You understand, sir, Sergeant Sparrow said, we could have easily got a search-warrant and made a forcible entry, but besides ruining a good lock its a Chubb[220], very prudent of Miss Bertram it looks bad in evidence, you understand what I mean, for the good lady. If it comes to evidence. Which we hope will not be the case.
But what on earth are you looking for? Not pot again surely?
Inspector Woodrow said in a grave hangmans tone, We are pursuing an inquiry at the request of Interpol.
The vicar came hurrying back to us, waving copies of the parish magazine. He said, If you would both just turn to the last page you will find a tear-out subscription form for the coming year. Mr. Pulling already subscribes.
Thank you, thank you, I am sure, Detective-Sergeant Sparrow said. I havent a pen with me at the moment, but just leave it with me. A very tasteful and original design all that holly and the birds and gravestones.
Inspector Woodrow took his copy with evident reluctance. He held it in front of him as a witness holds a Bible in court, not quite certain what to do with it.
Its a very swinging number, the vicar said. Oh, forgive me. Poor lady. Ill be back in one sec. He pursued an elderly lady down the path to Latimer Road, calling, Mrs. Brewster, Mrs. Brewster.
I think before he returns, Inspector Woodrow said, we had better go somewhere and discuss things.
Sergeant Sparrow had already opened the parish magazine and was reading it with absorption.
You can come home with me, I said.
I would prefer to go to Miss Bertrams with no further delay. We can explain matters in the car.
Why do you want to go to my aunts flat?
Ive told you. There has been an inquiry from Interpol. We dont want to disturb a magistrate on Christmas night. You are next of kin.[221] Your aunt by giving you her keys has left the flat in your care
Has something happened to my aunt?
Has something happened to my aunt?
It is not impossible. He was never satisfied unless he made four words serve for one. He said sharply, The vicar is coming back For Gods sake, Sparrow, pay attention.
Now I hope you wont either of you forget your subscription, the vicar said. It will go to a good cause. We are furnishing a Childrens Corner in time for Easter. I would have preferred to call it a chapel, but we have some old Protestant battle-axes in Southwood. Ill let you into a very deep secret. I havent even told my committee. The other day I obtained in Portobello Road an original drawing of Mabel Lucy Atwells. We shall unveil it at Easter, and I am wondering if we couldnt persuade Prince Andrew[222]
Im afraid, Vicar, we shall have to go, Inspector Woodrow said, but I hope your Corner will be a great success. It was beginning to rain. He looked at his umbrella, but he didnt open it. Perhaps he was not confident that the neat folds could ever be properly reproduced.
I will be calling on you both one day very soon, the vicar said, when I have your addresses on the subscription form.
Sparrow! Inspector Woodrow spoke quite sharply.
Sparrow closed the parish magazine with reluctance and followed us at the run because of the rain. As he sat down beside Woodrow in the drivers seat, he explained apologetically, Theres a story called Whos Guilty? I thought it might be a murder story I like a good murder story but it was only about an old lady who was unkind to a pop singer. You cant tell anything from titles nowadays.
Now, Mr. Pulling, Inspector Woodrow said, when did you last see your aunt? The phrase sounded vaguely familiar.
Some weeks months ago. In Boulogne. Why?
You travel about a great deal with her, dont you?
Well
When did you last hear from her?
Ive told you Boulogne. Do I have to answer these questions?
You have your constitutional rights, Detective-Sergeant Sparrow began, like any citizen. Duties too, of course. A voluntary statement always has a better sound in court. The court takes into account
For Gods sake, hold your tongue, Sparrow, Inspector Woodrow said. Arent you surprised, Mr. Pulling, that youve heard nothing from your aunt since Boulogne?
There is nothing about my aunt which surprises me.
You arent anxious in case something might have happened to her?
Should I be?
She has kept some very queer company.[223] Have you ever heard of a Mr. Visconti?
The name, I said, is somehow familiar.
A war criminal, Detective-Sergeant Sparrow added unwisely.
Please keep your eye on the road, Sparrow, the inspector said. General Abdul youve heard of General Abdul, I presume?
Perhaps, yes, I seem to know the name.
You were with your aunt in Istanbul some time ago. You arrived by train and you were expelled after a few hours. You saw a Colonel Hakim.
I saw some police officer or other certainly. An absurd mistake.
General Abdul made a statement before he died.
Died? Poor fellow. I didnt know. I cant see how his statement can concern me.
Or your aunt?
