The Clocks

‘As reliable as most. Her recognition was quite positive. No hesitation.’

‘That’s a blessing.’

‘Yes. I was beginning to despair. The amount of wives I’ve had here! I’d begun to think it’s a wise woman who knows her own husband. Mind you, I think Mrs Rival might have known a little more about her husband than she lets on.’

‘Has she herself ever been mixed up in criminal activities?’

‘Not for the record. I think she may have had, perhaps still has, some shady friends. Nothing serious-just fiddles-that kind of thing.’

‘What about the clocks?’

‘Didn’t mean a thing to her. I think she was speaking the truth. We’ve traced where they came from-Portobello Market. That’s the ormolu and the Dresden china. And very little helpthat is! You know what it’s like on a Saturday there. Bought by an American lady, the stall keeperthinks -but I’d say that’s just a guess. Portobello Market is full of American tourists. His wife says it was a man bought them. She can’t remember what he looked like. The silver one came from a silversmith in Bournemouth. A tall lady who wanted a present for her little girl! All she can remember about her is she wore a green hat.’

‘And the fourth clock? The one that disappeared?’

‘No comment,’ said Hardcastle.

I knew just what he meant by that.

Chapter 23

Colin Lamb’s Narrative

The hotel I was staying in was a poky little place by the station. It served a decent grill but that was all that could be said for it. Except, of course, that it was cheap.

At ten o’clock the following morning I rang the Cavendish Secretarial Bureau and said that I wanted a shorthand typist to take down some letters and retype a business agreement. My name was Douglas Weatherby and I was staying at the Clarendon Hotel (extraordinarily tatty hotels always have grand names). Was Miss Sheila Webb available? A friend of mine had found her very efficient.

I was in luck. Sheila could come straight away. She had, however, an appointment at twelve o’clock. I said that I would have finished with her well before that as I had an appointment myself.

I was outside the swing doors of the Clarendon when Sheila appeared. I stepped forward. 

‘Mr Douglas Weatherby at your service,’ I said.

‘Was ityou rang up?’

‘It was.’

‘But you can’t do things like that.’ She looked scandalized.

‘Why not? I’m prepared to pay the Cavendish Bureau for your services. What does it matter to them if we spend your valuable and expensive time in the Buttercup Cafe just across the street instead of dictating dull letters beginning “Yours of the 3rd prontissimo to hand,” etc. Come on, let’s go and drink indifferent coffee in peaceful surroundings.’

The Buttercup Cafe lived up to its name by being violently and aggressively yellow. Formica table tops, plastic cushions and cups and saucers were all canary colour.

I ordered coffee and scones for two. It was early enough for us to have the place practically to ourselves.

When the waitress had taken the order and gone away, we looked across the table at each other.

‘Are you all right, Sheila?’

‘What do you mean-am I all right?’

Her eyes had such dark circles under them that they looked violet rather than blue.

‘Have you been having a bad time?’

‘Yes-no-I don’t know. I thought you had gone away?’ 

‘I had. I’ve come back.’

‘Why?’

‘You know why.’

Her eyes dropped.

‘I’m afraid of him,’ she said after a pause of at least a minute, which is a long time.

‘Who are you afraid of?’

‘That friend of yours-that inspector. He thinks…he thinks I killed that man, and that I killed Edna too…’

‘Oh, that’s just his manner,’ I said reassuringly. ‘He always goes about looking as though he suspected everybody.’

‘No, Colin, it’s not like that at all. It’s no good saying things just to cheer me up. He’s thought that I had something to do with it right from the beginning.’

‘My dear girl, there’s no evidence against you. Just because you were there on the spot that day, because someone put you on the spot…’

She interrupted.

‘He thinks I put myself on the spot. He thinks it’s all a trumped-up story. He thinks that Edna in some way knew about it. He thinks that Edna recognized my voice on the telephone pretending to be Miss Pebmarsh.’

‘Wasit your voice?’ I asked.

‘No, of course it wasn’t. Inever made that telephone call. I’ve always told you so.’ 

‘Look here, Sheila,’ I said. ‘Whatever you tell anyone else, you’ve got to tellme the truth.’

‘So you don’t believe a word I say!’

‘Yes, I do. Youmight have made that telephone call that day for some quite innocent reason. Someone may haveasked you to make it, perhaps told you it was part of a joke, and then you got scared and once you’d lied about it, you had to go on lying. Was it like that?’

‘No, no,no! How often have I got to tell you?’

‘It’s all very well, Sheila, but there’ssomething you’re not telling me. I want you to trust me. If Hardcastlehas got something against you, something that he hasn’t told me about-’

She interrupted again.

‘Do you expect him to tell you everything?’