II nspector Craddock had made an appointment with Harold Crackenthorpe at his office, and he and Sergeant1 Wetherallarrived there punctually. The office was on the fourth floor of a big block of City offices. Inside everything showedprosperity and the acme2 of modern business taste.
A neat young woman took his name, spoke3 in a discreet4 murmur5 through a telephone, and then, rising, showedthem into Harold Crackenthorpe’s own private office.
Harold was sitting behind a large leather-topped desk and was looking as impeccable and self-confident as ever. If,as the inspector6’s private knowledge led him to surmise7, he was close upon Queer Street, no trace of it showed.
He looked up with a frank welcoming interest.
“Good morning, Inspector Craddock. I hope this means that you have some definite news for us at last?”
“Hardly that, I am afraid, Mr. Crackenthorpe. It’s just a few more questions I’d like to ask.”
“More questions? Surely by now we have answered everything imaginable.”
“I dare say it feels like that to you, Mr. Crackenthorpe, but it’s just a question of our regular routine.”
“Well, what is it this time?” He spoke impatiently.
“I should be glad if you could tell me exactly what you were doing on the afternoon and evening of 20th Decemberlast—say between the hours of 3 p.m. and midnight.”
Harold Crackenthorpe went an angry shade of plum red.
“That seems to be a most extraordinary question to ask me. What does it mean, I should like to know?”
Craddock smiled gently.
“It just means that I should like to know where you were between the hours of 3 p.m. and midnight on Friday, 20thDecember.”
“Why?”
“It would help to narrow things down.”
“Narrow them down? You have extra information, then?”
“We hope that we’re getting a little closer, sir.”
“I’m not at all sure that I ought to answer your question. Not, that is, without having my solicitor8 present.”
“That, of course, is entirely9 up to you,” said Craddock. “You are not bound to answer any questions, and you havea perfect right to have a solicitor present before you do so.”
“You are not—let me be quite clear—er—warning me in any way?”
“Oh, no, sir.” Inspector Craddock looked properly shocked. “Nothing of that kind. The questions I am asking you, Iam asking several other people as well. There’s nothing directly personal about this. It’s just a matter of necessaryeliminations.”
“Well, of course— I’m anxious to assist in any way I can. Let me see now. Such a thing isn’t easy to answer offhand10, but we’re very systematic11 here. Miss Ellis, I expect, can help.”
He spoke briefly12 into one of the telephones on his desk and almost immediately a streamlined young woman in awell-cut black suit entered with a notebook.
“My secretary, Miss Ellis, Inspector Craddock. Now, Miss Ellis, the inspector would like to know what I was doingon the afternoon and evening of—what was the date?”
“Friday, 20th December.”
“Friday, 20th December. I expect you will have some record.”
“Oh, yes.” Miss Ellis left the room, returned with an office memorandum13 calendar and turned the pages.
“You were in the office on the morning of 20th December. You had a conference with Mr. Goldie about theCromartie merger14, you lunched with Lord Forthville at the Berkeley—”
“Ah, it was that day, yes.”
“You returned to the office about 3 o’clock and dictated15 half a dozen letters. You then left to attend Sotheby’s salerooms where you were interested in some rare manuscripts which were coming up for sale that day. You did not returnto the office again, but I have a note to remind you that you were attending the Catering16 Club dinner that evening.” Shelooked up interrogatively.
“Thank you, Miss Ellis.”
Miss Ellis glided17 from the room.
“That is all quite clear in my mind,” said Harold. “I went to Sotheby’s that afternoon but the items I wanted therewent for too high a price. I had tea in a small place in Jermyn Street—Russell’s, I think, it was called. I dropped into aNews Theatre for about half an hour or so, then went home—I live at 43 Cardigan Gardens. The Catering Club dinnertook place at seven-thirty at Caterer’s Hall, and after it I returned home to bed. I think that should answer yourquestions.”
“That’s all very clear, Mr. Crackenthorpe. What time was it when you returned home to dress?”
“I don’t think I can remember exactly. Soon after six, I should think.”
“And after your dinner?”
“It was, I think, half past eleven when I got home.”
