Margot Bennett - The Man Who Didn't Fly

Wade began to run a hand back and forward across his forehead, quickly, like a man trying to rub out his thoughts.

“So I’ve been harbouring a thief in my house,” he said. “Oh, this is terrible. I knew he was hiding something. No, I didn’t. It’s not true. I thought he was mentally ill. I thought he drank. I thought anything, but I never thought he was a thief. I wouldn’t have had him here. Can’t you understand what this means to me? A thief!”

“Don’t, Father. It’s all over. Morgan has gone. He’ll never come back. It’s not your fault, Father. How were you to know? And you were right. He was mentally ill. He’d been hiding for two years. Hiding from the police, hiding from the men he’d betrayed, in the end hiding from Harry.”

Marryatt looked belligerently at the inspector. “Let’s get on with it. You know, I suppose. Was Morgan the man who didn’t fly?”

“I can answer the question,” Lewis said shortly. “If we’re right about the rest, it’s the most obvious point of all. But first I’d like to add something to what Miss Wade has said. Morgan Price had someone else to hide from. And that was Jackie.”

“Jackie!” Wade repeated numbly.

“Jackie. You’ve made it plain enough in your statements. From the moment Jackie came into the house, Morgan was afraid to come out of his room. He wouldn’t come downstairs to telephone until Miss Wade promised to keep Jackie and Harry in the kitchen. He wouldn’t come downstairs for meals.”

“But he did come out,” Prudence protested suddenly. “He came out to the chapel, when I was there with Harry, on Thursday morning.”

“I think you’ll find Jackie was busy in the kitchen at that point. Morgan took the risk and came out the front way. But if I’m right, it was a risk, or he saw it as one. But he took that risk – to get to the chapel, and Harry.”

Hester made a restless movement with her hands, then forced them into stillness again, and sat rigid.

“If you’re not going to get on with this, I will,” Marryatt said violently. “What about that brooch, Prudence?”

“I’m so glad you reminded me,” Prudence said graciously. “This is the brooch Jackie lent me, Inspector. I thought you might be interested in it.” She put her hand in her pocket and held the brooch out to him, with an amused, disparaging smile, like one collector showing another a trivial piece unwisely acquired in the sale-room.

He took it, and held it in his thick, scrubbed hand, turning it a little, to let the light enter the hard heart of the stones. He stared at it, bemused and angry, like a peasant examining the countess’s jewels. He took a list from his pocket, and looked at it, and nodded.

“It’s not my subject,” he said cautiously, “but if it’s as real as it looks, then Jackie was in this up to his neck.” He scowled as he spoke the last few words. “He found where Morgan Price had hidden the lot, even if Harry didn’t. He wouldn’t have tried to give the brooch away if he hadn’t found the rest. Very generous, these crooks are, on impulse, but not to the point of giving away all they’ve got.”

“But, Inspector Lewis, surely he wouldn’t give away anything valuable,” Hester said.

“It’s part of the pattern. Don’t ask me why they do it. I can only tell you that again and again we catch them because they do. I’ll keep this brooch. Miss Prudence will perhaps be prepared to sign a statement declaring how it came into her possession.”

“Oh, gladly,” Prudence said, dejection spreading across her face.

“And now, Mr Marryatt, as you’re so determined, we’ll get on with it. If we take the evidence of this numerologist, Benson, the man who remembered someone’s name began with M. He wasn’t listening, he wouldn’t have heard anything if he hadn’t once been an under-manager at Woolworth’s. But as it happens, his ear was caught by the familiar name.”

He stopped, took out the sheaf of papers, and looked through the typescript once again. “This is what he heard: ‘Woolworth’s! what do you think about that?’ And the second man said: ‘I’m afraid I can’t think anything. I didn’t see it.’ And the third man said: ‘Woolworth’s! What’s all this? When did it happen?’ And that’s all.” Inspector Lewis folded the papers again carefully, and returned them to his pocket. “After that, the grocer went on with his astrology, and neither of them heard another word that could usefully be called evidence.”

“And the conversation could only refer to the brooch. If you’re going to take the word of a crazy numerologist as proof, I’m not,” Marryatt said.

“Take it easy, Mr Marryatt. A man can be a numerologist or an astrologist and be just as sane as any member of the Stock Exchange, or any dealer in farm machinery, when it comes to that. People take up these things as a way of passing the time, or explaining the universe, two things we’re all concerned with, in our own way. I’m prepared to take the word of this numerologist because he’s an honest man, who was clearly not prepared to manufacture evidence to oblige. You know what it proves, do you?

“You think it proves that Morgan went on the aeroplane, because there were only two of these four men who didn’t see the brooch that night, Morgan and Maurice Reid, and there were two men at Brickford who said or implied they didn’t see it. You think it proves that either Harry or Joe Ferguson is the missing man, because they had both seen the brooch, but only one of the three who flew had seen it. And as you’re already satisfied that Ferguson was on the plane, you’re satisfied that Harry was the man who didn’t fly.”

“Harry? Harry alive?” Hester said faintly. “Oh, why didn’t you say so before?”

“They didn’t say because they’re not sure. That’s why,” Marryatt said. “And I don’t accept that evidence. I don’t accept this reported conversation.”

Lewis looked at him speculatively, searching for a vulnerable point.

“You accepted the evidence of reported conversation when it established the fact that Maurice Reid flew in the aeroplane. When it established a point that it was in your own interests to accept.”

Marryatt was standing up now. His strong, challenging face dominated the room.

“Then I was wrong. But my views, right or wrong, are of no importance,” he said, while the intensity of his belief in himself radiated from his face like an almost visible force. “I don’t accept the fact that this Harry, who had no money, should get hold of fifteen pounds, spend it on buying a passage to Ireland, and then abandon the idea of flying and say goodbye to the only fifteen pounds he had in the world.”

“Why are you so anxious Harry should be dead?” Hester asked angrily.

He glared at her. “Because I want this matter cleared up. And no one can tell me that any court will accept the mixture of parables and logical problems that’s been brought up here.” Inspector Lewis heaved himself up and gathered the sergeant in with his glance.

“We must go,” he said. “I am very grateful for the help you have all so freely given. You are right, you know, Mr Marryatt, but this matter isn’t going to court as it stands. There is no criminal case to bring forward. There will eventually be an inquest. All we have been trying to do here is discover in a friendly way what kind of proof of identity might be offered at the inquest. Also, if one of those four men didn’t fly in that aeroplane, it’s obvious that he must be somewhere else. It’s easier to look for one man than four, and what has happened here has been quite enough to convince me that Harry Walters is the man to look for. I think we’ll find him,” he said significantly. “Where are you going to be for the next few days, Mr Marryatt?”