Alan Hunter - Gently Does It

The elder painter scrutinized the photograph broodingly. He removed the tab-end of a Woodbine. ‘Always something queer about that fellow,’ he said, ‘never quite like you and me, he was…’

Gently found Hansom closeted with the super in the latter’s neat, bare office. ‘He’s got that look about him,’ Hansom was saying, ‘you know, it gets to be an instinct.’

The super rose as Gently came in. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said. ‘Judging from the reports I’ve had in, you’ve put a finger on some complications which will need a thorough going over. At first — and I don’t mind admitting it — I thought you were just being awkward. But I see now there are points here that would be a gift to the defence unless we get them straightened out first. Also, I think they will help us. If we can get the chauffeur to talk, our case is fool-proof.’

Hansom leered at Gently, but said nothing.

Gently said: ‘You won’t have charged him yet?’

‘I’m going to charge him now, when we have him in.’

Gently said: ‘May I offer some advice?’

The super glanced at him sharply, frowning. ‘I’m always willing to take advice — sound advice.’

Gently’s face was completely expressionless. ‘My advice is not to charge him with murder,’ he said.

Hansom let out a bellow. The super exclaimed: ‘But good lord, Gently, it’s impossible — completely impossible!’

Gently proceeded smoothly: ‘I know it’s a great deal to ask, and I wouldn’t suggest it except for the best possible professional reasons. But, for your own sake, I advise you not to charge him.’

‘I’m sorry, Gently, but it’s completely out of the question.’

‘You mean we should just question him and let him go?’ yapped Hansom, ‘just like that — with a conviction staring him in the face?’

Gently pursed his lips. ‘I was not suggesting that,’ he said.

‘Then what are you suggesting?’ snapped the super. ‘To let him go now is as much as my post is worth and if I don’t charge him, I can’t hold him. What possible alternative have I?’

‘You can hold him on a charge of unlawful possession.’

‘Unlawful possession?’

‘You found a bank-note in his caravan which was one of those stolen from the safe. I don’t think you’ll get a conviction, but it’s enough to hold him on. And, it’s one thing to fall down on a case of unlawful possession, quite another to fall down on a case of murder.’

‘You know something that’s not in these reports?’ demanded the super, like the crack of a whip.

Gently sighed. ‘I do,’ he said.

‘And what is that?’

‘It’s a lot of little things that I couldn’t prove to your satisfaction, but they keep adding together in a way that doesn’t point towards Peter Huysmann.’

‘Then where do they point?’

‘I don’t want to be positive about that, yet.’

‘You don’t know?’

Gently shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think it’s safest to say that.’

‘But, good heavens, Gently, what am I to think? You realize that there’s people above me who want to know chapter and verse the reasons for my decisions? What am I going to tell them?’

‘You could tell them you wanted a little more time.’

‘But these reports speak for themselves.’

Gently felt around in his pocket hopefully and produced a part-worn peppermint cream. ‘It’s a very good case against Huysmann,’ he said; ‘if you could put him in dock tomorrow, you would get a conviction. Unfortunately you can’t do that, and by the time you can, to the best of my judgment, there won’t even be a case of unlawful possession against him. That’s why I’m offering this advice, which you needn’t accept.’

The super stabbed a glance at Hansom and exploded: ‘Blast you, Gently! Can’t you understand my position? My men have done a good job and they look to me to back them.’

Gently continued: ‘If you do accept my advice it may be a help in clearing this matter up.’

‘It is cleared up!’ snarled Hansom.

‘It will suggest to the culprit that we aren’t satisfied. We may get a lead out of it.’

The super turned his back on them and fumed at the closed window. ‘I wish to God I’d been a whelk-seller! I wish to God I’d stopped in the bloody Army! Would anybody in his right mind be a police superintendent?’ He swung round on Gently. ‘Let’s get this straight — you want me to stand up my men and fob off the powers that be because you’ve got some blasted intuition — that’s it, isn’t it?’

‘Not intuition,’ murmured Gently, ‘just judgment based on experience.’

‘Intuition!’ barked the super. ‘Listen, Gently. Can you give me one good solid reason why Huysmann is not the murderer?’

‘I think so, if you really want one.’

‘Want one! Who am I supposed to be — the charwoman?’

Gently rubbed his chin with a stubby finger. ‘An hour or two ago some interested person tried to drop some masonry on my head,’ he said reluctantly. ‘It was a large lump, and it wouldn’t have bounced. Now why should anybody want to do that to a policeman?’

‘I could tell you!’ Hansom yipped.

‘You mean they tried to kill you?’ demanded the super.

‘I’m afraid they did. Which seems to indicate that somebody has grown dissatisfied with the course of my investigations — that somebody is deeply interested in having Peter Huysmann convicted. There can’t,’ added Gently, ‘be more than one reason for that… can there?’

Peter Huysmann had been fed and washed, but there had been no time to shave him. A mist of blond beard surrounded his rather long, drawn face and a darkness and sunkenness of the eyes betrayed the fact that he had slept very little in the past forty-eight hours. He was still wearing his overalls, now soiled and stained with oil: their being open at the neck gave him an unexpectedly boyish appearance. He was brought in by two constables. Parsons, the shorthand constable, had already taken his place.

‘Sit down, Huysmann,’ said the super, not unkindly, indicating a chair placed in front of his desk. Peter sat down with some awkwardness, placing his hands on his knees. He shot defensive glances at Hansom and Gently, who flanked the super right and left. His mouth was set in a drooped, quivering line.

The super cleared his throat. ‘First of all, I am charging you, Peter Huysmann, with being in unlawful possession of property, namely a bank-note, removed from a safe, the property of your father, the late Nicholas Huysmann.’

Peter stared at him in momentary surprise, but probably supposing this to be some sort of prelude to a graver charge, said nothing. The super continued: ‘Do you wish to say anything in answer to this charge? You are not obliged to say anything, but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence.’

‘Though not necessarily against you,’ added Gently, in the pause that followed.

Peter looked from one to the other of them, still not quite able to follow the turn things were taking.

‘Do you wish to say anything?’ repeated the super.

Peter licked his lips. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I–I’d like to tell you everything — all I can tell you.’

His voice was slightly harsh, but contained almost no accent. ‘You’d like to make a statement?’ asked the super.

‘Yes, I’ll make a statement. But I didn’t take the bank-note — it was given to me.’

‘You plead not guilty to the charge?’

‘My father gave it to me just before I left.’

The super picked up a pencil and began doodling on a pad in front of him. ‘Before you make your statement I would like to caution you once more. You are quite within your rights to say nothing and we have no power to demand that you shall. You do so at your own risk. I’m not saying this to stop you making a statement, but simply to warn you that you needn’t if you feel it may incriminate you in a possibly graver charge. I can’t put it plainer than that. It’s up to you.’