Colin Watson - The Flaxborough Crab

Purbright appeared to find this reasonable. Brennan added:

“I’ve had no occasion to put that coat on for, oh, at least a couple of weeks.”

Suddenly and quite sharply, the inspector asked: “Where were you at eight o’clock that evening, sir?”

There was a short silence. Then Brennan looked over towards the fireplace.

“Miss Teatime—just a moment, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She faced them.

“The inspector would like to know where I was at eight o’clock on the evening of the day before yesterday. Perhaps you would be good enough to tell him.” Without pausing, Brennan faced the inspector again. “Her firm has been awarded a grant by one of the medical research trusts. A quite substantial grant, I understand. My own company has been asked to help with currency arrangements. I met Miss Teatime by appointment on the very evening that you happen to be talking about. A few minutes before eight o’clock, if I remember rightly.”

He looked again at Miss Teatime.

So did Purbright. Unlike Brennan’s, however, his expression was one of perplexity.

Miss Teatime walked towards them a little hesitantly. She glanced from one to the other, and gave a gentle sigh.

“I am very much afraid,” she said slowly, “that this places me in a somewhat invidious position. I must now make certain facts plain. It is quite true,” she said to Purbright, “that a grant to my company has been mooted—a grant of...oh, dear, what was it? Three thousand pounds?”

Brennan nodded, “Three thousand.”

“No, I am wrong. Four thousand. That was the figure, was it not, Mr Brennan?”

Brennan’s frown seemed to indicate rapid calculation. “Ye-es...more nearly four, perhaps. At the present exchange rate.”

“Thank you. Yes, as I was saying, such a grant had indeed been suggested, and my company would have been delighted to accept it, as you may imagine, inspector. But Mr Brennan has been too modest in describing his own role in the matter. You see, he is something more than a mere representative of the firm which undertook the negotiation of the grant. He is a director and a co-founder.”

Sergeant Love, who had been gazing around with a mildly bored expression, gave Brennan a respectful glance.

“Is this true, sir?” Purbright asked.

“I would rather Miss Teatime had respected my confidence,” said Brennan. “In business, it is not always wise to advertise one’s connections. However, I see no point in denying what she says.”

Purbright returned his attention to Miss Teatime.

“I am relieved,” she said, “that this gentleman is showing such forbearance. It would be even more painful for me to be frank—and frank I must be—if I thought he might bear me ill-will. The grant, you see, is in the gift of Mr Brennan’s company. One might almost say that it would have come from his own pocket. Such generosity in the cause of public welfare, with no regard for national boundaries, does him great credit, of course. I was proud that my own little field of research should have won his interest.

“At the same time I could not help feeling that a personal relationship was involved. I was bound to ask myself: Should I, on behalf of my company, accept this wonderful gift from this man? There seemed no reason why not. I made discreet inquiries. It soon became clear that here was a gentleman of considerable attainment. The firm he had helped to create was already prosperous, and promised to become immeasurably more so by the sale of its latest drug. As for Dr Erich Brunnen himself...”

Brennan crashed his fist on the cabinet by which he was standing. Jarred wineglasses sent forth an angry little carillon.

“This is quite unforgivable!” he shouted. “It has nothing whatever to do with the inspector or anyone else. If you...”

Purbright raised a restraining hand. “Come now, Mr Brennan. No one is challenging your right to travel under any name you wish. Celebrities do it all the time. I cannot see that this lady has made anything in the nature of an accusation.”

“That is not the point,” Brennan retorted. “You are letting her go on and on with all this irrelevant nonsense. Why should I put up with it? What the devil has my private or my professional life to do with an attack on some servant girl in this ridiculous little town of yours?”

The inspector looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t recall,” he said, quietly, “describing her as a servant girl.” He waited, then made a gesture of indifference, “However, perhaps Miss Teatime will finish what she was telling us.”

Miss Teatime, who had been staring uncomfortably at the carpet, raised her head.

“I am sorry, but I had no intention of upsetting Dr Brunnen. I was simply going to say that what I learned about him was just as reassuring as the result of my inquiries about his firm. Long before his success in the drug industry, he had made quite a name in medical research at one of those big experimental institutes—what was it again?—Raven-something-or-other... Never mind, I must not embarrass him with a list of achievements. What really matters is that I decided it would be quite proper to accept the grant.

“And then, only two days ago, something happened that made me change my mind completely. Something absolutely unaccountable, and more distressing than I can say.”

She glanced timidly at the inspector. At the same time, one of her hands stole to the opposite shoulder and massaged it gently, as if to soothe the pain of a recent injury.

All three men were watching her, Brennan with as much bewilderment as anybody.

“It was in the surgery of poor Dr Meadow,” Miss Teatime resumed, seemingly with considerable reluctance. “Both Dr Brunnen and I went into the consulting room immediately after his collapse. I do not think that Dr Brunnen knew I was just behind him. He cannot have known. For one of the first things he did—with that unfortunate man lying there dead on the floor—was to steal Dr Meadow’s stethoscope and hide it away under his jacket.”

Chapter Eighteen

A dead silence extended for fully five seconds before Brennan managed to push words past the blockage of his anger.

“But she’s demented, this bloody woman! This, this... Wahnsinnige ...”

“Just a moment, sir.”

Purbright turned to Miss Teatime.

“Are you quite certain about this?”

“Absolutely. I only wish I were not. I mean, it was such a petty thing to do. A doctor filching another doctor’s stethoscope...”

“You’re out of your mind!” shouted Brennan.

“It was,” continued Miss Teatime, undeterred, “the meanness of it that shocked me. Like stealing straw to make a brick. Of course, I resolved at once that I could not possibly accept the five thousand pounds unless Dr Brunnen could give a completely satisfactory explanation for his behaviour.”

“And can you, sir?” Purbright blandly inquired of Brennan.

“But this is sheer fantasy! Can’t you see that? She has been pestering me. Sexually, you understand? And because I would have nothing to do with her, she makes these lunatic accusations.”

“Stealing,” said Purbright, “is what we in this country term an indictable offence, sir. I have to explain that, because the legal distinction is important. Technically speaking, this lady has laid information against you, Mr, er, Dr Brunnen, and it is my duty to take it seriously.”

“But you can’t! I have told you why she is talking all this nonsense.”

“At the moment, it is your word against hers that it is nonsense. You must appreciate that I have to satisfy myself whether there is any truth in Miss Teatime’s charge. The other matter can wait for the time being.”

“What other matter?”