Sgt Beef - Case Without A Corpse Part 21

What was he like? I asked, largely to keep her talking and save her, and me, from the embarra.s.sment of a scene in this place.

Alan had lots of faults, she said, a violent temper was one of them. He drank too much, sometimes, and I suppose he had left a few debts behind him in different places. But there was nothing wicked in him.

You can't conceive of his having smuggled cocaine into the country?

No. I can't. He would never have done it. It wasn't the kind of thing he did.

So thatif he was doing it, you think he didn't know what he carried. Is that it?

She looked a little less forbidding. Yes! That must have been it. If he was doing it.

And now tell me something else, Miss Cutler. Can you, honestly, conceive of young Rogers murdering anyone?

She did not speak for a second. Then she looked up sharply.

Are you trying to catch me? she said.

Catch you? Of course not. I ... well to tell you the truth, I was almost beginning to think of this man as you paint him. And I wanted to know. . . .

Well, thenI can conceive of Alan murdering someone. He was a violent sort of chap. But I don't believe he ever did it in a premeditated way. I don't believe he ever schemed to do it. If someone attacked him, or provoked him, he was capable of anything. But there was no subtlety in his nature.

I think I believe you there, I said. I believe that when we get at the truth you will turn out to have been right over that. But if that was somy inexpert mind had sudden misgivingswhy should he have committed suicide? He had everything to lose. He was engaged to you, and he had a good job. Surely if it was during a violent scene of some sort there would have been a chance for him to get off with manslaughter. How can you account for his having taken poison?

He had terrible fits of remorse over nearly everything crazy that he did. This must have been worse, that's all.

Somehow, in my mind, I was trying to make her conception of young Rogers conform with the facts that Stute and Beef possessed. Unconsciously, I suppose, I was trying to make her feel happier about it all. And suddenly I had an idea.

Suppose, I said, that he was made to believe he had committed murder. Suppose that some interested party had been able to convince him that he had been guilty of an act which in reality had been the work of another. That would account for it, wouldn't it?

She stared at me blankly for a moment.

My G.o.d! she said at last, and I saw that she had turned pale, that must have been it! What a wicked thing to do. Could anyone do that? Make him think he was guilty?

There are some people who have no scruples, I returned, rather tritely perhaps.

How awful! So Alan poisoned himself because he thought he had committed a crime which someone else. . . . Oh, it's the most terrible thing!

But Miss Cutler, it was only an idea of mine. It may not have any truth in it.

It has! It is true! I see it now! Oh, if only we had met that evening. And how do you suppose they did itconvinced him, I mean?

I don't know. I only mentioned it as a possibility. I am not a detective, and if I were I probably should never have considered that. Because, after all, there was the knifehis knife. How are you going to account for that? It had a bloodstain on it. So had his shirt-cuff and sleeve. Even if he didn't actually kill the person, he must have. ...

Oh, don't ... she begged.

I'm awfully sorry. Perhaps I should never have suggested the idea. That's the worst of anyone like me plunging about in a case of this sort.

I could see that her lip was trembling. Poor girl, these days must have been hideous for her. The thing itself, the inquest, the people in the town.

Miss Cutler, I said, trying to speak considerately, why don't you go away for a bit while they're clearing this thing up. It can't do you any good to be here. You're making yourself more wretched than you need.

She shook her head. No, she said, I want to stay and see it all settled. I want to know the truth. It's not much I can do for him now, but I can do that. And I will.

I think you are very braveand loyal, I said quietly.

To my surprise and pleasure she was pleased at that. She even gave me a half smile.

Thank you, she said. And now. ...

She was interrupted by a voice behind my chair.

Molly! Really, how very inconsiderate! I've been searching all over the town for you.

I rose to face her over-neat and disapproving-looking mother.

Won't you sit down? I asked.

I suppose I shall have to, now that my daughter has brought me in here. Rather than cause more talk, I will. But it's not very pleasant for me to be in this place, with everyone staring at us.

Molly sighed and for the first time that I had heard, she had an answer to her mother.

What does it matter whether they stare or not? she asked wearily.

It may not matter to you, said her mother. You may be past such things. But it does to me. I've never in all my life given anyone cause to talk about me, and I'm not used to it. Yes, please, a cup of coffee. Yes, and perhaps it would look more natural if I had a cake. Thank you, one of those meringues will do nicely.

She was not too embarra.s.sed by the attention which her daughter had attracted to cope very capably with a large cream meringue, a type of cake I have never been able to eat successfully.

And there was something else that Molly ought to have told that policeman the other day, she went on when she had left only a few crumbs on her plate and one adhering obstinately to her chin.

Mother! her daughter broke in. Molly looked distressed.

Yes. It should be known, said Mrs. Cutler primly, this young man, this Rogers, once told Molly that if ever the need arose he didn't lack the means to commit murder.

But of course he didn't. Who, as a matter of fact, does? I returned, and I felt that Molly was pleased with my indifference.

As soon as Mrs. Cutler thought it expedient, she and her daughter got up and left the cafe. But Molly smiled sadly back to me.

CHAPTER XVII.

I USED to have breakfast about an hour later than Stute and next morning, as I was finishing my toast and home-made marmalade, Constable Galsworthy was shown in by Mrs. Simmons. He looked almost offensively healthy and full of beans, and I remarked on it.

I'm in training for the Police Boxing Championship, he explained. I got into the final last year.

So that was it. I had always thought that he looked like a boxer. Did you want to see me? I asked.

Yes, sir. Detective-Inspector Stute told me to call in on my way by. He's had a report in from Scotland Yard, and says that if you want to see the next move in this case, you had better go round there.