It was a hefty lunch for a hot day and Gently followed Dutt’s example of shedding his jacket and rolling his sleeves up. There wasn’t any frippery about it. Just straight roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and vegetables followed by hot apple turnover with custard. But either Mrs Davis was a demon cook, or else the Starmouth ozone had really come into its own that day… there wasn’t much in the way of conversation for quite some time.
‘Superintendents!’ muttered Gently at last, evaluating the remains of the turnover with sad resignation.
‘Never alters,’ agreed Dutt sympathetically, cutting an absent-minded slice.
‘I can’t help coming to the conclusion, Dutt…’
‘Yessir?’
‘… if it didn’t savour of insubordination…’
‘Aye, aye!’ Dutt winked at his superior over a spoonful of juicy pastry. ‘Don’t have to say it, sir. I knows well enough what you mean.’
Gently picked up his plate and placed it at some distance from himself, as though finally to sever connections with that beguiling turnover. ‘You make a pinch… you dig up some evidence… it does something to them. They’re all the same, Dutt.’
‘Yessir. Noticed it.’
‘They suddenly turn impatient. It’s an occupational disease with superintendents. At a certain stage in the proceedings they get the charge-lust. They want to charge someone. And if there’s half a case against anybody it’s the devil’s own job to head a super off and make him be a good boy…’
‘Don’t we know it, sir?’
Gently drew a deep breath and pulled out his familiar sandblast. ‘Of course, you have to admit it… there’s enough on Baines and Wylie to make the average super sit up and howl blue murder. But at the same time, it only needs the average forensic eye. Baines isn’t a liar, for instance, and Wylie’s got too scared to lie. No, Dutt, no. Our super is doing himself no good by tearing the bricks apart at the Wylie’s. He won’t find anything, and he won’t improve his standing with anyone.’
Mrs Davis brought in their cuppa, making room for the tray beside Gently. She hesitated on seeing the chief inspector’s pipe on the point of being lit and then produced, from nowhere as it seemed, a capacious glass ashtray. Gently nodded a solemn acknowledgement. Mrs Davis beamed at the still-eating Dutt. ‘Aren’t you going down to the beach now this afternoon, Inspector?’
Gently smiled wanly and unbonneted the teapot.
‘Well, sir… what do you make of them clothes turning up like that?’ queried Dutt when the tea was poured and Mrs Davis had retired.
‘They were planted deliberately, Dutt. By the person who lifted the suitcase.’
‘But how did they know where it was, sir?’
‘By deduction and observation — just as we find out things.’ Gently doused a match and took one or two comfortable pulls. ‘Obviously… they wanted that suitcase back. Whether they still intended to use the money or not we don’t know, but they feel it’s important that a large consignment of it shouldn’t be lying around loose… it would almost inevitably finish up in our hands. So their first move after settling with Max was to recover the suitcase and I can imagine they were a little upset to find it missing when they got to his lodgings…’
‘Lord luvvus, sir — that other set of prints! I’ve been puzzling my loaf about them all the morning.’
‘Exactly, Dutt… the first little slip our friends seem to have made. But I don’t suppose they aimed to be around when those prints came to light. It was just a bit of bad luck that the suitcase had vanished into thin air…’
‘So it was them who ransacked the room, sir.’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘On account of he may have hidden the stuff somewhere.’ ‘It was a possibility they wouldn’t overlook.’
Dutt gave a little chuckle. ‘You’re right, sir… their faces must have dropped a mile when they found the cupboard was bare!’
‘A good mile, Dutt, and possibly two. It upset all their calculations. It meant they would have to hang around and look for it instead of getting to hell out of the country… and hanging around would get to be more and more dangerous as the investigation went on. At first, I imagine, they hadn’t a clue about it. They may have visited the bedroom more than once and they were certainly interested to know what we found when we got there… and then, of course, they began to think it out and perhaps make some inquiries. They found out, or possibly they knew, that Max had been consorting with Frenchy… that was an obvious lead. No doubt they gave her flat a going-over. They might even have questioned her. But there was no suitcase at the flat, and all that Frenchy could tell them — even if she came clean — was of Jeff and Bonce’s allegedly fruitless attempt to get the suitcase… Anyway, they got on to Jeff and Bonce somehow. It wouldn’t have been too difficult if they checked up on Frenchy.’
‘And then they kept them under observation, sir?’
‘Just as we would have done, Dutt.’
‘And last night they found out where the case was hidden — and left the clothes there for a false scent, sir?’