“Did your manservant let you in? Or perhaps Lady Alice Crackenthorpe—”
“My wife, Lady Alice, is abroad in the South of France and has been since early December. I let myself in with mylatch key.”
“So there is no one who can vouch18 for your returning home when you say you did?”
Harold gave him a cold stare.
“I dare say the servants heard me come in. I have a man and wife. But, really, Inspector—”
“Please, Mr. Crackenthorpe, I know these kind of questions are annoying, but I have nearly finished. Do you own acar?”
“Yes, a Humber Hawk19.”
“You drive it yourself?”
“Yes. I don’t use it much except at weekends. Driving in London is quite impossible nowadays.”
“I presume you use it when you go down to see your father and sister in Brackhampton?”
“Not unless I am going to stay there for some length of time. If I just go down for the night—as, for instance, to theinquest the other day—I always go by train. There is an excellent train service and it is far quicker than going by car.
The car my sister hires meets me at the station.”
“Where do you keep your car?”
“I rent a garage in the mews behind Cardigan Gardens. Any more questions?”
“I think that’s all for now,” said Inspector Craddock, smiling and rising. “I’m very sorry for having to bother you.”
When they were outside, Sergeant Wetherall, a man who lived in a state of dark suspicions of all and sundry,remarked meaningly:
“He didn’t like those questions—didn’t like them at all. Put out, he was.”
“If you have not committed a murder, it naturally annoys you if it seems someone thinks that you have,” saidInspector Craddock mildly. “It would particularly annoy an ultra respectable man like Harold Crackenthorpe. There’snothing in that. What we’ve got to find out now is if anyone actually saw Harold Crackenthorpe at the sale thatafternoon, and the same applies to the tea shop place. He could easily have travelled by the 4:33, pushed the womanout of the train and caught a train back to London in time to appear at the dinner. In the same way he could havedriven his car down that night, moved the body to the sarcophagus and driven back again. Make inquiries20 in themews.”
“Yes, sir. Do you think that’s what he did do?”
“How do I know?” asked Inspector Craddock. “He’s a tall dark man. He could have been on that train and he’s gota connection with Rutherford Hall. He’s a possible suspect in this case. Now for Brother Alfred.”
II
Alfred Crackenthorpe had a flat in West Hampstead, in a big modern building of slightly jerry-built type with a largecourtyard in which the owners of flats parked their cars with a certain lack of consideration for others.
The flat was the modern built-in type, evidently rented furnished. It had a long plywood table that led down fromthe wall, a divan21 bed, and various chairs of improbable proportions.
Alfred Crackenthorpe met them with engaging friendliness22 but was, the inspector thought, nervous.
“I’m intrigued,” he said. “Can I offer you a drink, Inspector Craddock?” He held up various bottles invitingly23.
“No, thank you, Mr. Crackenthorpe.”
“As bad as that?” He laughed at his own little joke, then asked what it was all about.
Inspector Craddock said his little piece.
“What was I doing on the afternoon and evening of 20th December. How should I know? Why, that’s—what—over three weeks ago.”
“Your brother Harold has been able to tell us very exactly.”
“Brother Harold, perhaps. Not Brother Alfred.” He added with a touch of something—envious malice24 possibly:
“Harold is the successful member of the family—busy, useful, fully25 employed—a time for everything, and everythingat that time. Even if he were to commit a—murder, shall we say?—it would be carefully timed and exact.”
“Any particular reason for using that example?”
“Oh, no. It just came into my mind—as a supreme26 absurdity27.”
“Now about yourself.”
Alfred spread out his hands.
“It’s as I tell you—I’ve no memory for times or places. If you were to say Christmas Day now—then I should beable to answer you—there’s a peg28 to hang it on. I know where I was Christmas Day. We spend that with my father atBrackhampton. I really don’t know why. He grumbles30 at the expense of having us—and would grumble29 that we nevercame near him if we didn’t come. We really do it to please my sister.”
“And you did it this year?”
“Yes.”
“But unfortunately your father was taken ill, was he not?”
Craddock was pursuing a sideline deliberately31, led by the kind of instinct that often came to him in his profession.
“He was taken ill. Living like a sparrow in that glorious cause of economy, sudden full eating and drinking had itseffect.”
