Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

"No, not grieving. Just sad. I'm not sure he's guilty."

"If a judge feels he is, then he is," she said, nodding. "They're nobody's fools, are judges."

"No." I didn't feel like arguing with her. But talking about Michael suddenly reminded me of Inspector Herbert. I turned around and started back through the door I'd just come in. "If Mary comes down to ask for me, tell her I'll return shortly."

I thought about driving, then decided to find a cab. But that wasted precious minutes, and I was almost on the edge of my seat as I reached Trafalgar Square. Scotland Yard was within walking distance now.

The constable guarding the door told me that he thought Inspector Herbert had already left for the day.

"It's very important. Could you ask to be sure?"

He must have heard those words-it's very important-a thousand times over, but he nodded and went away to find out where Inspector Herbert might be.

I felt I had waited an hour or more, but then the constable came back, and with him another man, a Sergeant Miller, who led me up the stairs and down the passage to Inspector Herbert's office. I thanked the sergeant, took a deep breath, and knocked lightly on the door.

Inspector Herbert's voice bade me enter. But as I walked through the door, his face changed. "They said a young woman-no one gave me your name."

"They weren't sure you were here. May I speak to you?"

"If it's about Michael Hart's execution, there's nothing I can do to prevent it."

"I haven't come about that. But I'd like to know-were you in the courtroom when he pleaded guilty?"

He hesitated. "Yes. I was," he said finally.

"What did you think? What did you feel?"

"Surprise, like everyone else. I'd been told our case was sound, but that it wasn't a certainty. For one thing, Hart is a handsome man. He had some public sympathy. A male jury wouldn't be swayed by that, of course, but even jurors have wives and daughters. I was prepared for anything, to tell you the truth. But not for a guilty plea. I expected Hart to take his chances."

"Do you know why he did it?"

"I have my suspicions. The prison surgeon's report, that Hart's arm is likely to be useless, was a factor, I'm sure. In fact, I was told he was put on a suicide watch after the doctor completed his examination."

"Have you visited Michael in prison?"

Inspector Herbert, who had been speaking directly to me as I stood there before his desk, looked toward a filing cabinet against the left-hand wall. "No. I saw no point in going there. I don't think he'd have cared for my sympathy."

"The other reason for his plea was to spare Marjorie's memory and reputation. He wouldn't have wanted her name to be dragged through the court."

"There's that," he conceded.

"Can you arrange for me to see Lieutenant Hart?"

"I don't feel that's wise. Besides, he's asked to have visitors turned away. There was a list." He fished around on his cluttered desk, and came up with a sheet of paper. Reading from it, he said, "Victoria Garrison is at the top of the list. She's the sister of his first victim."

I made no answer. Looking up, he said irritably, "Do sit down, Miss Crawford. I don't bite."

I sat down and waited.

"The next names on the list are his aunt and uncle. After theirs comes yours."

I took a deep breath. I'd expected that, but it still hurt.

He set the list aside. "For what it's worth, I believe he cared for you, Miss Crawford."

"That's nowhere near the truth, Inspector, and you know it. He loved Marjorie Evanson. No one else. I believe he liked me, as I liked him. That was as far as it went."

Caught in trying to be kind, Inspector Herbert was flustered. He set the list aside and turned to look out at the reflection of London's lights against the low clouds that had been rolling in for the past hour or so. When he turned back, he was himself again.

"Miss Crawford, just what is it you want?"

"I want to tell you a story. You owe it to me to listen-I gave you considerable help in closing this inquiry."

"I don't have time-"

"I shan't be long." I wasn't overawed by Scotland Yard. As a nurse I'd learned to deal with patients, their families, Matron-who could be far more intimidating than Inspector Herbert-impatient doctors, and officers of every rank. Still, I would need to be brief, on the mark, or I'd lose this one chance.

"For one thing, I spoke to Captain Melton in France. He's in hospital there-or was, before I left. He admitted to being in the railway station with Mrs. Evanson, but wouldn't admit that he was her lover. I'd thought he was. And for a time, so did you. In fact, you had decided not to pursue questioning him, as his statement was irrelevant to Mrs. Evanson's murder. His alibi was the train to Portsmouth."

He was wary now. "And that's it?"

"He was very smug during our conversation. He finally told me that he had not left the train before Portsmouth. I realized later he could have telephoned someone before boarding his ship. Remember, I couldn't understand why he left her there, without even seeing that she had a cup of tea in the canteen or someone to take her home. Why he was so distant."

"Very callous of him, I agree. But get to the point, if you please."

"That is my point. If he wasn't the child's father, why was he there that day? Because Melton knew the man who actually was her lover. And he had been sent there to deal with Marjorie, if he could. Somehow I wasn't surprised-Raymond Melton was hardly the sort of man to attract someone like Marjorie Evanson. What's more, I also realized he was too much like her father."

"You're concluding that we still don't know the name of her lover. Does it matter?"

"If you had seduced a married woman and suspected she was carrying your child, how many people would you tell? And if you needed a friend to help by meeting a weeping woman in a very public place, where would you turn?"

Inspector Herbert hesitated. Then against his will he said, "I doubt I'd have told anyone. I'd have dealt with it myself."

I smiled. "Because you're an honorable man. You wouldn't have enticed Marjorie Evanson into doing something that was going to ruin her life." Then I asked, "Do you have a brother, Inspector Herbert? If you dared not be seen in a compromising situation because you were often in London and your face was known because you were at the Admiralty, would you have asked your brother to meet this nuisance of a woman for you? After all, he was passing through on the train and in the short stopover here, he could give her a message for you. And the message was, since the affair had been over for months now, you couldn't be sure the child she was carrying was yours. And that you were sorry, but there it was."

"I don't have a brother." He paused, watching me. "But Melton does."

"Of course if your brother had agreed to do this for you, you'd want to know-before he sailed for France-whether he'd been successful in putting this distraught woman off. You'd ask him to find a telephone before he took ship."

"Miss Crawford, you told me that you'd not come here to stop Hart's execution."

"I haven't," I said. "I thought perhaps you'd like to hear what went on after that conversation I witnessed at the railway station. I've tried to piece it together from actual facts. It isn't all my imagination."

"Yes, I understand. And it's just as well to have this matter closed." He cleared his throat.

"And there are telephones to be found in Portsmouth, are there not? It would be possible to put in a call. Perhaps only three words: I got nowhere. Then report to your transport in good time and arrive in France in good time."

"Yes, all right."

"Of course, allowing for the time to travel from London to Portsmouth-several hours-you'd probably await your brother's call in London. Not at home. At the Marlborough Hotel, for instance. Or a quieter place where you weren't readily recognized. There was always the possibility that it would take more than three words. That there was a problem that the brother couldn't handle in your place."