Alan Hunter - Gently Down the Stream

‘And what would you mean by that?’

She hesitated and then drew herself up with a flash of agression. ‘I mean she was too good for him by far — that’s what I mean! And if you’re asking me, I’d say that nobody will shed many tears now he’s gone!’

Gently nodded his mandarin nod.

‘That’s all, Miss Jones… will you send in the cook as you go through, please?’

Gently had tapped a source of peppermint creams in Wrackstead and he produced his bag now and offered it to Hansom. Hansom took one suspiciously to sample.

‘I never could see what was so damned special about these things!’

Gently tossed one to Dutt and another to the short-hand Constable. ‘They soothe the nerves, you know, and keep the brain clear.’

‘There must be something in it — you seem to get results on them!’

‘Try one the next time things are getting sticky…’

Hansom munched noisily a few moments and then said: ‘What was all that about the voice on the phone?’

Gently hoisted a non-committal shoulder. ‘I just like to know the minor details.’

‘You got an idea it was someone else — like the secretary?’

‘I keep ideas at a distance this early in a case.’

Hansom grunted and kept working on the peppermint cream.

‘Then there’s that row with the son… maybe that ties in somewhere. Yeah — and the way they went out and came back! It looks as though Paul’s ma was trailing him, and she must have known where he was going to keep five minutes behind.’

‘Could have known what the shover was up to, sir,’ put in Dutt brightly. ‘Might have been the son what finds out where Lammas is and gives the tinkle.’

‘Yeah — and it’s the son who’s sweet on the secretary; how about that for a hunch?’

Gently held up a restraining hand. ‘And you ask me what’s special about peppermint creams…! But getting off theory for a moment, what do you see in the garden, Dutt?’

Dutt cast his intelligent eye downwards.

‘Well sir, there’s a bloke tying up some sweet-peas.’

‘Just so, Dutt… we’ll assume he’s the gardener. Go down and have a chat with him, will you?’

‘Yessir. Directly, sir.’

‘Especially touching the incidence of jerricans in the garage…’

‘I get you, sir.’

‘And what other things your police-training suggests.’

Dutt clicked his heels smartly and descended to the garden by the veranda steps. At the same moment there was a confident knock at the door and the cook entered.

The cook was a dumpy middle-aged Welshwoman with a comfortable face and lively grey eyes. She came in with an expression of anticipation on her countenance, as though an incursion of policemen was something that brightened up her day, and took her seat before being asked.

‘Your name, please?’

‘Gwladys Roberts, spinster, look you.’

‘You are Mrs Lammas’ cook, I believe?’

‘I am too, but my father was in the Force and my brother is a sergeant at Cwmchynledd.’

‘Indeed? Then you will be familiar with the routine of interrogation, Miss Roberts…?’

‘Why should I not, when I was brought up at a Station?’

Gently took her over the same ground as had been already covered with the maid. Her answers were full and to the point, and confirmed what they had heard before. She could add nothing to the maid’s account of the conversation on the phone.

‘And you have been long with the family, Miss Roberts?’

‘Long, you say! They’ve never been without me.’

‘Mrs Lammas engaged you when she got married?’

‘Yess, and the first time. She’s been married twice, though through no fault of hers.’

‘Would you explain…?’

‘Why, first she married Geoffrey Owen of Bangor. A gentleman he was, come of good family, and a Major in the Guards. But he didn’t last long, poor fellow. He went to Aden and died there of cholera. Poor Mrs Phyllis! I thought she would have followed him… so bad she took it.’

‘And after that she married Lammas?’

‘Yess, after that.’ The cook’s face had become melancholy. ‘We went to Torquay — Mrs Phyllis was poorly. She met him at Torquay, right on the rebound, and in a week they’d done it.’

‘It wasn’t too… successful?’

‘No, mun, it wasn’t. Though mark you, Mr Lammas wasn’t all to blame. He did his best at first to make it go. But there, they wasn’t suited, that’s the answer. She couldn’t forget poor Mr Geoffrey and he didn’t like having Mr Geoffrey thrown up at him at every turn. Ah me! It was a bad day when we went to Torquay.’

‘The children… they didn’t improve matters?’

‘No, not a bit. When Mr Paul came he was all his mother’s, and so he still is. Miss Pauline was her father’s.’

‘Would you say there was animosity between father and son?’

‘Oh yess! They had some quarrels, I can tell you.’

‘About anything in particular?’

‘No, not at first. Mr Paul was just obstreperous and above himself — his head is full of poetry and nonsense. He used to say his proper name was Owen.’

‘Would that have been possible?’

‘Not on your life! He knew it wasn’t, too.’

‘What else did they quarrel about?’

‘Oh, Mr Lammas wanted his son in the business, that was the big trouble. And Mr Paul, he wouldn’t hear about it. If you ask me, Mr Paul doesn’t think much of the university either, but then he only went there to spite his father.’

‘That would be somewhere about two years ago?’

‘Indeed it was. You never heard such rows!’

‘And of course, it worsened the relationship between Mr Lammas and his wife?’

‘Oh yess, she took her son’s part, all the way. Some bitter things were said. It was Mrs Phyllis who sent Mr Paul to Cambridge and pays his fees. I don’t think Mr Lammas ever properly got over what happened two years ago.’

Gently paused to criss-cross some lines on his scribbling pad before his next question.

‘You will have heard by now, Miss Roberts, that Mr Lammas was enjoying certain relations with Miss Brent, his secretary. Was there any suspicion of this before the present juncture?’

The cook gave a little giggle. ‘Oh no, I shouldn’t think so. Though Miss Pauline works at the office with him — I wouldn’t put it past her to know what was going on.’

‘But you don’t think it was suspected by Mrs Lammas?’

‘Well there, I couldn’t say. But if she suspected, she didn’t know or there would have been more made of it.’

‘Mr Lammas gave an excuse of business for his absence last week. Had he done so before?’

‘Once or twice he had lately, but only for a day or so.’

‘What do you mean by “lately”?’

‘Why… he didn’t use to go off much. It was only these last two or three months.’

‘And Mrs Lammas accepted the excuse without comment?’

‘If she didn’t, I never heard about it.’

‘Can you remember if these absences occurred at the weekend, or was it during the week?’

‘He was always here at the weekend.’

Gently nodded. ‘And now, Miss Roberts, we should like to hear what you can tell us about the chauffeur, Hicks…’

The cook folded her plump arms and cogitated a moment, as though passing the subject under review. Then she frowned and said:

‘Well, you know… he’s not the person I should have thought of to go and do a thing like that…’

Gently clicked his tongue. ‘Perhaps you could tell us a little more?’

‘Oh yess! I was just saying! But really it came as a surprise when I heard about it. I’ve known Joe to lose his temper, and once for certain Mr Lammas would have sacked him if Mrs Phyllis had permitted. But there wasn’t no spirit in the man, he didn’t have the go in him to up and kill somebody.’