The Clocks

There was embarrassment between us. To relieve it, I said:

‘You’ve got a lot of bumf there.’

‘All the usual. And most of it no damned good. The dead man hadn’t got a criminal record, his fingerprints aren’t on file. Practically all this stuff is from people who claim to have recognized him.’ He read:

‘ “Dear Sir, the picture that was in the paper I’m almost sure is the same as a man who was catching a train at Willesden Junction the other day. He was muttering to himself and looking very wild and excited, I thought when I saw him there must be something wrong.”

‘ “Dear Sir, I think this man looks very like my husband’s cousin John. He went abroad to South Africa but it maybe that he’s come back. He had a moustache when he went away but of course he could have shaved that off.”

‘ “Dear Sir, I saw the man in the paper in a tube train last night. I thought at the time there was something peculiar about him.”

‘And of course there are all the women who recognize husbands. Women don’t really seem to know what their husbands look like! There are hopeful mothers who recognize sons they have not seen for twenty years.

‘And here’s the list of missing persons. Nothing here likely to help us. “George Barlow, 65, missing from home. His wife thinks he must have lost his memory.” And a note below: “Owes a lot of money. Has been seen going about with a red-haired widow. Almost certain to have done a bunk.”

‘Next one: “Professor Hargraves, expected to deliver a lecture last Tuesday. Did not turn up and sent no wire or note of excuse.” ’

Hardcastle did not appear to consider Professor Hargraves seriously.

‘Thought the lecture was the week before or the week after,’ he said. ‘Probably thought he had told his housekeeper where he was going but hasn’t done so. We get a lot of that.’

The buzzer on Hardcastle’s table sounded. He picked up the receiver.

‘Yes?…What?…Who found her? Did she give her name?…I see. Carry on.’ He put down the receiver again. His face as he turned to me was a changed face. It was stern, almost vindictive.

‘They’ve found a girl dead in a telephone box on Wilbraham Crescent,’ he said.

‘Dead?’ I stared at him. ‘How?’

‘Strangled. With her own scarf!’

I felt suddenly cold.

‘What girl? It’s not-’

Hardcastle looked at me with a cold, appraising glance that I didn’t like.

‘It’s not your girl friend,’ he said, ‘if that’s what you’re afraid of. The constable there seems to know who she is. He says she’s a girl who works in the same office as Sheila Webb. Edna Brent her name is.’

‘Who found her? The constable?’

‘She was found by Miss Waterhouse, the woman from Number 18. It seems she went to the box to make a telephone call as her phone was out of order and found the girl there huddled down in a heap.’

The door opened and a police constable said:

‘Doctor Rigg telephoned that he’s on his way, sir. He’ll meet you at Wilbraham Crescent.’

Chapter 17

It was an hour and a half later and Detective Inspector Hardcastle sat down behind his desk and accepted with relief an official cup of tea. His face still held its bleak, angry look.

‘Excuse me, sir, Pierce would like a word with you.’

Hardcastle roused himself.

‘Pierce? Oh, all right. Send him in.’

Pierce entered, a nervous-looking young constable.

‘Excuse me, sir, I thought per’aps as I ought to tell you.’

‘Yes? Tell me what?’

‘It was after the inquest, sir. I was on duty at the door. This girl-this girl that’s been killed. She-she spoke to me.’

‘Spoke to you, did she? What did she say?’

‘She wanted to have a word with you, sir.’

Hardcastle sat up, suddenly alert. 

‘She wanted to have a word with me? Did she say why?’

‘Not exactly, sir. I’m sorry, sir, if I-if I ought to have done something about it. I asked her if she could give me a message or-or if perhaps she could come to the station later on. You see, you were busy with the chief constable and the coroner and I thought-’

‘Damn!’ said Hardcastle, under his breath. ‘Couldn’t you have told her just to wait until I was free?’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ The young man flushed. ‘I suppose if I’d known, I ought to have done so. But I didn’t think it was anything important. I don’t thinkshe thought it was important. It was just something she said she was worried about.’

‘Worried?’ said Hardcastle. He was silent for quite a minute turning over in his mind certain facts. This was the girl he had passed in the street when he was going to Mrs Lawton’s house, the girl who had wanted to see Sheila Webb. The girl who had recognized him as she passed him and had hesitated a moment as though uncertain whether to stop him or not. She’d had something on her mind. Yes, that was it. Something on her mind. He’d slipped up. He’d not been quick enough on the ball. Filled with his own purpose of finding out a little more about Sheila Webb’s background, he had overlooked a valuable point. The girl had been worried? Why? Now, probably, they’d never know why.