“Still, there’s no harm checking the gun.” He sniffed at it. “Been fired,
I’d say a month or so ago. Smells of lilac, too.”
“Her favourite perfume,” I told him. “Well, that’s my story. I
hoped you’d be more impressed, but I should have known better. The
trouble with you is you’ve no imagination.”
He stroked his long fleshy nose. “Maybe I haven’t, but I’ve a lot of
horse sense, and I still think she committed suicide.” He picked up the
envelope, tapped it on his finger-nails. “Shall we see what’s in here?”
“Can we?”
“The police can do anything,” he said with a wink. He took out a
pencil, slid it under the flap of the envelope, rol ed it gently backwards
and forwards. After a little persuasion the flap lifted.
“Easy once you know how,” he said, looking at me with his half-
hearted smile. “You have to have the right touch, of course.”
“I’ll keep my mail out of your reach,” I said. “Well, what’s inside?”
He glanced into the envelope, whistled. With finger and thumb he
hooked out what seemed a stack of over-printed paper.
“Bearer bonds,” he said.
I leaned forward. “Seems a lot of them,” I said, gaping.
His fingers flicked through them. “Five thousand pounds worth,”
he said. “Now I wonder where these came from?” He glanced inside
the envelope. “No note. Hmm, this is a little odd I must say.”
I laughed at him. “Now you’re starting. The whole thing’s odd to
me. Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“I think I’ll take a trip to Lakeham and see Miss Scott. I’d like to
know where these bonds came from. If she can’t tell me, I’ll have to
check them. That may be a longish job; still, I want to know.”
“Could I come with you to Lakeham?” I asked. “I’ll play Watson to
your Holmes. Besides, I’d like to meet the sister. Maybe she doesn’t
know Netta’s dead. I think I should be there when the news is
broken.”
“By all means come,” he said, getting to his feet. “Shall we say to-
morrow morning? We can go down by car.”
“Swell. But don’t think you’re through yet,” I said. “There’s one
more thing I want you to do. Where can I see Netta? I want to see her
before she’s buried.”
“A bit morbid, aren’t you?” he shot at me. “What good can that
do you?”
“I’m funny that way,” I said, stubbing out my cigar. “Suppose you
come along too? I want you to see her if only to be in a better position
to judge when the lid comes off this business, as I’m sure it will. I have
a hunch we’re on to something that’s going to be big, and you’ll thank
me in the long run for putting you wise.”
“I’ve never met such a chap,” Corridan muttered, went over to
the telephone, called the Yard.
I stood by while he ordered a police car to pick us up outside the
Savoy.
“Come along,” he said, “if it hadn’t been such a damn good dinner
I’d have told you to have gone to blazes, but I suppose I’ll have to pay
for my entertainment. Who knows, you may invite me again.”
“Maybe I will at that,” I said, following him along the corridor to
the elevator.
It took us under a quarter of an hour to reach the mortuary, and
the officer in charge, startled to have a visit from Corridan, came out
to greet us.
“Netta Scott,” Corridan said abruptly. He was always short with
his inferiors in rank. “You have her here. We want to see her.”
The constable, a young, red-faced country-looking fellow, shook
his head. “Not now, sir,” he said. “She was here, but she was taken to
the Hammersmith mortuary an hour ago.”
Corridan frowned. “Oh? On whose orders?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the constable replied, looked blank.
“You don’t know?” Corridan barked, “But surely you had an
official order before you let them take the body?”
The constable changed colour. “Well, no, sir,” he said. “I’m new
here. I-I didn’t know an order was necessary in this case. The driver of
the ambulance said there’d been a mistake, and the remains should
‘ave gone to Hammersmith. I let him take the body.”
Corridan, his face dark with fury, pushed past the constable, went
into the office, slammed the door.
The constable stared after him, scratched his head. “Now I
wonder what’s up,” he said, looking at me. “Do you think I did wrong,
sir?”
I shrugged. “Search me,” I said, feeling uneasy. “But you’ll know
before long.”
After several minutes, Corridan came out of the office, walked
past the constable, jerked his head at me. At the door he paused,
looked back.
“You’ll hear a lot more about this, my man, before very long,” he
snapped at the constable, walked to the police car.
I got in beside him, and as we drove off, I said, “Well, do we go to
Hammersmith?”
“Hammersmith didn’t send for the body,” Corridan growled.
“Anyone but a fool would have known it was a plant. A couple of
hours back an ambulance was reported stolen. Someone- believe it or
not-has kidnapped Netta Scott’s body. It’s fantastic! Why, for God’s
sake?” and he thumped the hack of the driver’s seat with his clenched
fist.
Chapter IV
THE next morning, I awoke with a start. The telephone was
ringing, and sitting up in bed, I grabbed the receiver, stifling a yawn as
I did so. I peered at my bedside clock and saw it was ten minutes past
eight, grunted, “Who is it?”
“Inspector Corridan asking for you,” the porter said.
“All right, send him up,” I returned, snatched up my dressing-
gown and rushed into the bathroom for a hasty shower.
I had slept badly, and was still feeling a little piqued at the abrupt
way Corridan had returned me to the Savoy. He had said, “Sorry,
Harmas, but this is police business now. Can’t take you along with
me,” and that was that. Of course, he was rattled, and I realized that
he had something to get rattled about, but I thought he had a nerve
to ditch me after I’d given him so much data to work on; but Corridan
was like that. When he started on a job, he worked alone.
I was just coming out of the bathroom when I heard a rap on my
door. I opened it; Corridan entered. He looked tired, was unshaven.
“Have you only just got up?” he snapped, tossing his hat on a
chair. “I haven’t even been to bed.”
“You don’t expect me to sob over that item of news, do you?” I
returned. “After the way you dropped me last night?”
He looked more surly than ever, sat down. “Get me some coffee,
there’s a good fellow, and don’t grouse,” he said, “I’ve had a hell of a
night.”
I picked up the telephone, called the floor waiter, ordered coffee.
“You have only yourself to blame,” I said. “If you’d have kept me
with you, I’d have halved your work.”
“I’m seeing the Chief in half an hour’s time, and I thought I’d look
in on my way to tell you the news,” Corridan said. “First the gun. It
belonged to a fellow named Peter Utterly, a lieutenant in the U.S.
Army. He’s been repatriated, but we persuaded the authorities on the