Gently nodded pontifically. ‘A false scent for a charge-happy super.’
Dutt swallowed a mouthful of tea and looked a little dubiously at the remaining shoulder of apple turnover. ‘Just one thing, sir…’
‘Yes, Dutt?’
‘I don’t want to seem critical, sir…’
‘Don’t be modest, Dutt — just come to the point.’
‘Well, sir, what I want to say is, how did they know we was ever going to find them clothes, let alone connect them with the Teddy boys?’
Gently nodded again and smiled around his pipe. ‘That’s what we want to know, isn’t it, Dutt. That’s going to be the clincher!’
He rose from the table and went over to Mrs Davis’s telephone. The phonebook lay beside it. He flicked through it and traced down a column with a clumsy finger.
‘Starmouth 75629… this is Chief Inspector Gently.’ He tilted the instrument to one side so that Dutt could hear too. ‘Biggers? There’s something else I want to ask you, Biggers… yes, about last night.’
‘Ho yes, sir?’ came the publican’s anxious voice from the other end.
‘You told us in your statement that after you had changed the note you heard there were some counterfeit ones going about. I want to know where you obtained that information.’
‘Yes, sir! Certainly, sir! It was a bloke in the bar what told me that.’
‘A bloke you know?’
‘Ho no, sir. Quite a stranger.’
‘He was in the bar at the time of the transaction?’
‘No, sir, not as I remember. The first time I noticed him there was when the young feller went out.’
‘You mean he came in while the transaction was in progress?’
‘Must’ve done, sir, ’cause he soon ups and tells me to watch my step with regard to Yank money. “Wasn’t that a hundred-dollar bill?” he says. “Ah, it was,” I says. “Then it’s ten to one you’ve been had,” he says, or words to that effect, “there was a sailor got copped with some this afternoon.”’
‘Oh did he…?’ Gently exchanged a glance with Dutt.
‘Yes, sir… God’s honest truth!’ The voice on the phone sounded panicky. ‘I don’t have no cause to lie, now do I-!’
‘All right, Biggers… never mind the trimmings. What else did this man tell you?’
‘Well, he told me I could get five years, sir, and that I ought to hand it over to the police… naturally, me just having paid ten quid …’
‘We know about that. Did he say anything else?’
‘No, sir… not apart from ordering a whisky. It was nearly closing-time.’
‘Would you recognize him again?’
‘Ho yes, sir! Like I was telling you, I never forget a face.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘Well, sir… he wasn’t English, that I can say.’
‘Did you notice a mole on his cheek by any chance?’
‘No, sir. No. But he’d got a scar running all down one side…’
Gently hung up the instrument and leaned on it ponderingly for a few moments. His eyes were fixed on Mrs Davis’s flowered wallpaper, but to a watchful Dutt they seemed to be staring at something a good six feet on the other side of the wall. Then he sighed and straightened his bulky form.
‘So there it is, Dutt… our clincher. And they even knew about McParsons… eh?’
Dutt shook his head ruefully. ‘They must have quite an organization, sir…’
‘An organization!’ Gently laughed shortly. ‘Well… we’d better get our own organization moving, too. Go back to headquarters, Dutt, and tell them to put a man each on the two stations and another on the bus terminus, and to warn the men on the docks to keep their eyes double-skinned. It’s an even bet that our scar-faced acquaintance is well clear of Starmouth, but we can’t take any risks… Then give Special a ring and let them know.’
Dutt nodded intelligently. ‘And the clothes, sir…?’
‘Get them sent to the lab, and the paper and string. Oh, and that cab-driver… the one who picked up Max and Frenchy on Tuesday night… see if you can get a line on him, Dutt.’
‘Yessir. Do my best.’
Gently scratched a match and applied it to his pipe. ‘Me, I’m going to pay a little social call in Dulford Street. I think it’s time that Frenchy assisted the police by supplying the answers to one or two interesting questions.’
Dulford Street was a shabby thoroughfare adjoining the lower part of the Front. It began as though by accident where some clumsily-placed buildings had left a gap and proceeded narrowly and crookedly until it got lost in a maze of uncomely backstreets. There was a feeling of having-gone-to-seed about it, as though its original inhabitants had given it up in despair and left it to go its own way. From one end to the other it could boast of no fresh paint except the lurid red-and-cream of an odiferous fish and chip shop.
