E VEN HIS OWN Chief seemed just a little bit against him, thought Gently, dropping the receiver on a long telephone consultation. Chiefy had seen the papers and left instructions for Gently to ring him. ‘I know I can trust you, Gently,’ he had said, ‘and you can’t tell me anything about the attitude of provincial superintendents. But for heaven’s sake bear in mind that you’re unofficial and don’t stir up trouble. If the local gendarmerie think they’ve got a case, well, just let them keep right on thinking — if they haven’t, they’ll find out soon enough when it gets to court.’
Which is as good as telling me to drop it, thought Gently…
He looked down at the dusky city with its ten thousand lights, with the moving jewels that were cars and the sauntering shop-windows that were buses. In the market place they were busy packing up, flowers and vegetables were being dispatched on hand-carts to the subterranean vaults under the Corn Hall. Down London Street came a news-boy with the Late Night Finals: No Murder Charge in Huysmann Case, Final! Final! The day was over, the business was done. Now it was time to pack up, to have tea, to slacken the tireding wheels of commerce. And then there was the pictures or the Hippodrome…
Gently walked down by the Guildhall and crossed over to the brightly lit foyer of a small cafe, the Princess. It had a bowl of fruit in one window and a dish of cakes in the other, and both seemed, to a hungry Gently, well up to chief inspectorial standards. He went in. It was a pleasant, intimate place with oak beams and nooks and a large fireplace in which slumbered a mature fire and a wireless turned down low spoke of football in the midlands. He selected a small, nooky table within fire-range and glanced down the menu.
A tall pretty waitress came to him.
‘Mixed grill,’ said Gently, ‘with two helpings of fried onion. What are the sweets like?’
‘The fruit salad is very good, sir, and there’s clotted cream today.’
‘Cow cream?’ asked Gently cautiously.
‘Oh yes, sir.’
‘Ah!’ said Gently, ‘well, have it all ready. And I’ll finish up with biscuits and Stilton and white coffee. And by the way, I like a lot of Stilton…’
The wireless programme had changed to music, South American, with subtle, nostalgic rhythms. Gently expanded himself towards the benevolence of the fire. Forty-eight hours and then he was on his own
… with full police non-co-operation. Of course, the break might come sooner. The fact that Peter hadn’t been charged right away might set things moving. It would certainly worry somebody. But if it didn’t, what then? It didn’t need the super to point out that Gently was butting his head against a wall. The wall was only too obvious. It loomed up everywhere. Try as he might, he always came across it at last, solid and indestructible, surrounding the blank on the map with unswerving determination. But the very fact that it was there, that it kept occurring, was significant: if Gently couldn’t get beyond it, at least he had become familiar with its direction and extent.
And the key-stone in the wall was Fisher. It was Fisher who had to crack. Take away Fisher, and the whole obstinate construction would collapse and reveal its secrets, whatever they were. All Gently’s mature instincts told him that — break Fisher, and the rest would fall into place. But if Fisher kept his nerve and did nothing foolish…
The waitress came back smiling with an interesting-looking tray. Gently called for rolls and went stolidly to work on his mixed grill. He ate seriously and with enjoyment. Food was one of those dependable pleasures, like smoking.
He thought of Gretchen. Had he been right with that shot in the dark, about her being pregnant? It had shaken Fisher, at all events, and confirmed Gently’s belief that he was her lover. But why should he have expressed fear? If it was his plan now to marry Gretchen and succeed to the old man, surely to have got her pregnant would have been a step in the right direction? But he was afraid that it was so, and that Gently should know it… why? Was there something in Hansom’s far-fetched notion after all — had the murder of Nicholas Huysmann been the concerted act of his daughter and his chauffeur?
Gretchen, he thought again. Gretchen. Perhaps his best chance lay there. But Gretchen wouldn’t talk any more than Fisher… and in her present situation, to bring any sort of pressure to bear on her was distasteful. Yet… could Hansom have hit it?
The music lilted some far-off tune of Gently’s youth, something connected with people and places unspeakably remote. He laid down his knife and fork. The waitress, who had been watching, came forward directly and removed the plate, wondering why Gently shook his head. Several people came in at that moment and stood looking for tables. Secure in his nook, Gently looked them over. Townspeople going to a show and having tea out… and then his eyebrows lifted the merest shade. One of the newcomers was Susan.
But Susan was on her own. Also, she seemed to be in a little ‘state’ about something. She ignored the waitress who wanted to fit her in a large table and with a toss of her sweeping blonde locks made for a smaller one near Gently’s own.
‘But we are keeping that table for two of our regulars, madam…’
‘There’s no “reserved” notice on it, is there?’
