The Clocks

It was just after two o’clock that I walked into the station and asked for Dick. I found him at his desk leafing over a pile of stuff. He looked up and asked me what I had thought of the inquest.

I told him I thought it had been a very nicely managed and gentlemanly performance.

‘We do this sort of thing so well in this country.’

‘What did you think of the medical evidence?’

‘Rather a facer. Why didn’t you tell me about it?’

‘You were away. Did you consult your specialist?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘I believe I remember him vaguely. A lot of moustache.’

‘Oceans of it,’ I agreed. ‘He’s very proud of that moustache.’ 

‘He must be quite old.’

‘Old but not ga-ga,’ I said.

‘Why did you really go to see him? Was it purely the milk of human kindness?’

‘You have such a suspicious policeman’s mind, Dick! It was mainly that. But I admit to curiosity, too. I wanted to hear what he had to say about our own particular set-up. You see, he’s always talked what I call a lot of cock about its being easy to solve a case by just sitting in your chair, bringing the tips of your fingers symmetrically together, closing your eyes and thinking. I wanted to call his bluff.’

‘Did he go through that procedure for you?’

‘He did.’

‘And what did he say?’ Dick asked with some curiosity.

‘He said,’ I told him, ‘that it must be a verysimple murder.’

‘Simple, my God!’ said Hardcastle, roused. ‘Why simple?’

‘As far as I could gather,’ I said, ‘because the whole set-up was so complex.’

Hardcastle shook his head. ‘I don’t see it,’ he said. ‘It sounds like one of those clever things that young people in Chelsea say, but I don’t see it. Anything else?’

‘Well, he told me to talk to the neighbours. I assured him we had done so.’ 

‘The neighbours are even more important now in view of the medical evidence.’

‘The presumption being that he was doped somewhere else and brought to Number 19 to be killed?’

Something familiar about the words struck me.

‘That’s more or less what Mrs What’s-her-name, the cat woman, said. It struck me at the time as a rather interesting remark.’

‘Those cats,’ said Dick, and shuddered. He went on: ‘We’ve found the weapon, by the way. Yesterday.’

‘You have? Where?’

‘In the cattery. Presumably thrown there by the murderer after the crime.’

‘No fingerprints, I suppose?’

‘Carefully wiped. And it could be anybody’s knife-slightly used-recently sharpened.’

‘So it goes like this. He was doped-then brought to Number 19-in a car? Or how?’

‘Hecould have been brought from one of the houses with an adjoining garden.’

‘Bit risky, wouldn’t it have been?’

‘It would need audacity,’ Hardcastle agreed, ‘and it would need a very good knowledge of the neighbourhood’s habits. It’s more likely that he would have been brought in a car.’

‘That would have been risky too. People notice a car.’ 

‘Nobody did. But I agree that the murderer couldn’t know that they wouldn’t. Passers-by would have noted a car stopping at Number 19 that day-’

‘I wonder if theywould notice,’ I said. ‘Everyone’s so used to cars. Unless, of course, it had been a very lush car-something unusual, but that’s not likely-’

‘And of course it was the lunch hour. You realize, Colin, that this brings Miss Millicent Pebmarsh back into the picture? It seems far-fetched to think of an able-bodied man being stabbed by a blind woman-but if he was doped-’

‘In other words “if he came there to be killed,” as our Mrs Hemming put it, he arrived by appointment quite unsuspiciously, was offered a sherry or a cocktail-the Mickey Finn took effect and Miss Pebmarsh got to work. Then she washed up the Mickey Finn glass, arranged the body neatly on the floor, threw the knife into her neighbour’s garden, and tripped out as usual.’

‘Telephoning to the Cavendish Secretarial Bureau on the way-’

‘And why should she do that? And ask particularly for Sheila Webb?’

‘I wish we knew.’ Hardcastle looked at me. ‘Doesshe know? The girl herself?’

‘She says not.’

‘She says not,’ Hardcastle repeated tonelessly. ‘I’m asking you whatyou think about it?’ 

I didn’t speak for a moment or two. Whatdid I think? I had to decide right now on my course of action. The truth would come out in the end. It would do Sheila no harm if she were what I believed her to be.

With a brusque movement I pulled a postcard out of my pocket and shoved it across the table.

‘Sheila got this through the post.’

Hardcastle scanned it. It was one of a series of postcards of London buildings. It represented the Central Criminal Court. Hardcastle turned it over. On the right was the address-in neat printing. Miss R. S. Webb, 14, Palmerston Road, Crowdean, Sussex. On the left hand side, also printed, was the word REMEMBER! and below it 4.13.

‘4.13,’ said Hardcastle. ‘That was the time the clocks showed that day.’ He shook his head. ‘A picture of the Old Bailey, the word “Remember” and a time-4.13. Itmust tie up with something.’

‘She says she doesn’t know what it means.’ I added: ‘I believe her.’

Hardcastle nodded.

‘I’m keeping this. We may get something from it.’

‘I hope you do.’