Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 133, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 811 & 812, March/April 2009

“Maybe it’s in your car. Or next to it. Maybe it slipped out of your pocket when you were getting out.”

“No, I had it then. I always check, you know? Kind of a nervous habit.”

“So you’ve lost it since.”

“Must have been when I walked into that tree.”

“You said a branch.”

“Branch, whatever. It comes snapping back into your face like that, it feels like the whole damn tree, you know? Anyway, that must’ve been when I dropped it. Jesus, and it’s got all my plastic in it and everything.”

“That’s very awkward for you.”

“You’re telling me. ’Course, look on the bright side, I’ll have time to cancel them before anyone finds it. ‘Less you’ve got larcenous foxes out there or something.”

“They steal from bins. I don’t think they’ve raised their game to credit-card fraud.”

Holt threw his head back and laughed, a little too hard, a little too loud. The older man smiled. He knew his pleasantry hadn’t deserved this response. “So,” Holt said when he’d finished. “I guess you can probably imagine what I’m about to ask.”

“You’re wondering if I can let you have some money.”

“It’d be real Samaritan stuff, you know? Straight out of the Good Book.”

“Except the Samaritan was the one who was passing, wasn’t he?”

“...you what, Martin?”

“In the Good Book — it’s the Samaritan who’s passing and sees the man who fell among thieves. I think that was the phrase. But you’re the one who’s passing, aren’t you? I’m the one who was here.”

“So what does that make me, the bad Samaritan?” Holt laughed again, but not so loudly. “Anyway. Seriously. If you could lend me fifteen, twenty quid, it would make all the difference to my immediate future. And I’ll post it back first thing tomorrow.”

“You’re asking me to take a lot on trust here, Mr. Holt.”

“Not really. I can give you my address, e-mail, mobile number — you on e-mail, Martin?”

“Am I a silver surfer, you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to imply — it’s not like I’m looking at you and seeing an old man or anything. What are you, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, something like that?”

“A little older.”

“But sprightly.”

“Sprightly. That’s a word only attached to the elderly, isn’t it? So no, I’d rather not think of myself as sprightly. Hale will do nicely.”

“Hale, yeah, you look hale all right. But anyway, Martin, all I’m saying is — look, what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That noise. Is that dripping? Did you forget to turn a tap off?”

“I didn’t forget, no. I seem to have sprung a leak.”

“A real leak or just a washer?”

“Real?”

“I mean, if you’ve got a cracked pipe, that’s a problem. Basically, you’re going to need a plumber. But if it’s a leaky washer, that’s no big deal. I could replace it myself. Wouldn’t take a minute.”

“You’re a plumber?”

“I’m good with my hands,” Holt said.

They were large hands, it was true. And looked well used: had grazes on the knuckles. Perhaps from when he’d walked into that tree.

“I don’t think it’s the pipe,” the older man said.

“No?”

“No. It’s just the tap. Won’t stop dripping.”

“That’ll be your typical washer problem, then. You got a spare?”

“There’s some in a jar,” he said. “In the cellar. With the tools.”

“And a wrench?”

“Yes. Yes, there’s a wrench.”

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere. I can fix that for you. Won’t take five minutes.”

“In return for some money, you mean.”

“That’s how these things work. You do a job, you get paid. This, though, is more of your one-time-only offer, because I’m not asking for payment. Just a loan.”

“We’re back to the loan.”

“Sure. The arrangement we just discussed. You let me have twenty, thirty quid, enough to fill my tank and get me home, and I’ll post it back to you tomorrow.”

“Twenty, thirty?”

“Ought to do it.”

“It was fifteen, twenty earlier.”

“That was before I fixed the tap.”

It was still before he’d fixed the tap. The tap hadn’t been fixed yet.

“I’m quite capable of managing by myself, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment. But if I do it, we’ll both feel better, won’t we? I’ll have done you a favour in return for the loan, and you’ll know I’m not some scam artist who’s turned up on your doorstep hoping to rip you off.”

“You could still be that.”

“Well, sure. But at least you’ll have had your tap fixed.”

Something in the fire snapped suddenly, with a bang and a scatter of sparks. Neither man jumped. Holt said, “So, your tools are in the cellar, that’s what you said?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You just point me, I’ll pop down and fetch what I need.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll get them.”

“Well, I’ll come with you, make sure you get the right stuff.”

“No,” Martin said. “I’ll go. You wait here.”

Holt looked around. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to spend another couple of minutes by the fire.”

Martin said, “I won’t be a moment.”

Alone, Holt rubbed his hands together again, to squeeze the cold out of them. He revolved slowly in front of the flames, warming himself on all sides. Then he gazed around at the room’s contents once more.

Martin Hudson, who would soon be deceased, kept a tidy house.