‘It is their usual table, madam…’
‘A pot of tea and some cakes.’
The waitress shrugged and moved away. Gently indulged in a smile. Someone had let Susan down, he thought, she’s all dressed up with nowhere to go… is Mr Leaming the culprit? He took delivery of his fruit salad and ate it thoughtfully. How much did Susan know about Fisher and Gretchen? She seemed to be a good deal in Gretchen’s confidence, one way or another… in fact, most of the clandestine comings and goings in the Huysmann house revolved round Susan. Gently eyed her interestedly over his peaches and cherries. She was dressed to go somewhere, without a doubt. She wore a rather expensive black creation that clung to her challengingly, nylons and a red swagger coat which also looked expensive. Her face was made-up heavily but with taste. She wore a silver bracelet, pearls and a diamond ring which might have been genuine. She was quite something, if the sulky expression of her face hadn’t spoiled it all.
Gently ate on through his cheese and biscuits and drank his coffee. Why had Leaming turned Susan up — if it was Leaming, and it was unlikely to have been anyone else? Lover’s quarrel, perhaps? Susan trying to exceed her market value? Or was it something more interesting and relevant?
He lit his pipe and moved over to Susan’s table.
‘Good evening, Miss Stibbons. Are you expecting someone?’ he asked paternally.
Susan looked up from an eclair. ‘Oh! Good evening, Inspector… no, I’m not expecting anybody.’
Gently sat down in the vacant chair. ‘I like this restaurant,’ he said, ‘it’s comfortable and friendly. Is this your evening off, Miss Stibbons?’
Susan gave a little shrug. ‘I get most evenings,’ she said.
‘You don’t know how fortunate you are. In my business we’re supposed to be on duty twenty-four hours a day… though of course, there’d be a riot if anyone tried to enforce it. But we get enough dumped on us at one time or another. Were you going to the pictures?’
‘I was,’ said Susan, aggrievedly.
‘I believe the picture at the Regent is quite good. I heard one of the men talking about it.’
‘That’s the one I was going to see.’
Gently took out his watch. ‘You’ve still time, if you hurry.’
Susan shrugged again. ‘I’m not going, now…’
Gently puffed a few smoke-rings. ‘I should,’ he said. ‘It’ll cheer you up no end.’
‘I don’t want to be cheered up.’
‘Oh come, now, it can’t be so bad as that. What happened, Miss Stibbons?’ Gently leaned forward like a tender father preparing to make all well.
‘I don’t know what happened. It wasn’t anything I said.’ She looked up at him, her blue eyes charged with injured innocence. ‘He just told me he’d finished with me — just like that!’
Gently tut-tutted. ‘But there must have been a reason?’
‘There wasn’t, Inspector, no reason at all. He picked me up like he always does and we came up here to have a drink at Backs. He was quiet-like, but I didn’t take much notice — he’s often like that.’
‘What happened then?’
‘When we came out there he suddenly went all stiff — you know — but I hadn’t said anything at all! He stood there for a bit by the car and then he suddenly said, “It’s been nice knowing you, Susan, but it’s all over now. We’re through,” he said, “this has got to end right here.” And then he got in the car and went off, and left me flat!’
Gently shook his head sympathetically. ‘Perhaps he didn’t mean it. Mr Leaming’s got a lot on his mind just now.’
‘But he did mean it! He knows I wouldn’t stand for that sort of treatment — and I’m not going to!’ She forked viciously at a meringue.
‘He may have had an appointment.’
‘He didn’t say anything about appointments.’
‘Well… these things happen. I wouldn’t take it to heart. There’s always someone else round the corner, you know.’
‘He may find that out before long.’
Gently smiled encouragingly. ‘This business has upset a lot of things, my dear, and affected a lot of people. Take Miss Gretchen, for example.’
Susan mangled a section of meringue and thrust it into her mouth. ‘Miss Gretchen’s all right,’ she said, creamily.
‘From a material point of view, I suppose she is.’
‘It turned out just right for her. I don’t know what she’d have done if it hadn’t happened, and that’s a fact.’
Gently turned the less-attacked side of the dish of cakes towards the waiting fork. ‘How do you mean?’ he asked casually.
‘Well… she was always kept at home… she didn’t understand.’
‘What didn’t she understand?’
‘You know how it is.’
Gently puffed some smoke at a bulb which gleamed dully behind its mock-parchment. ‘In trouble, is she?’
‘You’ll see, if you’re here long enough.’
‘How long is that?’
Susan frowned prettily over some green marzipan. ‘’Bout October, I shouldn’t be surprised. Somewhere about then. I warned her, you know, but it was too late then — I didn’t know about the first once or twice. After that, of course, there wasn’t much point in being careful.’
‘Is she really in love with him?’
‘What — with Fisher?’ Susan sniffed scornfully. ‘I shouldn’t think so. He goes around with anybody — he tried to get me, but I wasn’t having any… she was just having him because she couldn’t get anybody else.’
‘Has this business made any difference?’
‘Oh, she won’t speak to him now. She won’t have anything to do with him. If you ask me, he isn’t going to be chauffeur at our place much longer.’
‘How does he take it?’
‘He doesn’t care.’
‘I wondered if he’d started getting ideas.’
Susan grinned, cat-like. ‘I daresay he had some, but they won’t be coming off. Miss Gretchen can pick and choose now… even though she is in trouble.’
‘Ah well… it’s a strange world.’ Gently thumbed the bowl of his defunct pipe and relit it. ‘When was the last time they saw each other?’
‘You mean the last time they…?’ queried Susan innocently.
‘Yes.’
‘Wednesday.’
‘Wednesday, eh?’ Gently brooded.
‘That’s the night Mrs Turner goes to the pictures. She doesn’t know anything about it, of course. Miss Gretchen went to bed early and I was there to let him in through the kitchen.’
‘Saturday one of his days?’
‘Afternoons on a Saturday — I’m out myself after tea.’
‘I don’t suppose you saw anything of him last Saturday?’
Susan wrinkled her brow. ‘I thought maybe he’d slipped in while I was out of the kitchen… I felt sure he’d be up there with her. But then, you see, she’d gone out on her own and he stopped at home… well, I suppose they had a row. Anyway, she’s finished with him now.’
The cakes were finished and the coffee drunk. Susan eased back into her chair and explored her painted lips with the tip of an angelic tongue. ‘I like to have a talk,’ she said confidentially, ‘it makes you feel better.’
Gently said: ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘Oh… I don’t know.’
‘I was thinking of going to the pictures myself. There’s still time.’
Susan unfolded herself another peg and embraced him with a liquid smile. ‘I’ve never been out with a policeman before,’ she said.
‘It’s quite safe,’ said Gently.
‘We-ell!’ She inclined her head coyly.
Poker-faced, Gently paid their two bills and helped Susan on with her flaming red coat. Across the way was a taxi rank. Gently shepherded her through the traffic and handed her into the first car. ‘Regent,’ he said to the driver, then paused. Over by the Princess foyer stood somebody, watching them, a tall, broad-shouldered figure in an American-cut jacket. Gently shrugged and got in.
‘Who was that?’ asked Susan.
‘Could have been one of our men.’
‘I thought it looked like Fisher.’
‘Could have been him, too.’
Susan laughed and snuggled against him silkily. ‘I’ve never been out with a policeman before,’ she repeated.
At Charlie’s the proprietor was in the back helping Elsie with the washing-up. The snack-bar had a sordid, end-of-the-day atmosphere, with dirty cups on the tables and litter on the floor. Its only occupants were the tug-skipper and his mate, who sat talking interminably in low tones, and Fisher, who sat by himself with a cup of tea before him. Outside the street was deserted and silent. Inside there was an occasional clink of cup and saucer from the back and the drone of the conversation, on and on, like an audition from another world. A coffee-stained evening paper carrying Peter Huysmann’s photograph shared a table with a half-eaten bun.
Fisher played with the spoon in his saucer. His mouth was small and tight, his dark eyes angry and furtive. They glanced at the two tug-men, at the door, at the clock, which showed eleven. He pulled over the paper, limp and dirty, and stared at it. Why had Charlie looked at him like that when he came in? Why had he said: ‘What — you?’ in that sort of way? Charlie was in with the police, he knew that. Suppose they’d dropped something to him — something about Fisher? But he was safe there, as long as he kept his trap shut… they might suspect, but they couldn’t prove anything.
Fisher crumpled the paper and threw it into a corner, done and finished with. He looked across at the two tug-men. They were completely absorbed in their conversation… or was it that they didn’t want to speak to him? Had Charlie said something to them? He could imagine Charlie bending over and whispering: ‘Stay clear of Fisher — the police have got something on him!’ And so they talked and talked and pretended he wasn’t there. He got up and went over to them. They stopped talking and looked round. A movement from the back suggested that Charlie had put his head round the door.
‘I’m Fisher,’ he said defiantly.
The tug-skipper shrugged his lean shoulders. ‘What about it, mate?’ he retorted.
‘I’m Huysmann’s chauffeur.’
‘Well… what are we supposed to do… clap?’
‘I could tell them a few things they don’t know, if I’d a mind to
… things they’re never going to find out without me.’
Charlie said from the door: ‘Well — why don’t you tell them? What are you afraid of?’
Fisher swung round to face him. ‘I’m not afraid of nothing — see? They can’t pin anything on me, whatever they think — and whatever they say they think!’
‘What do they think, mate?’ put in the tug-skipper.
‘Never you mind… it isn’t your business.’
‘Then why come barging in with it?’
Fisher clenched his fists and looked ugly. ‘Here… stop that!’ exclaimed Charlie, coming round from behind the bar.
‘Let him be,’ said the tug-skipper, ‘I know how to handle his type
…’
‘I won’t have fighting here.’
Fisher turned furiously on Charlie. ‘Policeman!’ he burst out, ‘bloody policeman! I’m not a policeman, whatever else I am. And you watch out for yourself, that’s what I say. Things are going to change round here… you may not be so high and mighty, for one!’
Charlie took him by the sleeve. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he demanded.
‘Get your hands off me — get them off!’
‘I’m asking you what you mean by what you just said.’
Fisher wrenched himself away. ‘You’ll find out, don’t worry! You’ll find out that you can’t treat some people like dirt…!’
The doorbell tinkled and the bulky figure of Gently entered. He glanced at Fisher with mild surprise. ‘We seem to be following each other about…’ he said.
‘Rotten cop!’ shouted Fisher, ‘coming here trying to find out things… but there’s nothing you can find out. Ask your pal Charlie, here!’
Gently ignored him and went over to the counter. ‘A cup of coffee,’ he said. Charlie, with a dangerous glance at Fisher, went to serve him. ‘Look at him!’ cried Fisher, trying to include the tug-men, ‘a bloody know-all cop! A rotten sneaking policeman! Treating us as though we were something out of a drain!’
The second tug-man shifted uneasily. ‘If he’s a policeman you’d better button your mouth up, chum,’ he said. But Fisher would not be silenced. ‘You’d think he was clever to look at him — he thinks he’s clever himself! But he isn’t — not really! There’s as clever people as he is about and they aren’t chief inspectors…’ Encouraged by Gently’s passive acceptance of his taunts, Fisher moved closer to the counter. ‘You took Susan to the pictures, didn’t you? I know — I was watching you! And what did you get out of her, I’d like to know? How much do you think she knows?’
Gently turned about and surveyed him expressionlessly. ‘Why did Leaming turn her up tonight?’ he asked.
‘Leaming!’ Fisher spat on the floor. ‘How should I know why he did it? What’s it got to do with me?’
‘I was just asking…’ replied Gently smoothly.
‘Bloody coppers — always asking questions! But you won’t get anything out of me. And if you’ve got any sense you won’t listen to Susan’s lies… dirty little bitch!’
Gently turned his back and stirred his coffee. Charlie looked at him questioningly, but Gently’s lips framed a negative.
‘What’s she been saying about me?’ blustered Fisher, pushing up and trying to make Gently look at him. ‘She’s been lying… I’ve a right to know!’
Gently placed his spoon in the saucer and drank some coffee.
‘If it’s anything about me and Gretchen, it’s a bloody lie!’
Gently put his cup down.
‘Listen!’ shouted Fisher, ‘I’ve got a right to know — you’re going to tell me!’ and he laid his hand on Gently’s shoulder. He didn’t realize how big a mistake this was…
Unfortunately, the memory of a fragment of masonry bouncing along the pavement came into Gently’s mind at the critical moment and he put plenty of pull into the movement. Fisher lay on his back, completely stunned.
‘My God!’ exclaimed the tug-skipper, ‘I didn’t even see it happen!’
Gently dusted his hands modestly. ‘It’s something they teach you at police college…’ he said. He motioned to Charlie. ‘Put him outside while he’s quiet.’ He looked at the two tug-men thoughtfully. ‘I saw you come up this morning. You dropped a barge at the other side of Railway Bridge. Who was that for?’ he enquired.
The two tug-men looked at each other and the skipper ran his tongue over his lips. ‘It was sawn-out stuff — we drop it there to save time,’ he said.
‘Does that quay belong to Huysmann’s?’
‘Well, no… it don’t. But they handle the stuff there for us.’
‘Who handles it?’
‘I reckon it’s the firm we supply it to.’
‘And who are they?’
The skipper paused reluctantly, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘They call themselves “The Straight Grain Timber Merchants”.’
Gently smiled at the distant reaches of the night. ‘It’s the first time I’ve heard of that particular firm,’ he said.
Alan Hunter
Gently Does It