Gently eyed the assemblage moodily and applied to a new bag of peppermint creams for encouragement. Sunday was obviously an off-day in Dulford Street. The signs of life disturbing its charms were few. On the right-hand side was a frowsy little corner-shop with some newspapers in a rack at the door, and at the entry from the Front lurked a furtive and ragged figure… Nits, who had been following Gently all the way along the promenade. Gently shrugged his bulky shoulders and pushed open the clanging door of the newspaper shop.
‘Chief Inspector Gently… I wonder if you can give me some information?’
It was a white-haired old lady with beaming specs and an expression of anxious affability.
‘What was it you were wanting?’
‘Some information, madam.’
‘The newspapers is all outside… just take one, sir!’
‘I want some information.’ Gently raised his voice, but the only effect was to increase the old lady’s look of anxiety. He pointed out of the dusty window.
‘That apartment over there… do you know who lives in it?’
‘Oh yes, I do! She isn’t nothing to do with me!’
‘Is that her permanent address or does she just make use of it?’
‘Eh… eh?’ The old lady peered at him as though she suspected him of having said something rude.
‘Is that her permanent address?’ began Gently, fortissimo, then he shook his head and gave it up. ‘Here, how much are these street directories?’
‘They’re sixpence,’ retorted the old lady sharply, ‘sixpence — that’s what they are!’
Gently put a shilling on her rubber mat and made a noisy exit.
Frenchy’s apartment, flat, or whatever other dignity it aspired to was situated above a disused fruiterer’s shop. The shop itself had been anciently boarded up, but the degree of paintwork it exhibited matched evenly with that of Frenchy’s door and the windows above, leaving no doubt about the contemporaneity of the decoration. Gently tried the door and found it open. It gave directly on to uncarpeted stairs which rose steeply to a narrow landing. At the top were two more doors, one with a transom light which did its best to illumine the shadow of the landing, and at this he knocked with a regular policeman’s rhythm.
‘Who is id…?’ came Frenchy’s croon.
‘It’s Chief Inspector Gently. All right if I come in?’
There was a creaking and scuffling, and finally the sound of shuffling footsteps. Then the door opened to display a draggle-haired Frenchy, partly-clad in a green dressing-gown. She glared at Gently.
‘What are you after now?’
‘I’m after you,’ said Gently cheerfully, ‘weren’t you expecting me to call?’
Her eyes narrowed like the eyes of a cat. ‘You’ve got nothing to pinch me for… you bloody well know it! Why can’t you leave a girl alone?’
Gently tutted. ‘This isn’t the attitude, Frenchy. You should try to be co-operative, you know — it pays, in your profession.’
‘That’s none of your business and you ain’t got nothing on me!’
Gently shook his head admonishingly and pressed past her into the room. It wasn’t an inviting prospect. The furniture consisted of an iron bedstead, a deal table and three cheap bedroom chairs. The floor was covered with unpolished brown lino, the walls with faded paper. At the window, curtains were drawn to keep out the sun, but in spite of this the room was like a large and unventilated oven, an oven, moreover, that possessed a vigorously compounded odour, part dry rot, part cigarette smoke and part Frenchy. Gently fanned himself thoughtfully with his trilby.
‘Doesn’t seem a very comfortable digging for a trouper like you, Frenchy,’ he observed.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ spat Frenchy, closing the door with a bang.
‘And you’re travelling light this season.’ He indicated a dress and a white two-piece which hung on hangers from a hook in the wall.
‘If you’re going to pinch a girl for being short of clothes…!’
Gently concluded his unhurried survey with the dishevelled bed, some empty beer-bottles and a chamber-pot. ‘And then again, my dear, this place is in the wrong direction…’
‘Whadyermean — wrong direction?’
‘It isn’t in the direction the taxi took.’
‘What taxi — what are you getting at?’ Frenchy whisked round fiercely to confront him.
‘Why… the taxi you and Max took from outside the Marina at about 10 p.m. last Tuesday. It went off towards the North Shore… that’s in a diametrically opposite direction, isn’t it, Frenchy?’
The sudden pallor of the blonde woman’s face showed up the dark wells of her eyes like two pools, but she took a furious grip on herself. ‘It’s a filthy dirty lie… I didn’t take no taxi! I was in “The Feathers” at ten… ask anyone who was there… ask Jeff Wylie — it was him who came away with me!’ She broke off, breathing hard, crouching as though prepared to ward off a physical blow.
Gently’s head wagged a measured negative and he felt in his pocket for some carelessly-folded sheets of the copy-paper. ‘It won’t do, Frenchy… it isn’t good enough any longer. I’ve got a couple of statements here which tell a different story.’
