Sgt Beef - Case Without A Corpse Part 6

And 'e never turned up?

No.

'Ow was it you came rus.h.i.+ng into the Mitre, then?

Mrs. Cutler was appalled. Into the Mitre? Did you really, Molly? I am ashamed of you.

Someone told me later that he had gone there.

Who told you?

A girl I met. Flora Robinson. She saw him go there from his uncle's shop. I ... couldn't understand it. I had waited an hour for him that evening. I felt I had to see him at once. I was going to call him out. ...

Not 'ardly wise, that wouldn't 'ave been, Miss, observed Sergeant Beef philosophically. Men don't never take kindly to being called out of anywhere like that by a woman. ...

Mrs. Cutler spoke icily. Perhaps you will limit your observations to the unpleasant matter in hand, she said.

Beef seemed to remember himself. Certainly, Ma'am, he said. And there isn't nothink else you can tell me, Miss Cutler? he asked.

She shook her head. I don't think so. Except that whoever Alan has killed it must have been in self-defence, or in a fight or something. It wasn't in his nature to do a cowardly act. Of course, I know you never liked him, Sergeant. ...

Did he tell you that?

Yes. He thought you had a down on him. Ever since you arrested him that time.

Oh, he did.

Well, that's what he thought. He used to sayof course I don't suppose he meant anything by itthat he'd get his own back on you some day.

I see. Well, he seems to have done it. He's given me a myst'ry to solve as'll very likely end in my getting into trouble. 'Owever. ...

Miss Cutler did not seem to have been listening. There was one other thing, she said. He spoke of being followed.

Followed? gasped the Sergeant.

Yes. He didn't give any details, and I thought it was his imagination. But he said he was being followed.

M'm, said Beef as he picked up his hat, that's funny. And again, after a long, thoughtful pause, That's funny.

CHAPTER VI.

STRANGELY ENOUGH, Sergeant Beef seemed elated by the interview.

Looks to me, he chuckled, as though I was right about this, and they was wrong. Beef's they always meant his superiors. This isn't going to be no easy case, after all. We've got the murderer, I admit. But that's not everythink. We've got to find the murder. It's the cart before the 'orse, as you might say.

He was marching along briskly, and our direction was towards Braxham High Street. I did not feel nearly so comfortable about his coming interview with the old couple, for his bludgeoning way of asking questions might hurt them more than he knew. But it was from them that we should probably find out most of young Rogers' movements yesterday, and hence make progress.

The shop was closed, and Beef knocked heavily on the door. In a few moments old Rogers stood before us.

Go easy with Mrs. Rogers, Sergeant, he whispered. She's taken it very much to heart.

Beef nodded, and all three of us entered a little room behind the shop, where the old lady, who had been so cheerful that morning in the train, sat over the fire with a miserable remnant of wet handkerchief in her hand. Her eyes were swollen with crying.

Mother thought the world of young Alan, said Mr. Rogers. She can't believe it of him not in cold blood, anyway.

She turned towards us. Her voice was shaky, but she seemed to want to express something that she meant very sincerely.

If there's anything I can tell you that will help to clear this up, she said, I'll be only too glad. I'm sure when you get to the bottom of it, you'll find our boy only did whatever he has done in self-defence. It couldn't be otherwise.

Well, first of all I should like to ask you a few questions about yourself, Mrs. Rogers, said Beef unexpectedly. See, if I've got these notes I took when Mr. Rogers was anxious about you last night, and I'd like to complete them, as it were. You went up to London yesterday, I 'ear?

Yes. On the 11.20.

You took a day return?

That's right.

Meaning to come back last night?

Yes. But then I met Mrs. Fairfax in the train. ...

Fairfax? asked Beef, I seem to know that name. Come from 'ere, does she?

Well, she stays down here with her husband now and again.

Beef was beginning his slow scrawl. What, the gentleman as comes for the fis.h.i.+ng? Where do they stay?

At the Riverside Private Hotel, said Mrs. Rogers. He comes down often. But they live in London.

I see. And you met her in the train. Was she alone?

Yes. Her husband was staying on a few days. In the train she suggested that it would be rather a lark for us to go to a theatre last night, and me to stay at their house in Hammersmith. I can't think what made me do it. But at the time there didn't seem anything wrong. I remember she said that it wasn't often we old ones get out on our own. And I used to like a bit of fun. She said we'd go to the Palladium then to the Corner House for supper. I was quite excited about it. So I sent Alf that telegram you saw and off we went.

After the necessary moments of laborious note-taking, Sergeant Beef said, Why was you going up to London at all that day, Mrs. Rogers?

Well, we always liked to. . . . Suddenly her pleasant round face was turned away from us, and there were a few moments of embarra.s.sed silence. Then she resumed. We always gave Alan some little present when he had his leave. And this time we wanted it to be something special. I was going up to get it for him. I always say you can't get anything in the shops here.

I see. But when you sent your telegram to Mr. Rogers, why didn't you say 'oo you was staying with? It wouldn't 'ave cost no more to've said, 'staying with Fairfaxes' than 'staying with friends.'

Mrs. Rogers said in a quiet voice that made one think she would have smiled then if she could, Well, to tell you the truth it was a sort of family joke with us that Mr. Rogers never cared for Mr. Fairfax. And I think Mrs. Fairfax knew that, because she suggested not mentioning names. She said that if Mr. Rogers knew he might go round to see Mr. Fairfax about it, and that wouldn't do.

Well, thank you, Mrs. Rogers. That settles your part of yesterday. He sucked his moustache. 'Oo's nephew was 'e by rights, yours or Mr. Rogers's?

The old lady glanced at her husband. Well, he wasn't either of our nephews, exactly, she said. Sort of adopted nephew.

No relation at all?

No. Not to say relation.