“That was all it was, was it?”
“Of course. What else?”
“I gathered that his doctor was—worried.”
“Ah, that old fool Quimper,” Alfred spoke quickly and scornfully. “It’s no use listening to him, Inspector. He’s analarmist of the worst kind.”
“Indeed? He seemed a rather sensible kind of man to me.”
“He’s a complete fool. Father’s not really an invalid32, there’s nothing wrong with his heart, but he takes in Quimpercompletely. Naturally, when father really felt ill, he made a terrific fuss, and had Quimper going and coming, askingquestions, going into everything he’d eaten and drunk. The whole thing was ridiculous!” Alfred spoke with unusualheat.
Craddock was silent for a moment or two, rather effectively. Alfred fidgeted, shot him a quick glance, and then saidpetulantly:
“Well, what is all this? Why do you want to know where I was on a particular Friday, three or four weeks ago?”
“So you do remember that it was a Friday?”
“I thought you said so.”
“Perhaps I did,” said Inspector Craddock. “At any rate, Friday 20th is the day I am asking about.”
“Why?”
“A routine inquiry33.”
“That’s nonsense. Have you found out something more about this woman? About where she came from?”
“Our information is not yet complete.”
Alfred gave him a sharp glance.
“I hope you’re not being led aside by this wild theory of Emma’s that she might have been my brother Edmund’swidow. That’s complete nonsense.”
“This— Martine, did not at any rate apply to you?”
“To me? Good lord, no! That would have been a laugh.”
“She would be more likely, you think, to go to your brother Harold?”
“Much more likely. His name’s frequently in the papers. He’s well off. Trying a touch there wouldn’t surprise me.
Not that she’d have got anything. Harold’s as tight-fisted as the old man himself. Emma, of course, is the soft-heartedone of the family, and she was Edmund’s favourite sister. All the same, Emma isn’t credulous34. She was quite alive tothe possibility of this woman being phoney. She had it all laid on for the entire family to be there—and a hard-headedsolicitor as well.”
“Very wise,” said Craddock. “Was there a definite date fixed35 for this meeting?”
“It was to be soon after Christmas—the weekend of the 27th…” he stopped.
“Ah,” said Craddock pleasantly. “So I see some dates have a meaning to you.”
“I’ve told you—no definite date was fixed.”
“But you talked about it—when?”
“I really can’t remember.”
“And you can’t tell me what you yourself were doing on Friday, 20th December?”
“Sorry—my mind’s an absolute blank.”
“You don’t keep an engagement book?”
“Can’t stand the things.”
“The Friday before Christmas—it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“I played golf one day with a likely prospect36.” Alfred shook his head. “No, that was the week before. I probablyjust mooched around. I spend a lot of my time doing that. I find one’s business gets done in bars more than anywhereelse.”
“Perhaps the people here, or some of your friends, may be able to help?”
“Maybe. I’ll ask them. Do what I can.”
Alfred seemed more sure of himself now.
“I can’t tell you what I was doing that day,” he said; “but I can tell you what I wasn’t doing. I wasn’t murderinganyone in the Long Barn.”
“Why should you say that, Mr. Crackenthorpe?”
“Come now, my dear Inspector. You’re investigating this murder, aren’t you? And when you begin to ask ‘Wherewere you on such and such a day at such and such a time?’ you’re narrowing down things. I’d very much like to knowwhy you’ve hit on Friday the 20th between—what? Lunchtime and midnight? It couldn’t be medical evidence, notafter all this time. Did somebody see the deceased sneaking37 into the barn that afternoon? She went in and she nevercame out, etc.? Is that it?”
The sharp black eyes were watching him narrowly, but Inspector Craddock was far too old a hand to react to thatsort of thing.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to let you guess about that,” he said pleasantly.
“The police are so secretive.”
“Not only the police. I think, Mr. Crackenthorpe, you could remember what you were doing on that Friday if youtried. Of course you may have reasons for not wishing to remember—”
“You won’t catch me that way, Inspector. It’s very suspicious, of course, very suspicious, indeed, that I can’tremember—but there it is! Wait a minute now—I went to Leeds that week—stayed at a hotel close to the Town Hall—can’t remember its name—but you’d find it easy enough. That might have been on the Friday.”