‘Then some b-’s been lying!’ Frenchy tried to snatch the sheets out of Gently’s hand.
‘Nobody’s been lying and you’ll get a chance to read these in a couple of minutes. Now sit down like a good girl.’
Frenchy hovered a moment as though still meditating an attempt on the papers. Then she swore an atrocious oath and dumped herself down on the side of the bed, an action which endangered the decency of her sparsely-clad person. Gently turned one of the chairs back-to-front and seated himself also.
‘First, I’d better have your name.’
‘What’s wrong with Frenchy… it suits everyone else round here.’
Gently clicked his tongue. ‘Let’s not be childish, Frenchy. Why make me bother the boys in Records?’
‘Trust a bloody copper! So it’s Meek, then. Agnes Meek.’
Gently scribbled it in his notebook. ‘And where do you hail from, Agnes?’
‘I was born and bred in Maida… but don’t use that filthy bleeding name!’
‘And when did you come up here?’
‘’Bout Whitsun or just before.’
‘And whose idea was it?’
‘Mine — who the hell’s do you think it was?’
‘Now Frenchy! I’m only asking a civil question.’
‘And I’m telling you I came up on my own! Don’t you think a girl needs a holiday?’
Gently shrugged. ‘It’s up to you… So you’ve been living at this address since Whitsun?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And nowhere else at all?’
Frenchy swore a presumable negative.
‘How did you find it? Who’s your landlord?’
‘Why not ask your pals up at the station — they’re supposed to know every bloody thing going on round here!’
Gently sighed sadly. ‘You’re not being helpful, Frenchy… and I had hoped you were going to be.’ He served himself a peppermint cream and chewed it sombrely for a moment. ‘Well… to come to the business. I’m pinching you for conspiracy to burgle, Frenchy-’
Frenchy screeched and shot up off the bed. ‘It’s a frame-up, that’s what it is, a filthy, stinking-!’
‘Shh!’ murmured Gently, ‘I don’t have to warn an old-stager like you.’
‘They’d say anything in a jam, dirty little bastards!’
Gently handed over his sheets of copy-paper. ‘In effect they said this… and there’s a certain amount of evidence to back them up.’
Frenchy seized the sheets and went over to the window with them, turning her back on Gently. It didn’t take her long to extract the gist of them. There was a moment when she discovered how she had been double-crossed that added three distinct new words to Gently’s vocabulary.
‘It’s a filthy bag of lies!’ she burst out at last. ‘The — little liars — they’re trying to pin it all on me!’
‘They seem to have made a job of it, too…’
‘There isn’t a word of truth!’
‘But there’s some evidence that goes with it…’
Frenchy stormed up and down the muggy room with perspiration beading on her pasty face. ‘You know what it is… You know why these pigs have said this. It’s because I wouldn’t go to bed with them… that’s what they’ve wanted! They’ve wanted to be little men, to go to bed with a woman… they’ve been hanging round me ever since I came up here. But I don’t go to bed with children… nobody can blame me for that!.. and now they’re in trouble they’re trying to blame me — somebody it’s easy to get in bad with the police!’
‘Whoa!’ interrupted Gently pacifically, ‘it’s no use getting out of breath, my dear. Somebody had to tell them about that suitcase and where to find it…’
‘It wasn’t me! I didn’t know nothing about it.’
‘Then who did — who else knew about it?’
‘How the hell should I know? Perhaps they saw him carting it around and got the idea it was something valuable…’
‘Who told you he was given to carting it around?’
‘Nobody told me-!’
‘And how did they know where he lodged — that he was out — that for some reason he’d left it in his room?’
‘They could’ve watched him, couldn’t they?’
‘They aren’t professionals, Frenchy.’
‘They’re sneaking little swine, that’s what they are!’
She flung herself at the bed and disinterred some cigarettes from under the pillow. Gently produced a match and gave her a light, steady brown fingers against her trembling pale ones. She swallowed down the smoke as though it were nectar.
‘You know, Frenchy, it isn’t burglary you’ve got to worry about… we aren’t terribly interested in that. It’s the way your customer finished up on the beach the next morning that’s the real headache.’
‘He wasn’t my customer — I never knew him!’
Gently shook his head. ‘I’ve got another witness who saw you with him, quite independent. Do you remember having lunch at the Beachside Cafe?’
‘I was never in the place!’
‘And now, according to these two statements, you were the last person we know to see Max alive…’
A shudder passed through the blonde woman’s body and she had to struggle to keep her hold on the jerking cigarette.
