Crime at Tattenham Corner (23 page)

“But surely she put down the addresses on something when she went out,” the inspector argued, “in case any of you were ill or anything.”

“Yes, maybe she did sometimes,” Mr. Halliday acknowledged. “I've seen her stick a bit of paper on the mantelpiece over there with some writing on it. But I never looked to read it. She were a deal better scholard than me – poor wife was.”

“Would your daughter know more perhaps?” the inspector suggested.

“Dunno, I'm sure.” Mr. Halliday went to the door. Liz and her offspring had retired to the area. He called out, “Liz, these here gents want to know about them places where your poor Ma went to oblige.”

Liz looked amazed. “Which places?”

“That is the awkward part of it,” the inspector explained, stepping forward. “What we really want to discover is where this brown coat came from. Did you by any chance hear your mother say?”

“That brown coat,” Liz repeated, staring at it as it lay on the table. “Why Mother brought it home last day but one she went out. She said – Let's see who did she say had given it to her?”

“Ah, now, if you could remember that, we might be able to do something,” the inspector said vaguely.

“It was her day for Fountain Street,” Liz said thoughtfully.

She wrinkled up her brows and stuck her fingers in her mouth. From outside came the delighted cries of Mary Ann, and a low growl from the puppy whom she had captured by his tail. At last Liz said slowly: 

“She had three or four places as she went to – Mother had. I can't say as I mind them all, but I think, I do think she said Mrs. Hall gave her that coat, or was it Mrs. Beach? I can't be sure which, but I think it was one of them two. If not, it was some one in Fountain Street. That I'm pretty sure of. She didn't go anywhere else that day. Fountain Street day she used to call it, Friday. Three or four of 'em she used to do and come home as tired as a dog.”

The inspector was scribbling something hurriedly in his notebook. “Hall, or Beach, I think you said the name was. Well, we must toddle along there and see what we can find. I am much obliged to you, and to you, Mr. Halliday. And it may be that I shall have a job in a day or two's time. If so, I will think of you.”

“Thank you, sir. A job, that would put fresh heart into me – that would.”

“You shall have the first that comes, anyway,” the inspector promised.

He stepped outside, politely raising his hat to Liz as he did so. In the area he stopped to slip half a crown into Mary Anne's hand. The friendly baby received it with a chuckle and attempted to swallow it, a proceeding that Liz had to frustrate.

Arrived on the street level once more, the inspector took off his hat and stood bareheaded for a minute or two in the road taking deep breaths. 

“How these poor folks in London live and rear their families in these dismal underground dungeons beats me. And Halliday's is a mansion compared with some of them. Well, now for Fountain Street. It is a ten minutes' walk from here, and there doesn't seem to be any bus that would help us. So we shall have to foot it, for I should imagine that taxis are an unattainable luxury here. This will be our best way, I think.”

The inspector dived down a narrow street on the opposite side to the Hallidays'.

“I fancy we cut off a bit this way,” he said. “But I have an appointment at the Yard in half an hour's time” – as a clock close at hand struck the hour – “and that does not leave me much margin. I think I shall have to leave the inquiries in Fountain Street to you for to-day, Harbord. It isn't a difficult place to find. The third turning on the left takes you into Broadmoor Road, and then you just keep straight on until you come to a post office. Turn down by that, and the second on the right is Fountain Street.

“Hall, or Beach, is the name, she thinks, Nos. 14 or 16. If they both deny any knowledge of the brown coat, then you will have to go down the street till you find the right one by the process of elimination.”

“Yes, sir. But that will be a longish job.” Harbord looked at his watch. “I doubt whether I shall manage it to-day. For they don't welcome you very warmly in this sort of place when the menfolk come home from work.”

“Well, do all you can, and leave the rest until to-morrow,” the inspector said, catching sight of a passing taxi and hailing it.

“Ready, Mrs. Jimmy? If there is one quality I like better than another, it is punctuality. And you never keep a man waiting – you are always ready on the tick.”

Mr. William Williams was the speaker. He had just driven up to Mrs. Jimmy's house in a most luxuriously appointed car, to find her waiting for him in the hall. He glanced admiringly at her as he spoke.

