Smallbone Deceased

“I know, I know,” groaned Hazlerigg. “I shall have to caution him. It’s going to need the most devilishly accurate timing. How any police officer can be expected to decide at exactly what point in an interview he thinks the man he is questioning is the guilty party when the sole object of his questions is to arrive at exactly that proposition—”

“Save it for the Court of Criminal Appeal,” said the Assistant Commissioner callously.

II

“I don’t like the looks of it,” said Sergeant Rolles.

He and Hazlerigg were standing together in the darkness of Sea Lane. Somewhere in front of them, a dim box, was The Cabin. Visibility was limited.

“Four o’clock he brought her in, sir. He’s been up and down the estuary all afternoon—beating about and getting the feel of her, you might say. She’s a thirty-two foot cutter, sir, with an Austin ‘7’ Marine converted engine A two-berth boat really—but he handles her alone and it’s wholly pretty to watch him.”

“Didn’t he come ashore at all?”

“He did. Came back to the house and had his tea which Mrs. Mullet had got for him. Then went aboard again. He’s there now.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Just sitting on his bottom,” said Sergeant Rolles. “One thing, she is still there. He hasn’t taken her off to Rooshia.”

“You’ve got better eyes than mine, then,” said Hazlerigg handsomely. He could scarcely see the house, let alone anything beyond it.

“I’ve been standing here longer in the dark, sir,” said Sergeant Rolles. “Now who’s that? Oh—it’s Mrs. Mullet.” A heavily coated and skirted figure loomed up.

“What’s this?” said Mrs. Mullet. “A police smoking concert?”

“You keep a civil tongue in your head, Mrs. Mullet. This is Chief Inspector Hazlerigg of Scotland Yard.”

“We’ve met,” said Mrs. Mullet.

“And he wants to know what your Mr. ’Orniman’s doing in that boat.”

“It’s a free country,” said Mrs. Mullet. “If you want to find out why don’t you ask him?”

“I think that’s quite a good idea,” said Hazlerigg. “But I’d like you to do it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I could oblige,” said Mrs. Mullet. For all the indifference in her voice, they could see her black eyes winking and snapping with curiosity.

She moved away down the path, and round the house. The two men followed discreetly.

Bob Horniman’s voice hailed out of the darkness: “Is that you, Mrs. Mullet?”

“That’s right, Mr. ’Orniman, it’s me. And I’ve brought your milk for brekfus. Are you coming ashore?”

“Not yet,” said Bob. The edge in his voice, which had been scarcely noticeable before was now more evident. “Leave it in the porch, would you. Has that wire come?”

“Not when I left the cottage it hadn’t,” said Mrs. Mullet. She walked back from the jetty. “You see,” she said. “Non-committal.”

“All right,” said Hazlerigg. “I suppose we’ve got to take the chance.”

He was liking the situation less and less. He could make Bob Horniman out, now, against the light reflected off the water. He seemed to be crouching on the low roof of the well deck, legs crossed, looking down, apparently oblivious to the cold night wind that was whipping off the foreshore. The boat, at stern anchor only, was ten feet or more from the jetty which itself ran a good fifteen feet out on to shelving beach. Certainly too far to risk a jump.

Ever since the Assistant Commissioner had asked him whether he thought Bob would bolt, he had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew the answer. He had said nothing.

It had seemed stupid to prophesy about something which would have to be answered one way or the other so soon.

He took a deep breath.

“Mr. Horniman.”

“Hallo. Who the hell’s that?” said Bob.

“Inspector Hazlerigg here. I wanted a word with you.”

There was a very short silence.

“You’ve chosen a condemnation odd place for it, then,” said Bob.

“I know,” said Hazlerigg. “But what I’ve got to say happens to be rather important.”

There was another rather longer silence.

“Then we’d better not stand here shouting at each other across the water.” Bob was on his feet now. “Sound carries across water, you know.” He had undone a hand rope and was kedging himself inshore against the pull of the anchor chain. When he had closed the gap sufficiently he stepped on to the jetty and tied the hand rope neatly through a ring. “Come up to the kitchen,” he said. There was no expression left in his voice at all now.

Hazlerigg followed him up the little flagged path. For the life of him he couldn’t say whether he was more relieved or surprised.

Ten minutes later he was still undecided.

Bob Horniman had not fenced with his questions. Neither, Hazlerigg was sure, had he answered them quite candidly.

The two men were facing each other across the table in the back kitchen. Under the strong unshaded light Bob’s face looked whiter than ever, and his eyes behind his heavy glasses were wary.

Suddenly he broke in on what the inspector was saying. “Will you answer me one question?”

“If I can,” said Hazlerigg.

“Am I supposed to have murdered Smallbone?”