Arthur Upfield - Murder Must Wait

Bony doubted it as he passed from the offices to Main Street and the hot sunshine. It was ten minutes after eleven, and morning-tea time, and he was passing Madame Clare’s Hat and Frock Salon when Alice McGorr almost collided with him.

“Such haste,” he admonished her.“In Mitford, too.”

“I’ve spent all my money,” she said.

“I can easily believe that, Alice. The hat suits you very well.”

The soft brown eyes searched his face for irony, and, as she was beginning to expect, saw nothing of it.

“My, it’s hot, isn’t it!” she exclaimed. “Were you going to ask me to morning tea?”

“Your perspicacity is astonishing, Alice. I thought of it the moment you bumped into me.”

“Only way to make you notice me.”

“Most unseemly, such was your haste to read my mind on the subject of morning tea. Here we are.”

At the table inside the comparatively cool cafe, she asked:

“What have you been doing this morning behind my back?”

“I visited the hospital and did my best to comfort the sick. Poor unfortunate little man. You did ill-use him.” Alice was examining her recent purchase with the aid of a small mirror. “You appear to be quite unconcerned about your victim.”

“He’s lucky that his neck’s not broken.”

“Generous of you. What have you been doing this morning?”

“Off duty. You told Essen to tell me. I bathed their baby, and then decided to buy a hat. On the way, I thought I’d call at the Station for you… thought you’d like to choose the new hat. The duty constable told me you had gone for a walk, and Sergeant Yoti had his office full of reporters. They were badgering him with questions and he was snarling. I asked the desk constable where Essen was, and he said down at the Municipal Library… there’s been a robbery.”

“Robbery at the Public Library?” exclaimed Bony. “Well, I expected it, you know. People will read books, and now that the government has cut down on the importation of books, people are bound to rob the libraries to get them. It’s a crime which I acclaim. May I have another cup of tea?”

Degrees of Neglect

THEYWEREabout to visit Mrs Norman Coutts, when Bony asked: “Yesterday, when returning from the River Hotel, you did a sum in mental arithmetic and arrived at Neglectcausated in Booze. Pardon the verb. To what else could child neglect be attributed?”

“I’d say bargain-hunting at the store sales. A lot of women leave everything, desert anything for the chance of a bargain.”

“Of our five babies, we have examined the background of four, and in no case have we found physical neglect. D’youknow anything about writing novels?”

“Do I look as though I wrote novels?”

“Yes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Now I have to pardon your verb. And myself for using it. I never kid. My reason for asking you is that Mrs Norman Coutts writes novels. In Dr Nott’s opinion, that is another cause of child neglect.”

For fifty yards Alice pondered on this angle, her stride matching her companion’s, head straight, shoulders back, mouth grim and tight. Unless she fell in love and married, she was doomed to become a replica of the lady novelist whose picture was menacing the readers of current magazines and was at the moment occupying a corner of Bony’s mind.

“D’youwantme to keep to the subject of infant neglect or to argue about verbs?” she asked, as they turned into a side road.

“The subject ofneglect, that we might arrive at the degree of neglect. After calling on Mrs Coutts, we shall probably know that she merely forgot about her baby when in the throes of inspiration, not neglected it to the extent of physical distress. We can then consider whether the degree of neglect covering the five babies has anything to do with their abduction.”

The house occupied by the Town Engineer stood well back from the street and was seemingly built on a well-tended lawn which successfully defied sun and heat. The house was of the bungalow type, having a spacious front veranda, now shaded by coloured blinds.

The front door was opened by a tall blonde, arrayed in a gay Japanese kimono and armed with a foot-long cigarette-holder, and instantly Bony was reminded of Mrs Thring and the lady novelist in the magazines. She was obviously displeased, and ungraciously conducted them to what could be the lounge. Here the furniture was good enough, but the carpet felt lumpy beneath their feet, the hearth was strewn with cigarette-ends, and the one table by the window was littered with books and writing materials. The close, fuggy odours of food, cigarettes and lemons were at least authentic.

“Well, Inspector, what is it?” asked Mrs Coutts, seating herself before the writing materials. “Have the police found my baby?”

“Regretfully, no, Mrs Coutts,” replied Bony, who was unaware that Alice, although seated demurely, was again pricing everything visible. “I’ve been assigned to the investigation into the kidnapping of your baby, and the others, and I’m trying to get the general picture clear. Tell me, what was the weather like that afternoon your baby was stolen from the front veranda?”

“The weather! What an extraordinary question.” Mrs Coutts fitted a fresh cigarette to the long ebony holder, and Bony presented the match. “You know, the suspect is often caught out when asked where he was on the night of the crime, isn’the? I write, as you may know, straight novels, not these beastly thrillers.” Carelessly, she indicated the partially filled sheet of foolscap on the pad, the pile of covered sheets to her right hand and the wad of virgin paper on her left.“The weather that day. Why, it was hot and thundery. In fact, it did thunder now and then, but as usual I was busy with my writing, and the baby was asleep.”

“Your husband saw the child sleeping in the cot when he left for his office. At what time did your husband leave?”

“Ten minutes to two. He always leaves at that time.”

“And you found the cot empty at half past three, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a particular reason to visit the cot at that time?”

“My husband and I rose from lunch at about a quarter to two. He went to his room for something and then, as I told you, he left the house by the front veranda. I came here to write as the inspiration was very strong. I worked until half past three, and then remembered I hadn’t cleared away or fed baby. So I went to the cot, and found him gone.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Rang my husband, of course. I thought that he had taken the child with him to his office. A moment after he said he hadn’t done anything of the kind and would ring the police, I flew to the front gate, hoping I might see the person who must have taken it.”

“You saw a car outside a house towards Main Street, an elderly woman on the far side of the road who was carrying a suitcase, and two boys running away as though to escape the thunderstorm?”

“That is right, Inspector. That is the scene I gave the police.”

“You said then that you could not recognise the elderly woman with the suitcase. Since then, Mrs Coutts, has memory of that woman reminded you, say in general, of anyone you know?”

“I wasn’t able to see her face as she was hurrying away from me. The police thought those two boys might have noticed her, but they hadn’t. You know all that, of course. You don’t think that woman stole my baby, do you?”

“No. But if she could be found she might tell us of something she saw which could assist us. Your description of her to the police was rather vague, understandably, naturally, in view of your distress. I was hoping that since then memory of her might have recalled to mind someone you do know, someone with whom we can make a comparison.”