‘Weight it up, Frenchy… it’s a nasty position to be in.’
‘But mister,’ — her voice was hoarse now — ‘it wasn’t nothing to do with me — nothing — I’ll swear to it!’
Gently shrugged and picked up his hat to fan himself again.
‘I didn’t have no hand in it… honest to God!’
Gently fanned himself impassively.
‘I didn’t — I didn’t — I didn’t!’ The voice was a scream now and she threw herself on her knees in a fit of anguish. ‘You got to believe me… mister… you got to!’
Gently nodded a single, indefinite nod and went on fanning.
‘But you’ve got to, mister!’
Gently paused at the end of a stroke. ‘If,’ he said, ‘you didn’t, Frenchy, then the best thing you can do is to come clean…’
‘But I can’t, mister!’ Her face twisted in indescribable torment.
‘You can’t?’ Gently stared at her bleakly and recommenced his fanning.
‘I can’t — I can’t! Don’t you understand?’
‘I understand there’s a murder charge being kept on ice for someone.’
Frenchy moaned and sank in a heap on the floor. ‘I didn’t do it,’ she babbled, ‘I didn’t do it… you got to believe me!’
Gently bent over and picked up the cigarette, which was making an oily mark on the dubious lino. ‘Listen, Frenchy, if it’s any consolation to you, I don’t think you knocked off Max, and I’m not personally trying to pin it on you. But you’re obviously in it up to your neck, and unless you make yourself useful to us you’re going to have a pretty rough passage in court. Now what about it… suppose we do a deal?’
‘I can’t, mister — I daren’t!’
‘We’ll give you protection. You’ve nothing to be afraid of.’
The dyed-blonde hair shook hopelessly. ‘They’d get me… they always do. They don’t never forget, mister.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Gently stoutly, ‘this is England, Frenchy.’
Her haunted eyes looked up at him, hesitating. Then she gave a hysterical little laugh. ‘That’s what Max thought, too… he’d be safe once he got to England!’
They went down the naked stairway, Frenchy clicking her high heels, Gently clumping in the rear. She had put on her white two-piece with its red piping and split skirt, and there was almost a degree of respectability about her make-up. At the bottom she fished a key out of her handbag and locked the street door. Gently took it from her and slipped it into his pocket.
‘And to save a little trouble…?’
Frenchy sniffed and tossed her head towards the corner shop. ‘Mother Goffin over the way… and don’t let her kid you up she’s deaf.’
‘I won’t,’ murmured Gently, ‘at least, not twice in one day.’
They proceeded towards the Front, Gently feeling a trifle self-conscious beside so much window-dressing. At the corner of the street lurked Nits, his bulging eyes fixed upon them. As they drew closer he sidled out to meet them.
‘Giddout of the way, you!’ snapped Frenchy, angering suddenly. But Nits’ attention had focused on Gently.
‘You leave her alone — you leave her alone!’ he piped, ‘she’s a good girl, you mustn’t take her away!’
‘Clear out!’ screeched Frenchy, ‘I’ve had enough of you hanging round me!’
Gently put his hand in his pocket for a coin, but as he did so the halfwit came flying at him with flailing arms and legs.
‘You shan’t take her away — you shan’t — I won’t let you!’
‘Here, here,’ said Gently, ‘that’s no way for a young man to behave-!’
‘I’ll kill you, I will, I tell you I’ll kill you!’
‘And I’ll bleedin’ kill you!’ screamed Frenchy, catching Nits such a cuff across the face that he was almost cart-wheeled into the gutter. For a moment he lay there, pop-eyed and gibbering, then he sprang to his feet in a whirl of limbs and darted away down Dulford Street like a bewildered animal.
‘Dirty little git!’ jeered Frenchy, ‘they’re all the same — doesn’t matter what they are. Men are all one filthy pack together!’
The super wasn’t feeling his pluperfect best just then. He’d been butting his head against brick walls all day. He’d disregarded Gently, made an enemy of Christopher Wylie, been torn off a helluva strip by the chief constable, failed to find the merest trace of a suitcase full of hundred-dollar bills and, to cap it all, he was beginning to realize that he’d been wrong anyway. It was this last that really hurt. The rest he was prepared to take in his superintendental stride
…
‘So she won’t talk!’ he almost snarled, as Gently and he sluiced down canteen tea in the latter’s office.
Gently shrugged woodenly. ‘You can’t really blame her. She’s convinced she’d be signing her own death-warrant.’
‘Well, if she doesn’t sign it I shall — she can bank on that for a start!’ yapped the super.
