Agatha Christie - The A.B.C. Murders

Tom took a breath and then went on. Inspector Crome was listening intently now.

"And then after the Doncaster murder, sir, it was in all the papers that information was wanted as to the whereabouts of a certain A.B. Case or Cash, and it gave a description that fitted well enough. First evening off I had, I went round to Lily's and asked her what her Mr. Cust's initials were. She couldn't remember at first, but her mother did."

"Said they were A.B. right enough. Then we got down to it and tried to figure out if Cust had been away at the time of the first murder at Andover. Well, as you know, sir, it isn't too easy to remember things three months back. We had a job of it, but we got it fixed down in the end, because Mrs. Marbury had a brother come from Canada to see her on June 21 st. He arrived unexpected like and she wanted to give him a bed, and Lily suggested that as Mr. Cust was away Bert Marbury might have his bed. But Mrs. Marbury wouldn't agree, because she said it wasn't acting right by her lodger, and she always liked to act fair and square. But we fixed the date all right because of Bert Marbury's ship docking at Southampton that day."

Inspector Crome had listened very attentively, jotting down an occasional note.

"That's all?" he asked.

"That's all, sir. I hope you don't think I'm making a lot of nothing." Tom flushed slightly.

"Not at all. You were quite right to come here. Of course, it's very slight evidence—these dates may be mere coincidence and the likeness of the name, too. But it certainly warrants my having an interview with your Mr. Cust. Is he at home now?"

"Yes, sir."

"When did he return?"

"The evening of the Doncaster murder, sir."

"What's he been doing since?"

"He's stayed in mostly, sir. And he's been looking very queer, Mrs. Marbury says. He buys a lot of newspapers—goes out early and gets the morning ones, and then after dark he goes out and gets the evening ones. Mrs. Marbury says he talks a lot to himself, too. She thinks he's getting queerer."

"What is this Mrs. Marbury's address?"

Tom gave it to him.

"I thank you. I shall probably be calling round in the course of the day. I need hardly tell you to be careful of your manner if you come across this Cust."

He rose and shook hands.

"You may be quite satisfied you did the right thing in coming to us. Good morning, Mr. Hartigan."

"Well, sir?" asked Jacobs, re-entering the room a few minutes later. "Think it's the goods?"

"It's promising," said Inspector Crome. "That is, if the facts are as the boy stated them. We've had no luck with the stocking manufacturers yet. It was time we got hold of something. By the way, give me that file of the Churston case."

He spent some minutes looking for what he wanted. "Ah, here it is. It's amongst the statements made to the Torquay police. Young man of the name of Hill. Deposes he was leaving Torquay Pavilion after the film Not a Sparrow and noticed a man behaving queerly. He was talking to himself. Hill heard him say, 'That's an idea.' Not a Sparrow —that's the film that was on at the Regal in Doncaster?"

"Yes, sir."

"There may be something in that. Nothing to it at the time—but it's possible that the idea of the modus operandi for his next crime occurred to our man then. We've got Hill's name and address, I see. His description of the man is vague but it links up well enough with the descriptions of Mary Stroud and this Tom Hartigan . . . ."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"We're getting warm," said Inspector Crome—rather inaccurately, for he himself was always slightly chilly.

"Any instructions, sir?"

"Put on a couple of men to watch this Camden Town address, but I don't want our bird frightened. I must have a word with the A.C.. Then I think it would be as well if Cust was brought along here and asked if he'd like to make a statement. It sounds as though he's quite ready to get rattled."

Outside Tom Hartigan had rejoined Lily Marbury who was waiting for him on the Embankment.

"All right, Tom?" Tom nodded.

"I saw Inspector Crome himself. The one who's in charge of the case."

"What's he like?"

"A bit quiet and la-di-da—not my idea of a detective."

"That's Lord Trenchard's new kind," said Lily with respect. "Some of them are ever so grand. Well, what did he say?" Tom gave her a brief resume of the interview.

"So they think as it really was him?"

"They think it might be. Anyway, they'll come along and ask him a question or two."

"Poor Mr. Cust."

"It's no good saying poor Mr. Cust, my girl. If he's A.B.C., he committed four terrible murders."

Lily sighed and shook her head. "It does seem awful," she observed.

"Well, now you're going to come and have a bite of lunch, my girl. Just you think that if we're right I expect my name will be in the papers!''

"Oh, Tom, will it?"

"Rather. And yours, too. And your mother's. And I dare say you'll have your picture in, too."

"Oh, Tom." Lily squeezed his arm in an ecstasy.

"And in the meantime, what do you say to a bite at the Corner House?"

Lily squeezed tighter.

"Come on then!"

"All right—half a minute. I must just telephone from the station."

"Who to?"

"A girl I was going to meet." She slipped across the road, and rejoined him three minutes later, looking rather flushed.

"Now then, Tom." She slipped her arm in his. "Tell me more about Scotland Yard. You didn't see the other one there?"

"What other one?"

"The Belgian gentleman. The one that A.B.C. writes to always."

"No. He wasn't there."

"Well, tell me all about it. What happened when you got inside? Who did you speak to and what did you say?"

Mr. Cust put the receiver back very gently on the hook.

He turned to where Mrs. Marbury was standing in the doorway of a room, clearly devoured with curiosity.

"Not often you have a telephone call, Mr. Cust."

"No—er—no, Mrs. Marbury. It isn't."

"Not bad news, I trust?"

"No—no." How persistent the woman was. His eye caught the legend on the newspaper he was carrying.

Births—Marriages—Deaths . . .

"My sister's just had a little boy," he blurted out.

He—who had never had a sister!

"Oh, dear! Now—well, that is nice, I am sure. ('And never once mentioned a sister all these years,' was her inward thought. 'If that isn't just like a man!') I was surprised, I'll tell you, when the lady asked to speak to Mr. Cust. Just at first I fancied it was my Lily's voice—something like hers, it was—but haughtier if you know what I mean—sort of high up in the air. Well, Mr. Cust, my congratulations, I'm sure. Is it the first one, or have you other little nephews and nieces?"

"It's the only one," said Mr. Cust. "The only one I've ever had or likely to have, and—er—I think I must go off at once. They—they want me to come. I—I think I can just catch a train if I hurry."

"Will you be away long, Mr. Cust?" called Mrs. Marbury as he ran up the stairs.

"Oh, no—two or three days—that's all."

He disappeared into his bedroom. Mrs. Marbury retired into the kitchen, thinking sentimentally of "the dear little mite."

Her conscience gave her a sudden twinge.

Last night Tom and Lily and all the hunting back over dates! Trying to make out that Mr. Cust was that dreadful monster, A.B.C.. Just because of his initials and because of a few coincidences.

"I don't suppose they meant it seriously," she thought comfortably. "And now I hope they'll be ashamed of themselves."

In some obscure way that she could not have explained, Mr. Cust's statement that his sister had had a baby had effectually removed any doubts Mrs. Marbury might have had of her lodger's bonafides.

"I hope she didn't have too bad a time of it, poor dear," thought Mrs. Marbury, testing an iron against her cheek before beginning to iron out Lily's silk slip.