Mrs. Jimmy was in evening dress – a new frock that had been sent home that very day from Madame Benoine. It was fashioned of white ring velvet in the latest style – that is to say there was as little of it as possible, sleeveless and practically backless, it appeared to be slung from her shoulders by two strings of crystal beads. It was very short; when she was standing it almost reached her fat knees; seated they were unashamedly visible. The white silk stockings and the satin shoes with their crystal buckles were all that fashion demanded. But magnificent as the gown undoubtedly was, anything less becoming to Mrs. Jimmy's ample form could hardly have been devised. The pure white, too, showed up her brick-red skin and the make-up which she had been indulging in very freely.

Mr. Williams took her white evening cloak from her arm and wrapped it round her reverentially. Then he escorted her to the waiting car and helped her in with a tender deference that she found very attractive.

“I have the chauffeur to-night,” he said as he got in and seated himself beside her. “I thought it would be more convenient – leave my hands free,” with an arch glance that was not lost on Mrs. Jimmy.

She gave him a playful blow on the arm – a blow that left a streak of white powder.

“I am ashamed of you. I hope you are going to behave this evening.”

Mr. Williams heaved a mock sigh. “It is so difficult to behave when I am in your company. Mrs. – No, may it not be Kitty for this one evening?” he said imploringly.

Mrs. Jimmy shook her fat forefinger at him.

“You know you will do what you like whether I say yes or no.”

“No, that is slander,” Mr. Williams said, regarding her affectionately. “I would not do anything to annoy you for the world – Kitty.”

“There, what did I say?” Mrs. Jimmy said archly. “I knew you wouldn't wait till I said you might.”

Mr. Williams squeezed himself as near her as the car allowed.

“Would you ever have said I might?”

Mrs. Jimmy did not withdraw herself.

“Well, perhaps some time. I am a bit of a fool where you are concerned.” 

Mr. Williams bit his lip. The lady was distinctly forthcoming to-night, but his objective was far from being attained. He had to persevere.

“You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that.” He lowered his voice to a caressing whisper. “Ah, if only there were no Mr. Jimmy!”

“Well!” Her face wore quite a different expression now as far as the man could see it by the uncertain light of the car. Her eyes looked determined, defiant; yet, as she glanced at him, her lips quivered into a smile. “Perhaps – there – isn't,” she said slowly.

Mr. Williams stared at her.

“Perhaps there isn't – what?”

Mrs. Jimmy hesitated a moment.

“Well I had private information some time ago that my husband had died – had been killed in –”

“In Tibet, was it?” the man asked, his voice gravely sympathetic now.

“In Tibet,” she confirmed, her eyelids flickering for one instant. “It – it isn't certain yet, Mr. Williams, you know, and perhaps it never may be, but there it is –”

“But that is awfully hard on you,” the man exclaimed. “You will be wasting your youth and your sweetness on the – on the desert air.”

No flattery was too much for Mrs. Jimmy. “Oh, but I shall not,” she exclaimed. “No desert air for me, thank you. If I don't hear from Jimmy in a reasonable time – well, isn't there such a thing as presuming your husband's death? I'm sure I have heard of it.”

“Yes, I believe I have,” Mr. Williams said slowly. “But – but that would be a bit risky, wouldn't it?”

Mrs. Jimmy pouted. “I never thought you would say that. I fancied you would have said you would have taken any –”

“Me?” Mr. Williams opened his eyes as far as they would go. “Bless my life! You can't imagine I was thinking of myself! It was you that was first in my thoughts, as you always are.” He placed his hand over hers. “It was the risk for you I was thinking of. But I think we will chance it. What do you say, Kitty?”

As he said the last word, the car stopped before the Langford, the fashionable restaurant at which he was entertaining Mrs. Jimmy at dinner. She gave him a coy glance as the commissionaire opened the door.

“Now, you will not be able to talk any more nonsense for a bit.”

“Shan't I?” Mr. Williams's laughter shone in his eyes as he sprang out. “I have arranged with the head waiter, who is a bit of a pal of mine, to have a nice little table in an alcove. There won't be anybody within ear-shot. I have seen to that.”