‘Oh, I don’t know…’ Gently put down his cup and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief that had been seeing life. ‘I’ve got a couple of men looking for the taxi that picked them up on Tuesday night… if we can find that, we shall be getting somewhere.’
‘Now look here, Gently!’ The super almost choked. ‘This woman is the crux of the case. If your guessing is correct she knows everything — where he went to, who picked him up, who was after the money — she may even have been a witness to the murder, for all we know! And all you can tell me is she won’t talk. That’s all! They’ve put a scare into her, so she won’t talk!’
‘It isn’t a small size in scares, when you come to think of it.’
‘I don’t care what size it was!’ raved the super. ‘I’ve got a scare up my sleeve, too, quite as big as any of theirs. We’ll soon see who’s got the biggest!’
Gently looked woodener than ever. ‘She’s got a perfect right to keep quiet. And you’re overestimating your scare. There’s nothing you can pin to Frenchy apart from conspiracy to burgle, and she’s not such a fool that she doesn’t know it.’
‘Oh, she isn’t, isn’t she? We’ll soon see about that! I’ll make a pass at her with a murder charge that’ll put paid to all this nonsense
…!’
‘No.’ Gently shook his head. ‘I’ve tried it, anyway. The position is that you might get her, but they certainly will. They’re the ones who are holding a pistol in her back… or at least they’ve made her think so. No… Frenchy’s our ace in the hole, and for the moment we’ll have to leave her there. I’ve got an impression she’ll be a lot more vocal when she sees certain people wearing handcuffs.’
‘But how the devil are you going to get handcuffs on them when she won’t talk? And the man we want — let’s face it, Gently, it’s the fellow with the scar who’s got high jump written all over him — where will you ever lay hands on him again?’
‘He was here last night,’ muttered Gently obstinately.
‘Last night, last night! But where is he now — today? He isn’t just a criminal on the run. He’s part of a powerful and ruthless organization, professionals to their fingertips.’
Gently smiled feebly. ‘Even organizations are run by human beings
… they’re sometimes quite modest concerns when you get to grips with them. Anyway… about Frenchy. I want to ask a favour.’
The super grunted fiercely, as though indicating it wasn’t his day for such things.
‘I don’t want her kept here… I’d like her released on bail.’
‘On BAIL!!!’ erupted the super, his eyes jumping open as though he had been stung.
‘Yes… nothing very heavy. Just a modest little reminder.’
‘But good heavens, man — bail! A woman of that character — arrested for a felony — suspected of complicity in murder — and you’re asking for bail! What the devil do you think I should put on my report?’
‘Just say it was at my request,’ murmured Gently soothingly, ‘I’ll carry the can if she doesn’t turn up.’
‘But I’m already in bad with the CC over this business-!’
‘She’ll be in court. You needn’t worry about that.’
The super treated Gently to several seconds of his best three-phase stare. ‘All right,’ he said at last, ‘it’s your idea, Gently. You can have her. But God help you if she’s missing when we go to court. You’ll have her tailed, of course?’
‘Oh yes… Dutt’s one of the best tails in the business. And I’d like someone to check up on the flat in Dulford Street. The rent is paid to a Mrs Goffin who keeps a newsagent’s opposite… I’m just the wee-ish bit interested to know where it goes after that.’
The telephone rang and the super hooked it wearily to his ear. Gently rose to go, but the super, after a couple of exchanges, motioned for him to wait and grabbed a pencil out of his tray.
‘Yes… yes… d’you mind spelling it?… yes… as in Mau-Mau… got it… you’ll send his cards… right… yes… thank you!’
He hung up and pushed his desk-pad across for Gently’s inspection. ‘There you are — for what it’s worth!’
Gently glanced at the pad and back at the super.
‘The names of our playmates… Special does work on a Sunday! Olaf Streifer is Scarface — he’s an agent of this precious TSK Party’s secret police… Maulik, it’s called. Special want him in connection with some naval sabotage at Portsmouth two years ago. You seem to have got a set of his prints from somewhere, incidentally…’
Gently nodded. ‘And this… Stratilesceul?’
‘Stephan Stratilesceul — the lad on the slab. He wasn’t known over here, but the Surete had records. They wanted him in connection with a similar business at Toulon… the TSK seems to have a lien on naval naughtiness.’ He picked up the pad and held it up ironically. ‘So now we know — and how much further does it get us?’
Gently hoisted a neutral shoulder. ‘It all helps to fill in the picture… you can’t know too much about a murder.’