Colin Watson - Lonelyheart 4122

“And you’re anxious.”

“Well, of course. I didn’t know what to think when...” She passed him a cutting without looking up from the bag, in which she continued to search. “Oh, yes. Here it is.”

Purbright saw she was holding a letter. He glanced at the cutting and handed it back.

“You see, Martha and I don’t get together very often nowadays—not like we used to—but we do write to each other every now and then and keep each other up to date with the news. She tells me everything that’s been going on. Well, as I say, we’re ever such old friends, so that’s only natural. But the very last letter she wrote...”

“When was that?”

“Oh, a couple of months ago, I should think.” She looked at all three of the sheets in her hand. “It isn’t dated, actually. January, perhaps...Anyway, as I was saying, this last letter of hers was quite a big surprise. Knowing Martha, I mean. You see, she’d met this man. Wait a minute...yes, Giles something-or-other. She doesn’t give his other name. And she’s actually talking about marrying him...”

“That surprised you?”

“Certainly it did. I mean, I hadn’t an inkling that Martha had any ideas in that line. Yet here she is talking about an engagement ring and some cottage this Giles man hopes to take her to. There’s just one thing that didn’t surprise me—he’s a clergyman, apparently. Martha was always dead soft on curates. She was mixed up in a lot of church work, too—Sunday school and that sort of thing...”

“Does she say where this man’s church was supposed to be?” asked Purbright.

Miss Huddlestone shook her head. “I’ll let you read this in a minute, but there’s nothing in it about that.”

“I ask because inquiries do happen to have been made of the local church authorities and there is no unmarried clergyman in any of the parishes round about who admits even to having heard of Miss Reckitt.”

Miss Huddlestone, whose expression had been growing more animated, suddenly stiffened and looked grave.

“You’ve been taking this...this disappearance business seriously, then?”

“Very seriously, Miss Huddlestone, I assure you.”

She was silent for a few moments. Then she leaned forward and handed Purbright the letter.

“You’d better see if there’s anything there that’ll help. I warn you—some of it’s a bit sick-making...No, no—that’s very wrong of me. It’s just that she’s never written that sort of thing before. Oh, Lord! Poor old Martha...”

Miss Reckitt had left her most important news until last:

...and now I must reveal my great secret. If you were here, of course, you would see it for yourself—or rather the shining outward evidence of it. Five little diamonds, all in a row. And on the third finger of this very hand, lying beside the paper as I write. What do they spell, these five pretty stones? G-I-L-E-S. Oh, Elsie, he is such an admirable figure of a man. Strong and gentle at the same time, as befits a man of the church, and with the merriest of humours when the occasion suits. The countryside is his greatest love (next to me, that is, and truly I do not think I flatter myself) and he has shown me the quite breathtaking little cottage that he plans to be ours. (From a distance—it is not yet unoccupied.) And guess where it is, Elsie. No, I am not going to tell you, but I wonder how good your memory is nowadays—suppose I were just to say “Catch a Crab”, where would you think of? There now—if you are any good at clues, you will know exactly where Giles and I are going to live. Talking of the cottage, how glad I am now not to have touched any of Uncle Dan’s money that time when I had a fancy for a motor car. If we had to wait for the grant that has been approved by the Church Commissioners, I am sure someone else would beat us to such a wonderful “snip”, as Giles calls it (most unclerically, I’m afraid!—but I do understand what he means). Well, Elsie, so much for my great announcement, and I do hope and pray it pleases you. Now I must close as I have an important appointment with a certain gentleman.

Your ever affectionate friend,

Martha.

Purbright raised his eyes to see Miss Huddlestone watching him anxiously.

“Not much use, is it,” she said.

“Rather less illuminating than I could have wished. There are one or two interesting points, though.” He glanced once again over the final page. “This cottage, now...”

“She doesn’t say where it is.”

“She’s offered you a clue.”

Miss Huddlestone gave a little puff of derision. “Oh, that’s typical of Martha. Clues. She loves making mysteries of things.”

“But this one is decidedly odd. ‘Catch a Crab.’ Doesn’t it mean anything at all to you?”

She pondered, slowly shaking her head.

“It sounds rather like something to do with rowing,” persisted Purbright. “You know—boats. It’s when you fall back because the oar’s missed the water. You can’t think of an incident of that kind?”

“I’ve never rowed a boat in my life.”

That, Purbright reflected, I can believe. He said: “And what about Miss Reckitt? Did you ever go on a river with her?”

Again Miss Huddlestone looked dubious. No, she could remember nothing about rivers or boats.

“Never mind,” said Purbright at last. “But I should like you to keep having a go at it in your own mind. Something might occur to you.”

She promised to persevere.

“Now another thing,” the inspector went on. “Can you say anything about this money she mentions?”

“Well, only that it was left her by this Uncle Dan of hers. I don’t think I ever met him.”

“This was some years ago?”

“A fair while. About ten years, I should say.”

“Was it much?”

“Depends what you call much. Three hundred—perhaps four. But she kept it in the savings bank all the time, so I suppose there’ll be the interest as well now.”

Purbright nodded. There did not seem to be much else he could learn from Miss Huddlestone. He made a note of her address and said that she would be informed if and when the whereabouts of her friend became known. He said nothing of his own far from sanguine opinion of Miss Reckitt’s chances.

Miss Huddlestone trotted stumpily to the door. Purbright opened it but instead of leaving she stood looking down at one plump little hand as if wondering however she had got it into its glove.

“You know, I don’t at all like the sound of that clergyman,” she said quietly.

Purbright pushed the door nearly closed.

“You don’t?”

“Partly prejudice, actually, I’ve never cared for clergymen very much. Those awful black modesty vest things...and a smell of candles and wardrobes...” The inspector waited.

Miss Huddlestone gave a resolute sniff. “No, they’re all right really, I suppose. But I wouldn’t have thought a whirlwind courtship much in their line. And why should he want to buy a cottage? I always understood the church provided accommodation.”

“It is usual, I believe.”

“Another thing. I don’t want to sound disloyal, or anything, but let’s face it, poor old Martha was no catch. A diamond ring, for heaven’s sake...”

“Miss Huddlestone, you said earlier that your friend is keen on church work and inclined to admire the sort of people with whom that work would bring her into contact—curates, I think, you mentioned specifically.”

“Oh, yes. Soppy about them.”

“Do you know of any particular clergyman she was friendly with?”

“Not off hand.”

“Try and think.”

“Well, there is one, but I’m not sure that he counts as a proper clergyman. They do know each other, though. As a matter of fact, he’s a young chap from my own home town.”