Alan Hunter - Gently through the Mill

‘Go on — when did you leave the house?’

The relief of arrest was not coming yet.

Fuller’s eyes sank again and his fists clenched tightly; when he spoke it was to the rough planks of the office floor.

‘I… half past eight. That’s my usual time. As far as I can remember I wasn’t late that morning.’

‘You drove straight to the mill?’

‘Yes… no, I stopped to buy something. There was a milling article in The Listener — they mentioned it before the news.’

‘Where did you buy it?’

‘At Smith’s in the Watergate.’

‘Who did you talk to there?’

‘Nobody… the assistant.’

‘You spoke to nobody else on your way here?’

‘No. I drove straight on to the mill.’

‘Describe to me what happened directly after you arrived.’

‘I–I parked my car outside.’ Fuller sounded lost without the lead of interrogation. ‘Mary showed me the mail… it was just the usual. Some invoices, receipts, an order from Bretts’ — a stupid firm in Norchester wanting to sell me a cash-register. I told her what to get on with and then went into the mill.

‘Two of the men were loading a lorry with the hoist — maize, supers, Kositos, the usual mixture for our farmer customers. Two more were sacking flour… Tom was minding the engine. The rest were putting some oats through — later on it was English wheat.’

‘You saw that all of them were at their jobs, did you?’

‘Naturally — I go round every morning. And I check stocks and keep an eye on the belting and machinery.’

‘You noticed nothing out of the ordinary that morning?’

‘There was a slipping belt on one of the bolters…’

‘What was Blacker doing, for instance?’

‘Blacker…’ Fuller’s voice wavered. ‘I don’t particularly remember

… he might have been helping to load.’

‘How long were you in the mill?’

‘An hour, the best part of. After that I checked the loading on Bob Tillet’s lorry… then one of my customers came in to pay his bill, and another about a wrong consignment. There’s always plenty to do in the office, with the phone ringing every five minutes.

‘At one o’clock I went to lunch-’

‘Just a minute! Who were those customers who came in?’

Fuller gave a feeble shrug. ‘One day is like another. Mr Blakey from Torrington was one of them — then there was a farmer called Howard, and the man from Hillside Dairies. They were all customers — Mary can tell you that.’

‘What about Mr Blythely — didn’t you see him that morning?’

‘I suppose so… yes, I did. I met him in the yard.’

‘And you had a conversation?’

‘I… not what you could call one.’

‘What do you mean by that, Mr Fuller?’

‘Well, we passed the time of day!’

‘Hmn.’ Gently’s dissatisfaction was emphatic. ‘Who else is there you’ve forgotten to mention? Take your time, Mr Fuller… wewon’t rush this memory of yours!’

‘Excuse me, Chief Inspector!’

The mayor-elect was butting in.

‘Since you’ve such a passion for the truth, however irrelevant it may seem-’

Wearily Gently fished out his pipe and stuck it into his mouth. Before long he was going to jump on this Lynton worthy, though it blighted the super’s life from now until Christmas…

‘Would you mind not interrupting, sir?’

‘Interrupt, sir? I have something of importance to contribute!’

‘I am endeavouring to conduct an enquiry-’

‘And I, sir, am trying to assist you — however pointless your mode of proceeding appears to strike me!’

With an effort Gently held his peace. It was a long time since he had enjoyed the luxury of losing his temper officially. As a rule he suffered fools, if not gladly, at least intelligently…

‘Very well, sir — provided it’s relevant.’

‘Thank you, Inspector. I feel sure you will think it so. The fact is that on Thursday last I paid a visit to the mill — though I am not surprised at my tenant having forgotten it, considering your hectoring treatment of him. Now why this should be-’

‘At what time was that, sir?’

‘Time?’ Pershore snorted. ‘I was in Lynton during the morning — naturally, I had no occasion to allot times to my movements. But if you will permit me to say so-’

‘What was the purpose of your visit?’

‘Eh?’ Pershore’s eyes opened wide. ‘Do you dispute that this is my property? I came to view it, sir — I frequently overlook my investments! The keystone of success in business — and, speaking personally-’

‘You went over the mill, did you?’

‘And the bakehouse, since you are so precise.’

‘Accompanied by Mr Fuller?’

‘Certainly, as regards the mill.’

‘Asking him questions, no doubt?’

‘It has always been my unswerving policy-’

‘So you were aware that the furthermost hopper contained spoiled flour?’

‘That was something which I was unlikely to miss.’

Gently shook his head with monumental slowness.

‘A little advice! Your position is ambiguous, if you don’t mind my saying so. Your alibi is flimsy. You are apparently a frequenter of Newmarket. As the owner of this property, you will no doubt have some keys. And to cap it all, you admit knowing about the hopper of spoiled flour. Can’t you see what the attitude of the average policeman would be?’

The mayor-elect’s mouth opened incredulously.

‘You can’t be serious, Inspector!’

‘I assure you I am, sir. You could quite easily become involved.’

‘But I told you this morning-!’

‘That you had not been in Lynton? I’m afraid we’d need witnesses to prove the truth of that.’

The great man of Lynton rocked slightly in his chair. Even Fuller had been roused from his apathy to stare at his landlord. As for the clerk, she seemed unable to believe her ears…

‘So I would advise you to avoid drawing attention… if you value your civic reputation! Once the press get hold of these things they take a lot of living down. On the whole, the less your name appears in this business the better.’

It was a palpable threat, and Pershore was visibly shaken by it. An automatic protest died haplessly on his lips. One could have homicidal tenants — that was one thing! — but prospective mayors should not be personal participants…

‘Of course, I–I see your point, Inspector!’

‘Mmm.’ Gently struck a match and set it to his pipe.

‘It was never my intention — I think I know better-’

‘If you don’t mind I’d like to be getting on with my enquiry.’

Pershore lapsed into a dismal silence and Gently blew a number of smoke-rings. In the yard a lorry had drawn up, its idling motor providing an undertone to the beat of the naphtha engine.

Fuller, probably, should be out there giving the driver instructions.

‘Why didn’t you mention Mr Pershore’s visit?’

‘I’d forgotten about that.’

The miller sounded sullen, but somehow more composed. The Pershore interference had unfortunately given him time to pull himself together.

‘It was quite a big thing to forget. Does Mr Pershore come round so often?’

‘No, it isn’t that — I’d just forgotten what day he came on.’

‘But naturally, you remember it now?’

‘He was here on Thursday morning.’

‘At what time was that?’

‘It was about eleven or just after.’

‘What makes you so certain?’

‘Mary fetches in the coffee about then, and she was out after it when Mr Pershore arrived.’

‘What else have you forgotten?’

‘Nothing… I’ve told you all I remember.’

Privately Gently was wishing Pershore would fry in hell for his self-consequential interruption. Fuller had been offered a breathing space, and his returning confidence showed what use he had made of it. If Blacker had talked, why was Gently going this devious way to work with the miller?