Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

There was a knock at the door before she'd come down again, and I went to answer it.

Michael Hart stood on the doorstep.

"I've just been to see Dr. Higgins," he informed me lightly. "He says I'm fit enough for London if I don't drive, carouse, or chase unsuitable women."

"How dull for you," I responded. "But I'm not going directly to London. I'm returning to my parents' home in Somerset."

He could see that I was on the point of refusing him, and he said in quite another voice, "Don't let me down, Bess Crawford. This is important to me, and there's no one else."

"Surely there's someone in Little Sefton who would agree to drive you."

"Undoubtedly. But the reasons why I'm so set on going would be common knowledge in the village, even before we'd cranked the motorcar. Let them believe I've taken a fancy to you-that my broken heart has finally begun to mend."

"Do you have a broken heart?" I asked, curious.

"There was a girl before the war. One I liked very much. She preferred someone else. It was generally assumed I was devastated. But the truth was, I liked her. I wasn't passionately in love with her."

Was he talking about Marjorie? Michael was glib, in my opinion. It could be the truth or it could be what he thought I wanted to hear.

But then it dawned on me that if he were not so handsome, people might well see him differently and accept everything he said at face value.

"If you go with me to Somerset, you'll have to put up with the scrutiny of my family. I don't as a rule bring young men home with me."

In fact, I never had. He sensed this, and said, "You knew Meriwether. Surely you must be curious about what happened to Marjorie. I don't mind if you are there when I talk to the staff or her friends."

"Lieutenant Hart-"

"Michael."

"Michael. I have only so much leave."

"One day. That's all I ask."

"Let me think about it," I said, to be rid of him. I could hear Alicia coming down the stairs.

He must have heard her too. He smiled at me, and was gone.

The next day I went to the early service with Alicia. It was a gray morning and the small church was only half full. As we took our places, Alicia said, "Not many people here today, I'm afraid. But then most of them met you yesterday. Their curiosity is satisfied."

I smiled and said softly, "Never mind. I've enjoyed my visit."

Alicia nodded. "Yes. So have I."

The organ wheezed into life in the dampness, and I noted that neither Michael nor Victoria was present.

As we walked home, I waited until we were out of earshot of everyone else, and said to Alicia, "I've been meaning to ask you. Did you know a Lieutenant Fordham? Did he come to Little Sefton, do you know?"

"Lieutenant Fordham? I don't believe I've ever met him. And if he came to Little Sefton, I was never aware of it."

"I wondered if perhaps he was a friend of Marjorie's?"

"I have no idea," she answered, but it was clear I'd inadvertently sparked her interest. "Is there any reason I should have heard of him?"

I was prepared for that question and smiled. "He died not long after Marjorie. And the same inspector was looking into his death as well as hers. Coincidence? Or connection? Did someone from Scotland Yard come to Little Sefton?"

"I never saw him, but there was someone who came down. He broke the news to Victoria, and asked about Marjorie's solicitor, and the like. He spoke to Constable Tilmer and the rector as well, then left. But Marjorie hadn't lived here for years, so I expect he spent most of his time in London."

"Did he question Michael Hart?"

"He was in France at the time."

"Michael told me Victoria believes there's something he knows about the murder-she keeps demanding that he tell her."

"I've seen her corner him in the street and even in the churchyard. That explains why he's taken to avoiding her. What does she think? That perhaps Marjorie wrote something to Michael? She didn't know what was about to happen to her. That doesn't make sense."

I hadn't considered letters. When I didn't answer straightaway, she turned to look at me.

"It was robbery, wasn't it? Marjorie's murder."

"I don't think her purse has ever been found."

We had reached Alicia's house, and as she lifted the latch, she said, "Michael has asked me at least twice to drive him to London. He feels that he could learn something that the police missed or overlooked. It seems so unlikely, and I'm not comfortable driving Gareth's motorcar. I told him so. He's bound to ask you. I think he feels helpless, and needs to be doing something. Even if it's a wild goose chase."

I didn't tell her he already had asked me. Twice. "I'm not going to London," I said. "I'm returning to Somerset." But I was still thinking about letters.

"He can be very persuasive," she said doubtfully. "You don't know how close I came to giving in, even against my better judgment."

"And I'm used to the blandishments of wounded men," I answered. "He won't sway me."

When I walked through the door in Somerset with Michael Hart in tow, it was worth any price to see my mother's eyes widen as I introduced him. She was in the sitting room writing letters to her circle of correspondents, and rose to meet us as I said, "Mother, may I present Lieutenant Michael Hart. He's on his way to London tomorrow, and I offered to give him a lift since he can't drive himself."

"This is a pleasant surprise," my mother said, recovering her manners in an instant. "Will you be staying with us, Lieutenant Hart?"

"I've already taken a room at The Four Doves," he told her, smiling.

"Indeed," said the Colonel Sahib, coming into the room behind us, to be introduced in his turn.

"Do sit down," my mother said hastily, and rang for tea.

Michael was of course invited to dine with us, and my father swept him off to the stables to see a new foal.

I went up to my room, changing my clothes quickly, and found my mother waiting for me as I came down again.

"Simon is coming to dine as well," she informed me.

"How cozy," I replied.

My father and Michael came in at that moment. He said, "I met Michael's father once in Delhi. He was there as part of a commission on its way to Burma."

The earlier frost in the air had warmed almost to cordiality. We had drinks in the drawing room and talked about the progress of the war and the garden party at Little Sefton. We were just moving on to changes that the war had brought to London when Simon Brandon came in, greeted me, and shook hands with Michael. As he took his chair on the other side of my mother, Simon passed me an envelope.

"This came for you earlier today."

I thanked him and shoved it into a pocket until I could read it.

But as we were going in to dinner, Simon, falling back to walk beside me, said, in a low voice, "That came by special messenger from Scotland Yard. I met him in the drive earlier as I was coming to borrow your mother for half an hour."

I let him go ahead of me, turned to one side, and tore open the envelope.

There was just a brief message inside. And another photograph. Did you by chance see this man at the railway station on the day in question? He's wanted for the killing of three women in Oxford. They were apparently accosted on the street, then followed home. The previous victims were shopgirls. He escaped the police and may have traveled to London. It's possible he saw Mrs. Evanson, just as you did. Inspector Herbert.

Dismayed, I read the message again. Was it possible they'd found Marjorie Evanson's murderer?

I turned quickly to look into the face of a man I was sure I'd never seen before. It was an older photograph, and I recognized the background: the gates of one of the colleges in Oxford.

He appeared to be of medium height, neither fat nor lean, with a long face that was too ordinary to draw attention. He had what looked to be light brown hair and dark eyes, and a mouth that was too small. He could have been a shop clerk or a lorry driver or the man sitting across the way in an omnibus.