“We’ll check up,” said the inspector unemotionally.
He rose. “I’m sorry you couldn’t have been more cooperative, Mr. Crackenthorpe.”
“Most unfortunate for me! There’s Cedric with a safe alibi38 in Ibiza, and Harold, no doubt, checked with businessappointments and public dinners every hour—and here am I with no alibi at all. Very sad. And all so silly. I’ve alreadytold you I don’t murder people. And why should I murder an unknown woman, anyway? What for? Even if the corpseis the corpse39 of Edmund’s widow, why should any of us wish to do away with her? Now if she’d been married toHarold in the war, and had suddenly reappeared—then it might have been awkward for the respectable Harold—bigamy and all that. But Edmund! Why we’d all have enjoyed making Father stump40 up a bit to give her an allowanceand send the boy to a decent school. Father would have been wild, but he couldn’t in decency41 refuse to do something.
Won’t you have a drink before you go, Inspector? Sure? Too bad I haven’t been able to help you.”
III
“Sir, listen, do you know what?”
Inspector Craddock looked at his excited sergeant.
“Yes, Wetherall, what is it?”
“I’ve placed him, sir. That chap. All the time I was trying to fix it and suddenly it came. He was mixed up in thattinned food business with Dicky Rogers. Never got anything on him—too cagey for that. And he’s been in with one ormore of the Soho lot. Watches and that Italian sovereign business.”
Of course! Craddock realized now why Alfred’s face had seemed vaguely42 familiar from the first. It had all beensmall-time stuff—never anything that could be proved. Alfred had always been on the outskirts43 of the racket with aplausible innocent reason for having been mixed up in it at all. But the police had been quite sure that a small steadyprofit came his way.
“That throws rather a light on things,” Craddock said.
“Think he did it?”
“I shouldn’t have said he was the type to do murder. But it explains other things—the reason why he couldn’t comeup with an alibi.”
“Yes, that looked bad for him.”
“Not really,” said Craddock. “It’s quite a clever line—just to say firmly you can’t remember. Lots of people can’tremember what they did and where they were even a week ago. It’s especially useful if you don’t particularly want tocall attention to the way you spend your time—interesting rendezvous44 at lorry pull-ups with the Dicky Rogers crowd,for instance.”
“So you think he’s all right?”
“I’m not prepared to think anyone’s all right just yet,” said Inspector Craddock. “You’ve got to work on it,Wetherall.”
Back at his desk, Craddock sat frowning, and making little notes on the pad in front of him.
Murderer (he wrote)… A tall dark man!!!
Victim?… Could have been Martine, Edmund
Crackenthorpe’s girlfriend or widow.
Or
Could have been Anna Stravinska. Went out of circulation at appropriate time, right age and appearance,clothing, etc. No connections with Rutherford Hall as far as is known. Could be Harold’s first wife!
Bigamy!
" " first mistress. Blackmail45!
If connection with Alfred, might be blackmail. Had knowledge that could have sent him to gaol46? If Cedric—might have had connections with him abroad— Paris? Balearics?
Or
Victim could be Anna S. posing as Martine
or
Victim is unknown woman killed by unknown murderer!
“And most probably the latter,” said Craddock aloud.
He reflected gloomily on the situation. You couldn’t get far with a case until you had the motive47. All the motivessuggested so far seemed either inadequate48 or far fetched.
Now if only it had been the murder of old Mr. Crackenthorpe… Plenty of motive there….
Something stirred in his memory….
He made further notes on his pad.
Ask Dr. Q. about Christmas illness.
Cedric—alibi.
Consult Miss M. for the latest gossip.
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sergeant
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acme
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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murmur
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inspector
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surmise
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solicitor
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entirely
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offhand
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systematic
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briefly
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memorandum
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merger
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dictated
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catering
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glided
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vouch
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hawk
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inquiries
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invitingly
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malice
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supreme
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absurdity
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grumble
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grumbles
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deliberately
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invalid
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credulous
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fixed
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sneaking
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alibi
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vaguely
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outskirts
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rendezvous
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blackmail
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gaol
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motive
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inadequate
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