Alan Hunter - Gently Does It

‘Mrs Turner sent you for some brandy. Where was it kept?’

‘I got the decanter from the dining-room.’

Gently leant forward. ‘When you passed through the hall to the dining-room, did you see anybody?’ he enquired.

‘No, nobody.’

‘Did you hear or see anything unusual?’

‘I can’t remember anything.’

Gently brooded a moment. ‘Mrs Turner then sent you to telephone the police. Which telephone did you use?’

‘I used the one in the little place under the stairs.’

‘As you entered the hall you met Miss Gretchen. Where did you first see her?’

‘She was just come in. She was taking her hat off.’

‘Was the door open or closed?’

‘It was closed.’

‘Did you hear the warning bell just before or as you were leaving the kitchen?’

‘We-ell… I might have done.’

‘Can you say for certain that you did?’

Susan bathed him in her dissolving smile. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think I can.’

Gently eased back in his chair and studied illimitable realms of space. ‘Do you not think it strange,’ he said, ‘that Miss Gretchen should re-enter the house by the front door with its warning bell, which she was at such pains to avoid when she went out?’

For a brief second the blue eyes stared at him in complete blankness. Then they swam to life again. ‘She’d got an evening paper,’ said Susan, ‘I dare say she’d have said she went out to buy one.’

‘Ah!’ breathed Gently, ‘an evening paper. That’s the second one that’s cropped up in this case.’ He waved her back to Hansom.

‘The Chief Inspector has forgotten to ask you his most telling question,’ said Hansom acidly.

Gently inclined his head.

‘He wants you to tell him if you entered this room any time after lunch yesterday.’

Susan glanced at Gently in puzzlement.

‘Well, go on,’ said Hansom, ‘tell him.’

Gently said: ‘Not after lunch but after you cleaned the room out.’

Susan wrinkled her snow-white brow. ‘I put the flowers in the window. I didn’t go in after that. I don’t think anybody did.’

‘You’ve made him happy,’ said Hansom, ‘you’ll never know how happy you’ve made the Chief Inspector.’ And he laughed in his semi-handsome way.

Alan Hunter

Gently Does It

H ANSOM WAS SMOKING again: the air was thickening with the fulsome smell of his Corona. Gently, too, was adding smoke-rings to the upper atmosphere. The constable sniffed in a peaked sort of way. ‘Go on,’ said Hansom, ‘be a devil. Have a spit and a draw.’ The constable said, ‘Thank you, sir,’ and fished out a somewhat tatty cigarette. Hansom gave him a light. He said: ‘The super doesn’t smoke, and he’s the one person around here who can afford to.’ Gently said: ‘You’ll have to transfer to the MP and get the London scale.’ Hansom grunted.

They could hear the rain still, outside. There was a drain by the pavement just outside the big window which made little, ecstatic noises. To hear that made the room seem chill. ‘There’s the chauffeur and the manager and Miss Gretchen,’ said Hansom. ‘Who’d you like to have in next?’

Gently said: ‘Was there anyone in the yard yesterday?’

‘Nope,’ Hansom said. ‘Saturday.’

Gently blew a few rings. ‘Let’s have the chauffeur,’ he said. ‘He’s probably sweating on his pint before lunch. After him I’d like to see Miss Gretchen. We’ll keep Leaming for dessert.’

Hansom called in the constable from outside.

The chauffeur’s name was Fisher. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, athletic-looking man of thirty, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a strong but rather brutal face and lop-ears. He had a small moustache, carefully trimmed. He wore a beach-girl tie and a cheap American-style jacket in two patterns.

Hansom said: ‘What time did you go off duty yesterday?’

‘About twelve or just after,’ Fisher replied slowly. ‘I’d just cleaned the car down.’ He had a hard but slovenly voice.

‘What did you do when you went off duty?’

‘I had a beer in the “Lighterman”.’

‘And after that?’

‘Had something to eat in the snack-bar — Charlie’s, they call it.’

‘What time did you leave the snack-bar?’

‘I dunno. Might’ve been half-past one.’

‘Where did you go then?’

‘I went back to my place and had a lie-down.’

‘Where’s your place?’

‘5 A Paragon Alley. It’s up the hill towards Burgh Street. It’s a flat.’

‘Do you live alone?’

‘There’s a woman comes in of a morning.’

‘Did anybody see you there?’

‘I dunno. There may’ve been someone about, but it’s quiet up the Alley.’

‘How long were you lying down?’

‘Hour, maybe.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘I got on with my model.’

‘What’s that?’

Fisher moved his long, sprawling legs. ‘I make scale model planes — it’s a hobby. I’m making an S.E. 5.’

‘How long were you doing that?’

‘Till four o’clock.’

Gently said: ‘You remember that time very precisely. I wonder why?’

Fisher stirred again, uneasily. ‘I just thought I’d work on it till four, that’s all. There wasn’t any reason. I just thought I’d work on it till four.’

Hansom continued: ‘What did you do after four?’

‘I went up to the fair.’

‘Did you meet anyone you recognized?’

‘I saw Mr Peter go across to the Wall from his caravan.’

‘Time!’ snapped Gently, beating Hansom to it by a fair margin.

Fisher jumped at the suddenness of the question. ‘It was twenty-five past four.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just looked at my watch.’

‘Why?’

‘I dunno — I just looked at my watch!’

‘Do you often just look at your watch, or is it only when you know you may have to account for your movements?’

‘I didn’t know anything — I just looked at it!’

Gently paused like a stalking jaguar. Fisher’s brow was tight and moistening with perspiration. ‘What was he wearing?’ purred Gently.

‘He was going to the Wall — he’d got his overalls on.’

‘You mean the red leather ones he rides in?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And he was going to the Wall?’

‘I said he was!’

‘Then how do you account for the fact that the overalls are kept at the Wall and not at the caravan?’

‘I dunno — perhaps he wasn’t coming from the caravan-’

‘But you said he was.’

‘I thought he was — he was coming from that way-’

‘How many things have you thought up to tell us?’

‘I haven’t thought anything — it’s the truth!’

‘When did you hear about the murder?’

‘They told me when I came in this morning.’

‘Who’s “they”?’

‘Mrs Turner.’

‘When did it take place?’

‘About four.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She told me!’

‘But Mrs Turner didn’t find the body till five. How did she know that the murder took place at four?’

‘I dunno — she just told me!’

‘And you just happened to be looking at the time and deciding to go out at four?’

‘Yes, I did!’

‘Would you describe that as being coincidental in any way?’

‘I dunno, but it’s true!’

Gently swam forward in his chair. ‘It’s true that you can give no verifiable account of your movements between 1.30 and 4.25 p.m. yesterday. It’s true that you know the approximate time at which the murder took place and that Mrs Turner could not have done. And it’s true that you’ve taken care to give your movements precise times at and immediately after the murder took place. All these things,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘would be equally true of the murderer himself.’