“Well, upon my word, you are a caution!” Mrs. Jimmy said with a giggle as he helped her out. “I never know where I am with you.” 

“You will some day,” Mr. Williams rejoined enigmatically.

The Langford was very smart – so smart that there was little chance of Mr. Williams or Mrs. Jimmy recognizing any acquaintances.

But the head waiter had been as good as his word. A small round table for two had been arranged in an alcove that commanded a good view of the room and of the dancing, while those who sat at the table could withdraw themselves from sight as much as they wished.

Mrs. Jimmy looked round with approval. “This is a real tip-top place and no mistake. The band is first-rate.”

“Yes. It is a pity I am no dancer,” Mr. Williams said regretfully.

“Ah, well, I am not frightfully keen about it, and I don't care about mixing it with my dinner.”

“After dinner sit a while,” Mr. Williams quoted. “Well, to go back to what we were talking about. I hear Lady Burslem is reported to be going to set you a good example. And Miss Pamela too.”

A slight shade of uneasiness crept into Mrs. Jimmy's voice.

“Who is going to set me a good example, Lady Burslem or Pam? I don't quite understand.”

“Both of 'em are,” the man told her succinctly. “Miss Pamela is going to marry Stanyard – that is an open secret. And isn't it pretty much the same about Lady Burslem? She is going to marry her foreign secretary, isn't she?” He watched Mrs. Jimmy's face keenly as he spoke.

She fidgeted under his gaze. “What an old gossip you are! And don't believe everything you hear about Sophie Burslem, you take it from me. She is a real good sort, is Sophie.”

“I am sure she is if you say so,” Mr. Williams responded with his usual gallantry. “But does that mean that what they are saying isn't true?”

Mrs. Jimmy tossed her head. “I don't know whether it is true or not. If it is, I suppose I shall hear of it from Sophie in good time. And let me tell you, Mr. Williams, if she does get married again, I shall back her up for all I'm worth. Guess she was pretty well bullied and kept under the first time. The Burslems are like that. And why shouldn't she please herself the second time? That secretary is a decent sort of fellow – for a foreigner. So that's that! And, as for Pam, if she likes to marry Stanyard it is nobody else's business. I never believed he killed her father. Why should he? He didn't want to marry Sophie, as he has shown plainly enough. And, as for Perlyon and Peep o' Day, from all I can make out his colt was as good as the other. Besides, a man don't get hanged to win the Derby. Anything else you want to know, Mr. Inquisitive?” Her eyes were sparkling and her tone was not altogether pleasant.

Mr. Williams leaned forward, his arm on the table, his hand hovering dangerously near Mrs. Jimmy's.

“Do I care who Lady Burslem marries or her stepdaughter either? I have enough to do, hoping and planning that I shall be able to persuade one of the family to marry me.”

Mrs. Jimmy would have blushed if the state of her skin would have allowed it.

“Oh, you want to know too much!”

A waiter was standing at Mr. Williams's elbow. That gentleman looked at Mrs. Jimmy.

“Will you choose, or shall I order for you?”

“Oh, I leave it to you. You pay the piper so you must call the tune,” she responded politely.

Mr. Williams's choice made her mouth water. A
crème de menthe
frappé, cold soup, a
sole blanche
, a chicken, Russian salad,
côtelettes aux petits pois
,
pêche Melba
, black coffee and a bottle of Pommeray.

“You know how to do yourself well,” Mrs. Jimmy laughed as the man departed.

“Naturally I want to do my best when you honour me,” Mr. Williams responded. “Now, how soon will you be prepared to risk it?”

“To risk what?” she inquired innocently.

Mr. Williams's eyes smiled down at her. “You know – Kitty. Risk what you have just told me being true, and marry me.”

Mrs. Jimmy gave an affected little shriek. “Here now, what are you talking about? I haven't even thought of such a thing! And you say when am I going to do it! I declare you are a cool customer!”

“I don't know about that. But when I want a thing I do not mean to lose it for the sake of asking,” Mr. Williams responded as the cocktails arrived. “Now, when you have had one of these, maybe you will feel a little more kindly disposed towards your humble servant. You may be willing to take a certain amount of risk. After all, nobody can get death certificates from Tibet!”