at the foot of the Castle Hill, the patriarchal features of the Norman keep silent and peaceful in the dark sky above. From the other side of the Hill rose the glow and the feverish cacophony of the fair. Clark, the owner of the Wall of Death, had tempted back one of his ex-riders. The Greatest Show on Earth continued to do business…
In a quieter corner of the fairground Peter Huysmann’s young wife stood near the door of her tiny cosmos, biting her lips to keep back tears of humiliation and helplessness. Inside were the policemen. With religious thoroughness they were dismembering and examining her private, familiar things. ‘Look,’ said a constable, holding up a cheap little necklet that Peter had bought her on her twenty-first birthday, ‘wasn’t there something like this on the list of stolen properties today?’
Gently came to Orton Place, where a great sunken gap, used as a car park, still offered mute witness of the Baedeker Raids of ten years back. On two sides of the gap blazed the windows of large stores, risen phoenix-wise. But the gap remained a gap. The streets about it were thronged with Saturday-night crowds, gay, noisy, unconscious that somewhere amongst them was a man for whom they were terrible, who feared their slightest glance, who had the mortal horror on him of being seized and dragged to their machine of death. And amongst them too went the hunters, the takers, the accusers, those to whom the killing of Peter Huysmann meant preferment. But they were unconscious of this as of the gap. Habit had staled them both. And after all, someone had done for old Huysmann… hadn’t they?
‘Pink!’ cried an old man, as Gently drew near him, ‘don’t forget your pink!’ Gently fumbled in his pocket for coppers. ‘They did well today,’ said the old man. ‘Did you see the match, sir?’ ‘No,’ said Gently. He took the paper. ‘Isn’t there a home match next week too?’ he enquired. ‘We’ve got the Cobblers coming, sir — it’ll be a good match.’ Gently nodded vaguely. ‘I may see it,’ he said. As he walked on he unfolded the paper and glanced over the headlines. They ran: