Below the Clock. David Brawn

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СКАЧАТЬ And Edgar was Edgar. I think he could have persuaded a nightingale to sing out of his hand. But I doubt whether he would have listened to the song.’

      Watson burst into a perspiration. He drew a handkerchief and passed it to and fro across his forehead.

      ‘We’ll leave you now,’ said Curtis, ‘so that you can get to bed.’

      The men shook hands with her and left. She was gazing into the fire when the door closed after them.

      ‘I’m sorry for that little lady,’ said Curtis as they stood at the corner of Downing Street and Whitehall.

      ‘So am I. It’s a rotten shame. Poor little Lola!’

      ‘I hate to think of her being harried by Ripple and it looks as though she’s bound to be. Let’s hope that it won’t be too awkward for her. It certainly will be if she’s got a few facts she wants to hide. Those little peccadilloes can be very embarrassing.’

      ‘Don’t talk like that, Curtis. It isn’t like you to make nasty suggestions. I’ve known her ever since she was a kid, and there’s not one word that can be said against her reputation.’

      ‘Watson, you speak with the confidence of a father confessor, and with rather more than a confessor’s warmth. I could understand your tone if she were your own wife. If I were you I wouldn’t be so anxious to defend the lady’s good name before it is attacked. If the inquiry digs deep the purity of your motives might be suspected. I’ll remind you that Inspector Ripple is perhaps a coarse-minded man.’

      Colour flooded Watson’s face. Even in the blue of the street lamps it was discernible as a widening stain. He looked uncomfortable.

      ‘I … I only wanted to make it plain …’

      Curtis slapped his back and checked the sentence impatiently.

      ‘Man alive, you make it too plain! What you say to me doesn’t matter a hoot. What you say to the police might mean everything. They would fasten on your words as eagerly as leeches bite into a piece of bruised flesh. If you’re not very, very careful you’ll have the coroner asking questions that will write finis to your political career and make Mrs Reardon exceedingly uncomfortable.’

      ‘But there’s nothing for us to be uncomfortable about.’

      ‘Quite. You’ve explained that. So there can’t be anything to get excited about. But for the love of crying out loud don’t get so pink round the gills each time her name is mentioned. If you act in front of other people as you have tonight everyone will swear that there’s something in it. I’m going back to the Temple to work.’

      Watson was unwilling to leave things as they stood. He walked with his friend through the quiet streets at the back of Whitehall and along the Embankment. For some time both were silent. Then Watson spoke with startling abruptness:

      ‘Did you know that Edgar cut me out years ago with Lola?’

      ‘No, I didn’t. But after tonight, of course, I guessed it.’

      ‘I thought I had given you a false impression.’

      Curtis took a cigarette from his case, handed one to Watson and lighted the two, glancing at the miserable face of his friend in the flickering light of the match. He spoke with a tone of smooth toleration:

      ‘Look here, old man, you’d better tell me nothing. You can’t prevent me putting two and two together. What does it matter if I think they make five? But you insist on talking, tell me what I am to believe.’

      Watson winced and the cigarette glowed and glowed again.

      ‘I don’t want there to be an appearance of mystery where there is none. We were boy and girl together. When I came down from the university she floored me. I’d never thought of a woman before. Then Edgar came down for some shooting. After that I never had a chance. It was just as though he’d put a veil on her so that she could only look at him. I was nowhere. The trouble was that even now I fancy Edgar didn’t know he was cutting me out. He was infernally friendly.’

      ‘But afterwards? Was he never jealous?’

      ‘He had no cause. I saw her alone very little. Lola encircled her life with her wedding ring. Besides, I came to look on Edgar as a close friend.’

      ‘It was an impression he had a way of creating,’ said Curtis, dryly. ‘Take my advice, Watson, and tumble into bed. Your nerves are shaken. I’ll see you tomorrow. The troubles may have lifted by then.’

      A few minutes before Watson and Curtis parted company a conference was in progress in the office of the Commissioner of Police. There were three men in the room. Sir Norris Wheeler, the Commissioner, was fifty, corpulent, bald-headed and irritable. Chief Detective Inspector Ripple was tall, cadaverous and melancholic. Amos Petrie, a solicitor from the Public Prosecutor’s Department, was an odd specimen. About five feet four in height, nearer fifty than forty, he had weak eyes that blinked behind rimless spectacles, large ungainly hands, had a nasty habit of staring over a person’s shoulder while talking to them and a worse habit of rubbing his hands on a huge coloured handkerchief every two or three minutes.

      ‘I asked you to come round, Petrie,’ said Sir Norris, ‘because we want some assistance. Ripple suggested to me that I should borrow you, and I think your services might be very helpful.’

      Petrie glanced at Ripple with malevolence and coughed nervously.

      ‘I’ve got plenty of work to do without butting into Yard work,’ said the little man. ‘Why can’t you handle the case here?’

      ‘Because the inquiry is the most difficult we’ve ever had,’ said Ripple, ‘and we haven’t forgotten what you’ve done for us in other cases. I don’t think this is a job for an official Yard man.’

      ‘Why not? Thought you were paid to investigate sudden deaths.’

      ‘But you must know when such a death takes place in the House of Commons police work is hampered in a hundred and one ways. It looks as though every member of the Cabinet has got to be questioned and some M.P.’s have got to explain things. Add to that the fact that you can’t meet them in the House and you’ll see the start of the difficulty.’ The Commissioner was indignant.

      Petrie played with his handkerchief.

      ‘I think you’re raising a mare’s nest,’ he remarked. ‘At the moment you don’t know what caused Reardon’s death. Why not wait?’

      ‘We know enough about the surrounding circumstances to realise that a few preliminary inquiries are justified,’ said Wheeler.

      ‘And what part am I supposed to play?’ asked the little man. ‘Do I sit on the doorstep of 10 Downing Street until I can chat to the members of the Cabinet? Or do I stand back and applaud while Ripple does his stuff?’

      Sir Norris opened his mouth to snarl a retort. He hesitated, and changed his mind. Petrie was an odd man. For twenty years he had been known as a person who didn’t take kindly to discipline. His usual reply to a rebuke was simple and effective. He pointed out that since his private means were sufficient to sustain him, and since he preferred fishing to hanging around Whitehall it seemed that the time for a quiet removal had arrived. And Petrie was not the type of servant the Department wished to lose.

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