The Clocks

‘I dare say I could find out for you if you specially want the information, Inspector Hardcastle. Her references will be filed somewhere. As far as I can remember off-hand, she was formerly employed in London and had quite a good reference from her employers there. I think, but I am not sure, that it was some business firm-estate agents possibly, that she worked for.’

‘You say she is good at her job?’

‘Fully adequate,’ said Miss Martindale, who was clearly not one to be lavish with praise. 

‘Not first-class?’

‘No, I should not say that. She has good average speed and is tolerably well educated. She is a careful and accurate typist.’

‘Do you know her personally, apart from your official relations?’

‘No. She lives, I believe, with an aunt.’ Here Miss Martindale got slightly restive. ‘May I ask, Inspector Hardcastle,why you are asking all these questions? Has the girl got herself into trouble in any way?’

‘I would not quite say that, Miss Martindale. Do you know a Miss Millicent Pebmarsh?’

‘Pebmarsh,’ said Miss Martindale, wrinkling her sandy brows. ‘Now when-oh, of course. It was to Miss Pebmarsh’s house that Sheila went this afternoon. The appointment was for three o’clock.’

‘How was that appointment made, Miss Martindale?’

‘By telephone. Miss Pebmarsh rang up and said she wanted the services of a shorthand typist and would I send her Miss Webb.’

‘She asked for Sheila Webb particularly?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time was this call put through?’

Miss Martindale reflected for a moment.

‘It came through to me direct. That would mean that it was in the lunch hour. As near as possible I would say that it was about ten minutes to two. Before two o’clock at all events. Ah yes, I see I made a note on my pad. It was 1.49 precisely.’

‘It was Miss Pebmarsh herself who spoke to you?’

Miss Martindale looked a little surprised.

‘I presume so.’

‘But you didn’t recognize her voice? You don’t know her personally?’

‘No. I don’t know her. She said that she was Miss Millicent Pebmarsh, gave me her address, a number in Wilbraham Crescent. Then, as I say, she asked for Sheila Webb, if she was free, to come to her at three o’clock.’

It was a clear, definite statement. I thought that Miss Martindale would make an excellent witness.

‘If you would kindly tell me what all this is about?’ said Miss Martindale with slight impatience.

‘Well, you see, Miss Martindale, Miss Pebmarsh herself denies making any such call.’

Miss Martindale stared.

‘Indeed! How extraordinary.’

‘You, on the other hand, say such a callwas made, but you cannot say definitely that it was Miss Pebmarsh who made that call.’

‘No, of course I can’t say definitely. I don’t know the woman. But really, I can’t see the point of doing such a thing. Was it a hoax of some kind?’

‘Rather more than that,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Did this Miss Pebmarsh-or whoever it was-give any reason for wanting Miss Sheila Webb particularly?’

Miss Martindale reflected a moment.

‘I think she said that Sheila Webb had done work for her before.’

‘And is that in fact so?’

‘Sheila said she had no recollection of having done anything for Miss Pebmarsh. But that is not quite conclusive, Inspector. After all, the girls go out so often to different people at different places that they would be unlikely to remember if it had taken place some months ago. Sheila wasn’t very definite on the point. She only said that she couldn’t remember having been there. But really, Inspector, even if this was a hoax, I cannot see where your interest comes in?’

‘I am just coming to that. When Miss Webb arrived at 19, Wilbraham Crescent she walked into the house and into the sitting-room. She has told me that those were the directions given her. You agree?’

‘Quite right,’ said Miss Martindale. ‘Miss Pebmarsh said that she might be a little late in getting home and that Sheila was to go in and wait.’

‘When Miss Webb went into the sitting-room,’ continued Hardcastle, ‘she found a dead man lying on the floor.’

Miss Martindale stared at him. For a moment she could hardly find her voice. 

‘Did you say adead man, Inspector?’

‘A murdered man,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Stabbed, actually.’

‘Dear, dear,’ said Miss Martindale. ‘The girl must have been very upset.’

It seemed the kind of understatement characteristic of Miss Martindale.

‘Does the name of Curry mean anything to you, Miss Martindale? Mr R. H. Curry?’

‘I don’t think so, no.’

‘From the Metropolis and Provincial Insurance Company?’

Miss Martindale continued to shake her head.

‘You see my dilemma,’ said the inspector. ‘You say Miss Pebmarsh telephoned you and asked for Sheila Webb to go to her house at three o’clock. Miss Pebmarsh denies doing any such thing. Sheila Webb gets there. She finds a dead man there.’ He waited hopefully.

Miss Martindale looked at him blankly.

‘It all seems to me wildly improbable,’ she said disapprovingly.

Dick Hardcastle sighed and got up.

‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ he said politely. ‘You’ve been in business some time, haven’t you?’