The Clocks

‘Rosemary,’ said Mrs Lawton, ‘she was christened Rosemary Sheila but Sheila always thought Rosemary was rather fanciful so she’s never called anything but Sheila.’

‘I see.’ There was nothing in Hardcastle’s tone to show that he was pleased that one of his hunches had come out right. He noted another point. The name Rosemary occasioned no distress in Mrs Lawton. To her Rosemary was simply a Christian name that her niece did not use.

‘I’ve got it straight now all right,’ said the inspector smiling. ‘I gather that your niece came from London and has been working for the Cavendish Bureau for the last ten months or so. You don’t know the exact date, I suppose?’

‘Well, really, I couldn’t say now. It was last November some time. I think more towards the end of November.’ 

‘Quite so. It doesn’t really matter. She was not living with you here previously to taking the job at the Cavendish Bureau?’

‘No. She was living in London before that.’

‘Have you got her address in London?’

‘Well, I’ve got it somewhere,’ Mrs Lawton looked round her with the vague expression of the habitually untidy. ‘I’ve got such a short memory,’ she said. ‘Something like Allington Grove, I think it was-out Fulham way. She shared a flat with two other girls. Terribly expensive rooms are in London for girls.’

‘Do you remember the name of the firm she worked at there?’

‘Oh, yes. Hopgood and Trent. They were estate agents in the Fulham Road.’

‘Thank you. Well all that seems very clear. Miss Webb is an orphan, I understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Lawton. She moved uneasily. Her eyes strayed to the door. ‘Do you mind if I just go into the kitchen again?’

‘Of course.’

He opened the door for her. She went out. He wondered if he had been right or wrong in thinking that his last question had in some way perturbed Mrs Lawton. Her replies had come quite readily and easily up to then. He thought about it until Mrs Lawton returned.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, apologetically, ‘but you know what it is-cooking things. Everything’s quite all right now. Was there anything else you want to ask me? I’ve remembered, by the way, it wasn’t Allington Grove. It was Carrington Grove and the number was 17.’

‘Thank you,’ said the inspector. ‘I think I was asking you whether Miss Webb was an orphan.’

‘Yes, she’s an orphan. Her parents are dead.’

‘Long ago?’

‘They died when she was a child.’

There was something like defiance just perceptible in her tone.

‘Was she your sister’s child or your brother’s?’

‘My sister’s.’

‘Ah, yes. And what was Mr Webb’s profession?’

Mrs Lawton paused a moment before answering. She was biting her lips. Then she said, ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I mean I don’t remember, it’s so long ago.’

Hardcastle waited, knowing that she would speak again. She did.

‘May I ask what all this has got to do with it-I mean what does it matter who her father and mother were and what her father did and where he came from or anything like that?’

‘I suppose it doesn’t matter really, Mrs Lawton, not from your point of view, that is. But you see, the circumstances are rather unusual.’ 

‘What do you mean-the circumstances are unusual?’

‘Well, we have reason to believe that Miss Webb went to that house yesterday because she had been specially asked for at the Cavendish Bureau by name. It looks therefore as though someone had deliberately arranged for her to be there. Someone perhaps-’ he hesitated ‘-with a grudge against her.’

‘I can’t imagine that anyone could have a grudge against Sheila. She’s a very sweet girl. A nice friendly girl.’

‘Yes,’ said Hardcastle mildly. ‘That’s what I should have thought myself.’

‘And I don’t like to hear anybody suggesting the contrary,’ said Mrs Lawton belligerently.

‘Exactly.’ Hardcastle continued to smile appeasingly. ‘But you must realize, Mrs Lawton, that it looks as though your niece has been deliberately made a victim. She was being, as they say on the films, put on the spot.Somebody was arranging for her to go into a house where there was a dead man, and that dead man had died very recently. It seems on the face of it a malicious thing to do.’

‘You mean-you mean someone was trying to make it appear that Sheila killed him? Oh, no, I can’t believe it.’

‘It is rather difficult to believe,’ agreed the inspector, ‘but we’ve got to make quite sure and clear up the matter. Could there be, for instance, some young man, someone perhaps who had fallen in love with your niece, and whom she, perhaps, did not care for? Young men sometimes do some very bitter and revengeful things, especially if they’re rather ill-balanced.’

‘I don’t think it could be anything of that kind,’ said Mrs Lawton, puckering her eyes in thought and frowning. ‘Sheila has had one or two boys she’s been friendly with, but there’s been nothing serious. Nobody steady of any kind.’

‘It might have been while she was living in London?’ the inspector suggested. ‘After all, I don’t suppose you know very much about what friends she had there.’