Henrietta Who Part 16

"Yes, sir."

"Hrrrmph."

"I've had a look at his car," said Sloan hastily. "It looks all right to me. It's not all that new and I don't know how much damage to expect to the car from her injuries. I'll have a word with Traffic about that. And Dr. Dabbe."

"And check," growled Leeyes, "that he hasn't had them repaired. Plenty of time for that since Tuesday."

"Yes, sir."

"What was he doing on Tuesday evening anyway?"

"Nothing," said Sloan cautiously.

"Nothing?"

"He was alone at home."

"Was he indeed? Interesting."

"You see, sir, it was the first Tuesday in the month."

"I am aware of that, Sloan, but the significance eludes me..."

"That's Inst.i.toot-I mean, Inst.i.tute night."

"You don't say."

"Mrs. Hibbs," said Sloan hurriedly, "is Branch President So she was out."

"No servants?"

"A daily. A real one."

"A real one?"

"Comes every day. Daily."

"There's no need to spell it out for me, man."

"No, sir."

"What you are trying to tell me-and taking the devil of a long time about it, if I may say so-is that James Heber Hibbs was alone all evening at The Hall, he has a car whose tyre marks correspond with those found at the scene of the accident and you aren't yet sure if he killed Grace What-ever-her-name is."

"Yes, sir."

"Anything else?"

"There may well be something odd about this chap Jenkins, sir, apart from the medals."

"You can say that again," responded Leeyes generously.

"I've been making a few enquiries about his pension."

"Oh?"

"And I can't trace it. It wasn't paid out via the local village Post Office which is not all that surprising, but it didn't go into her bank account either. I've just seen the manager. No pension voucher record there. Her account was kept going with a small regular monthly cash payment over the counter."

"Who by?" sharply.

"Grace Jenkins herself to all intent and purposes," sighed Sloan. "According to the paying-in slips, she always handed it over herself."

"Maintenance,"concluded Leeyes.

"Yes, sir, with any clue to its source carefully concealed."

"And anything not concealed equally carefully removed from the bureau on Tuesday."

"Just so," agreed Sloan.

"From what you've said so far," said the Superintendent, "she doesn't strike one as having been a kept woman."

"Only literally, sir, if you follow me. I think it was the child who was kept. I've got in touch with the pension auand they're doing a bit of checking up now but it'll take time. It's not as if it were an uncommon name even."

"No." The Superintendent thought for a moment and then said, "The most interesting question from our point of view is: Who was keeping both of them."

"Yes, sir."

"And why." The Superintendent sat silent, thinking. Sloan knew better than to interrupt his thoughts. "If," said Leeyes at last, "we knew why they were being kept I daresay we'd know who killed the woman."

"Whatever the story," said Sloan, "I think we can be fairly sure the situation changed when the girl reached twenty-one."

"And someone didn't like it the new way."

"No."

"That means there's money somewhere, Sloan, or I'm a Dutchman."

"Perhaps." Sloan tapped his notebook. "It could be a quesof inheritance easily..."

"Or concealment of birth."

"I'd thought of that, sir. I've been on to the General Register Office with the only reasonable thing I could think of to ask them."

"What was that?"

"A list of the female children born about the same time as Henrietta Jenkins says she was and who have the same Chrisnames."

"That's a tall order," said the Superintendent.

"They said it would take time," agreed Sloan dubiously. "I don't suppose a Friday afternoon's the best moment to ask them either."

"No." Leeyes looked at his watch. "Late on Friday afternoon at that."

"She was called Henrietta Eleanor Leslie though."

"That's better than Mary, I suppose."

"But you don't have to register a birth for six weeks and..."

"And," said the Superintendent grimly, "we've only got her word for it that those are her names and that that is when she was born."

"Just so," said Sloan.

That was the moment when the telephone began to ring.

Leeyes picked it up, listened for a moment and then handed it over to Sloan. "A call for Inspector Sloan from Calleford. Urgent and personal."

Sloan took the receiver in one hand and a pencil in the other. "Speaking..."

He listened attentively, then he asked two questions in quick succession, advised the speaker to go home, and replaced the receiver.

"That was Bill Thorpe, sir."

Leeyes nodded. "That's the chap who helped find the body, isn't it? The one the girl wanted to marry..."

"Him," said Sloan. "He's with the girl in Calleford now and she's just seen Cyril Jenkins."

"Who?" roared Leeyes.

"Cyril Jenkins."

"He's dead."

"Not if she's just seen him," said Sloan reasonably.

"How does she know it's him?"

"Living image of the man in the photograph but older."

"She's imagining it then."

"She swears not."

"Wishful thinking."

"A dead likeness," said Sloan pithily. "That's what Thorpe said."

"Did he see him himself?"

"No. Not his face. Just his back."

"I don't like it, Sloan."

"No, sir." He waited. "There's something else."

Leeyes' head came up with a jerk. "What?"

"They've been in the Minster looking at the East Calleshire Memorial there."

"Well?"

"Jenkins's name isn't on it and he was supposed to have been killed in the war."

"Well, if he's alive and kicking in Calleford this afternoon that's hardly surprising, is it? Be logical, Sloan."

"Yes, sir." You couldn't win. Not with Superintendent Leeyes.

"And I suppose they let him get away."

"They were in a tea shop, sir. By the time they got out he'd disappeared."

"So we don't know if the girl was right or wrong?"

"Strictly speaking, no."

"And we don't know either, Sloan, if she is having us all on, the Thorpe boy included."

"No, sir."

"If she is, do you realize that nearly all the evidence we've got-if you can call it evidence-comes from her?"

"Yes, sir. Apart from Dr. Dabbe, that is..."

"It's a lonely furrow," agreed Leeyes sardonically, "that the doctor's ploughing. What did you tell them to do?"

"Go home to Larking," said Sloan. "As the crow flies they're nearer there than they are to Berebury. I'll go down to Larking to see them later."

Leeyes grunted.

"And," continued Sloan, "I'll get some copies of Jenkins's photograph blown up and rushed over to Calleford. No harm in looking for him..."

"No harm in finding him," retorted Leeyes meaningfully. "It'll be interesting to see if they can pick him up over there. I understand that they can do almost anything at Headquarters."

"Yes, sir." The Superintendent pursued his own private vendetta with County Constabulary Headquarters at Calleford.

"Of course," blandly, "he may not be called Jenkins."

"No," agreed Sloan dutifully.