The Clocks

She was, he thought, about forty-five. Something faintly gypsyish about her appearance.

‘What is it?’

‘I should be glad if you could spare me a moment or two.’

‘Well, what about? I’m really rather busy just now.’ She added sharply, ‘You’re not a reporter, are you?’

‘Of course,’ said Hardcastle, adopting a sympathetic tone, ‘I expect you’ve been a good deal worried by reporters.’

‘Indeed we have. Knocking at the door and ringing the bell and asking all sorts of foolish questions.’

‘Very annoying I know,’ said the inspector. ‘I wish we could spare you all that, Mrs Lawton. I am Detective Inspector Hardcastle, by the way, in charge of the case about which the reporters have been annoying you. We’d put a stop to a good deal of that if we could, but we’re powerless in the matter, you know. The Press has its rights.’

‘It’s a shame to worry private people as they do,’ said Mrs Lawton, ‘saying they have to have news for the public. The only thing I’ve ever noticed about the news that they print is that it’s a tissue of lies from beginning to end. They’ll cook upanything so far as I can see. But come in.’

She stepped back and the inspector passed over the doorstep and she shut the door. There were a couple of letters which had fallen on the mat. Mrs Lawton bent forward to pick them up, but the inspector politely forestalled her. His eyes swept over them for half a second as he handed them to her, addresses uppermost.

‘Thank you.’

She laid them down on the hall table.

‘Come into the sitting-room, won’t you? At least-if you go in this door and give me just a moment. I think something’s boiling over.’

She beat a speedy retreat to the kitchen. Inspector Hardcastle took a last deliberate look at the letters on the hall table. One was addressed to Mrs Lawton and the two others to Miss R. S. Webb. He went into the room indicated. It was a small room, rather untidy, shabbily furnished but here and there it displayed some bright spot of colour or some unusual object. An attractive, probably expensive piece of Venetian glass of moulded colours and an abstract shape, two brightly coloured velvet cushions and an earthenware platter of foreign shells. Either the aunt or the niece, he thought, had an original streak in her make-up.

Mrs Lawton returned, slightly more breathless than before.

‘I think that’ll be all right now,’ she said, rather uncertainly.

The inspector apologized again.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve called at an inconvenient time,’ he said, ‘but I happened to be in this neighbourhood and I wanted to check over a few further points about this affair in which your niece was so unfortunately concerned. I hope she’s none the worse for her experience? It must have been a great shock to any girl.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs Lawton. ‘Sheila came back in a terrible state. But she was all right by this morning and she’s gone back to work again.’

‘Oh, yes, I know that,’ said the inspector. ‘But I was told she was out doing work for a client somewhere and I didn’t want to interrupt anything of that kind so I thought it would be better if I came round here and talked to her in her own home. But she’s not back yet, is that it?’ 

‘She’ll probably be rather late this evening,’ said Mrs Lawton. ‘She’s working for a Professor Purdy and from what Sheila says, he’s a man with no idea of time at all. Always says “this won’t take more than another ten minutes so I think we might as well get it finished,” and then of course it takes nearer to three-quarters of an hour. He’s a very nice man and most apologetic. Once or twice he’s urged her to stay and have dinner and seemed quite concerned because he’s kept her so much longer than he realized. Still, it is rather annoying sometimes. Is there something I can tell you, Inspector? In case Sheila is delayed a long time.’

‘Well, not really,’ said the inspector smiling. ‘Of course, we only took down the bare details the other day and I’m not sure really whether I’ve even got those right.’ He made a show of consulting his note-book once more. ‘Let me see. Miss Sheila Webb-is that her full name or has she another Christian name? We have to have these things very exact, you know, for the records at the inquest.’

‘The inquest is the day after tomorrow, isn’t it? She got a notice to attend.’

‘Yes, but she needn’t let that worry her,’ said Hardcastle. ‘She’ll just have to tell her story of how she found the body.’

‘You don’t know who the man was yet?’

‘No. I’m afraid it’s early days for that. There was a card in his pocket and we thought at first he was some kind of insurance agent. But it seems more likely now that it was a card he’d been given by someone. Perhaps he was contemplating insurance himself.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Mrs Lawton looked vaguely interested.

‘Now I’ll just get these names right,’ said the inspector. ‘I think I’ve got it down as Miss Sheila Webb or Miss Sheila R. Webb. I just couldn’t remember what the other name was. Was it Rosalie?’