Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 35, No. 10, October 1990

“No sir, we ain’t met,” Bill said. “Howdy do.” Bill held out a work-roughened spade of a hand, the grip of which the inspector would remember. His bright brown eyes examined Hardman. He was going to have to give Annie full details of this. A real, top-ranking police guy if that smart suit was any guide. Yes, he’d have to tell Annie how he’d shaken the hand of a top-ranking chap from headquarters. A guy who could tell you a thing or two about murders and such.

“Last Friday night, Mr. Worseley, at around nine thirty you drove by that vacant lot out there, and along North Road past the Fitzmaurice farm. Am I right?”

“Well, more like ten o’clock I’d say, for that rain was really beltin’ down. Real late I was, for I’d had considerable trouble with the truck. I’d had a blowout as well as engine trouble, been in the garage for a couple of hours. I’d picked up the groceries here at about eight and then went up to Annie’s cousin’s place for a bite to eat and I had four dozen eggs to take her. She’d given up on me by the time I got there. And then, sitting there gabbing with Maude and Ben, well, it was getting pretty late. ‘Annie’ll kill me,’ I sez. ‘I better hit the road.’ Maude’s kitchen clock said ten. It was pouring like hell when I turned onto the North Road.” Bill did plenty of arm-waving to indicate his itinerary.

“So twice you went by the vacant lot last Friday night,” Hardman said. “Once at around eight o’clock and again at possibly five after ten?”

“I’d say that’s about it.”

“On that North Road, do you recall seeing anyone? Anything unusual?”

Bill scratched his face. “No, can’t say as I can. Not a night that folks would be out if they didn’t have to. Nothin’ unusual except for somebody who’d run out of gas. I stopped to see if he needed help, but he’d just come from a nearby farm with a gallon can and was okay. Just drove on after that. Nothin’ unusual except for me being late like I never was before.”

“The man who had run out of gas, did you know him?”

“Oh, yeah. The teacher’s lad. Reggie Crossland. He’s just bought a farm next to me. He’d been into town on lawyer business and to gab with his folks, he said, and was headed back to the farm. He’d get his tank filled at the crossroads when he got over to the valley.”

“From a farm you said he came with a gallon can of gas. Which farm was that, Mr. Worseley?”

I felt my throat get dry, and shivers ran down my back. Glancing at Earl I saw the consternation on his face. Apart from Earl and me, the inspector and Bill were the only other people in the shop. Polly had gone upstairs to make the ten o’clock tea. The whole atmosphere of the shop was suddenly charged and tense.

“The Fitzmaurice farm,” Bill said, blithely. “Nearest one to the road at that point. I was but a mile out of town on the North Road. Their place, it’s but a bit back off the road. I could see lights on in the yard.”

The doorbell tinkled again as Bill strode out. I felt drained. Earl was leaning heavily against the counter. “Inspector, I did tell the chief about all the customers we’d had last Friday. I’d thought Bill was headed for home when he went out of here at around eight o’clock.”

“So had we,” the inspector said. “Eight o’clock hadn’t seemed to fit in with what we needed. I’d appreciate it if you’d not mention what you just heard.”

“Oh, no way,” Earl said, not without feeling. “Of course not,” I said. My throat had a swollen sensation.

We watched as Inspector Hardman turned his car once again onto the North Road, this time heading for Reggie’s farm. “This Friday, too,” I said, “we’re not going to forget.”

That afternoon Reggie Crossland was arrested for the murder of Harry Bagley. The clincher had been Inspector Hardman’s finding Nora’s shotgun in Reggie’s house. In a kitchen cupboard it was, the kitchen being the only room in the house that was furnished in any way, that is, with a stove, a table, and a cot bed. Reggie admitted that the gun was — or had been — Nora’s. He had bought it from her, he said, that same night that he went to get the gallon can of gas for his truck. He had need of a shotgun, he said, for the rabbits were overrunning his farm. He drove himself in, Inspector Hardman driving behind Reggie’s blue truck. But because Reggie now had many animals needing his care on the farm he was let out at once on bail.

That night, after the shop was closed, Earl, Polly, and I sat talking about Reggie and Nora, about the days when they had been so young and carefree, riding about Longvalley in the old jalopy, tootling the lighthearted notes on the Klaxon horn.

“Two young people really in love they were,” Polly said. “If it hadn’t been for that wretched war they’d have married, and none of this would ever have happened. When they met again, the way it once had been for them, it all came back. And Reggie saw what Bagley had done to Nora. He took the gun and went out to find Bagley. That’s how it looks to me anyway.”