Im not my aunts keeper.[224]
The statement concerned Mr. Visconti. Interpol has circulated the details. Until now we had always assumed that Mr. Visconti was dead. We had written him off.
By the way, I said, before we go any further, I must tell you that I havent got my aunts keys with me.
I had hardly expected that. I wanted only your permission to enter. I assure you that well do no damage.
Im afraid I cant allow it. The flat is in my charge.
It would look so much better if it ever came to a jury, Mr. Pulling, Sparrow began, but the inspector interrupted him. Sparrow. Take the next turning on the left. We will take Mr. Pulling home.
You can call on me after Christmas, I said, that is, if you have a search warrant.
Chapter 20
I had expected the inspector and Detective-Sergeant Sparrow to come and see me, but they didnt even telephone. A picture postcard turned up unexpectedly from Tooley. It was the view of a rather ugly temple in Katmandu and she had written on it, I am on a marvellous trip. Love, Tooley. I had quite forgotten that I had given her my address. There was no reference to Christmas (the season, I suppose, had passed unnoticed in Nepal), and I felt the more proud of her casual remembrance.
When Boxing Day[225] was over I drove to the Crown and Anchor a little before closing time in the afternoon. I wanted to see the flat in case the inspector turned up with his search warrant. If there were any discreditable remnants of Wordsworth still lying about the place I wanted to remove them, and I carried a small week-end case with me for the purpose. All my working life I had been strictly loyal to one establishment, the bank, but my loyalty now was drawn in quite another direction. Loyalty to a person inevitably entails loyalty to all the imperfections of a human being, even to the chicanery and immorality from which my aunt was not entirely free. I wondered whether she had ever forged a cheque or robbed a bank, and I smiled at the thought with the tenderness I might have shown in the past to a small eccentricity.
When I reached the Crown and Anchor I looked cautiously in at the window of the saloon bar. Why cautiously? I had every right to be there it was still opening time. The day was grey with a threat of snow and the customers were all pressing against the bar to get their last refill before three oclock. I could see the back of the girl, who was still in jodhpurs, and a large hairy hand laid against it. Another double, pint of best bitter, double pink. The clock stood at two minutes to three. It was as though they were whipping up their horses on the last straight before the winning post, and there was a great deal of irregular crowding. I found the right key to open the side door and climbed the stairs. On the second landing I sat down for a moment on my aunts sofa. I felt as illicit as a burglar and I listened for footsteps, but of course there was only the buzz and murmur of the bar.
When I opened the door of the flat I found everything in deep darkness. I set an occasional table rocking in the hall and something Venetian tinkled into fragments on the floor. When I drew the curtains the Venetian glasses had no glitter they had gone dead like unused pearls[226]. There was a scurf of correspondence on the floor among the broken glass, but it consisted mainly of circulars and I didnt bother to examine them for the moment. I went into my aunts bedroom with a sense of shame yet hadnt she asked me to see that all was in order? I remembered how meticulously Colonel Hakim had explored the hotel room and how easily he had been outwitted, but I could see no candles anywhere, except in the kitchen, where they were of a normal size and weight presumably a genuine precaution against an electric failure.
In Wordsworths room the bed had been stripped and the hideous Walt Disney figures had all been put into drawers. The only decoration left was a framed photograph of Freetown harbour which showed market women in bright dresses with baskets on their heads descending some old steps towards the waterfront. I hadnt noticed it when I came before perhaps my aunt had hung it there in memory of Wordsworth.
I returned to the sitting-room and began to go through the post. One day my aunt might send me a forwarding address, but in any case I wanted to save anything remotely personal from the scrutiny of Woodrow and Sparrow if they came. My old acquaintance Omo had written, and there were various bills from a laundry, a wine-merchants, a grocers. I was surprised not to find a bank statement, but remembering the gold brick and the suitcase stuffed with notes, I thought that perhaps my aunt preferred to keep her resources liquid[227]. In that case, it seemed to me wise to take a closer look among the dresses she had left behind, for it would be dangerous to leave cash about in the empty flat.
Then among the bills I came on something which interested me a picture postcard from Panama showing a French liner on a very blue sea. The card was written in French, in a tiny economic script to take full advantage of the small space. The writer signed himself with the initials A.D. and he wrote, so far as I could make out, what a concours de circonstances miraculeux[228] it had been to find my aunt on the ship after all these years of a triste séparation[229] and what a calamity it was that she had left the boat before the end of the cruise and not given him a longer chance to live over again the memories they shared. After her departure A.D.s lumbago had taken a turn for the worse and the gout had revived in his right toe.