The Clocks

‘The clocks again? What’s happened now?’

‘One of them is missing.’

‘Missing? Which one?’

‘The leather travelling clock. The one with “Rosemary” across the corner.’

I whistled.

‘That seems very extraordinary. How did it come about?’

‘The damned fools—I’m one of them really, I suppose—’ (Dick was a very honest man) ‘—One’s got to remember to cross every t and dot every i or things go wrong. Well, the clocks were there all right yesterday in the sitting-room. I got Miss Pebmarsh to feel them all to see if they felt familiar. She couldn’t help. Then they came to remove the body.’

‘Yes?’

‘I went out to the gate to supervise, then I came back to the house, spoke to Miss Pebmarsh who was in the kitchen, and said I must take the clocks away and would give her a receipt for them.’

‘I remember. I heard you.’

‘Then I told the girl I’d send her home in one of our cars, and I asked you to see her into it.’

‘Yes.’

‘I gave Miss Pebmarsh the receipt though she said it wasn’t necessary since the clocks weren’t hers. Then I joined you. I told Edwards I wanted the clocks in the sitting-room packed up carefully and brought here. All of them except the cuckoo clock and, of course, the grandfather. And that’s where I went wrong. I should have said, quite definitely, four clocks. Edwards says he went in at once and did as I told him. He insists there were only three clocks other than the two fixtures.’

‘That doesn’t give much time,’ I said. ‘It means—’

‘The Pebmarsh woman could have done it. She could have picked up the clock after I left the room and gone straight to the kitchen with it.’

‘True enough. But why?’

‘We’ve got a lot to learn. Is there anybody else? Could the girl have done it?’

I reflected. ‘I don’t think so. I—’ I stopped, remembering something.

‘So she did,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Go on. When was it?’

‘We were just going out to the police car,’ I said unhappily. ‘She’d left her gloves behind. I said, “I’ll get them for you” and she said, “Oh, I know just where I must have dropped them. I don’t mind going into that room now that the body’s gone,” and she ran back into the house. But she was only gone a minute—’

‘Did she have her gloves on, or in her hand when she rejoined you?’

I hesitated. ‘Yes—yes, I think she did.’

‘Obviously she didn’t,’ said Hardcastle, ‘or you wouldn’t have hesitated.’

‘She probably stuffed them in her bag.’

‘The trouble is,’ said Hardcastle in an accusing manner, ‘you’ve fallen for that girl.’

‘Don’t be idiotic,’ I defended myself vigorously. ‘I saw her for the first time yesterday afternoon, and it wasn’t exactly what you’d call a romantic introduction.’

‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said Hardcastle. ‘It isn’t every day that young men have girls falling into their arms screaming for help in the approved Victorian fashion. Makes a man feel a hero and a gallant protector. Only you’ve got to stop protecting her. That’s all. So far as you know, that girl may be up to the neck in this murder business.’

‘Are you saying that this slip of a girl stuck a knife into a man, hid it somewhere so carefully that none of your sleuths could find it, then deliberately rushed out of the house and did a screaming act all over me?’

‘You’d be surprised at what I’ve seen in my time,’ said Hardcastle darkly.

‘Don’t you realize,’ I demanded, indignantly, ‘that my life has been full of beautiful spies of every nationality? All of them with vital statistics that would make an American private eye forget all about the shot of rye in his collar drawer. I’m immune to all female allurements.’

‘Everybody meets his Waterloo in the end,’ said Hardcastle. ‘It all depends on the type. Sheila Webb seems to be your type.’

‘Anyway, I can’t see why you’re so set on fastening it on her.’

Hardcastle sighed.

‘I’m not fastening it on her—but I’ve got to start somewhere. The body was found in Pebmarsh’s house. That involves her. The body was found by the Webb girl—I don’t need to tell you how often the first person to find a dead body is the same as the person who last saw him alive. Until more facts turn up, those two remain in the picture.’

‘When I went into that room at just after three o’clock, the body had been dead at least half an hour, probably longer. How about that?’

‘Sheila Webb had her lunch hour from 1.30 to 2.30.’

I looked at him in exasperation.

‘What have you found out about Curry?’

Hardcastle said with unexpected bitterness: ‘Nothing!’

‘What do you mean—nothing?’

‘Just that he doesn’t exist—there’s no such person.’

‘What do the Metropolis Insurance Company say?’

‘They’ve nothing to say either, because there’s no such thing. The Metropolis and Provincial Insurance Company doesn’t exist. As far as Mr Curry from Denvers Street goes, there’s no Mr Curry, no Denvers Street, Number 7 or any other number.’

‘Interesting,’ I said. ‘You mean he just had some bogus cards printed with a bogus name, address and insurance company?’

‘Presumably.’

‘What is the big idea, do you think?’

Hardcastle shrugged his shoulders.

‘At the moment it’s guesswork. Perhaps he collected bogus premiums. Perhaps it was a way of introducing himself into houses and working some confidence trick. He may have been a swindler or a confidence trickster or a picker-up of unconsidered trifles or a private inquiry agent. We just don’t know.’

‘But you’ll find out.’

‘Oh, yes, we’ll know in the end. We sent up his fingerprints to see if he’s got a record of any kind. If he has it’ll be a big step on the way. If he hasn’t, it’ll be rather more difficult.’