Eighteen

IHardcastle arrived at No. 19, Wilbraham Crescent just as Miss Pebmarshwas coming out of the house.

“Excuse me a minute, Miss Pebmarsh.”

“Oh. Is it—Detective Inspector Hardcastle?”

“Yes. Can I have a word with you?”

“I don’t want to be late at the Institute. Will it take long?”

“I assure you only three or four minutes.”

She went into the house and he followed.

“You’ve heard what happened this afternoon?” he said.

“Has anything happened?”

“I thought you might have heard. A girl was killed in the telephone boxjust down the road.”

“Killed? When?”

“Two hours and three quarters ago.” He looked at the grandfather clock.

“I’ve heard nothing about it. Nothing,” said Miss Pebmarsh. A kind ofanger sounded momentarily in her voice. It was as though her disabilityhad been brought home to her in some particularly wounding way. “A girl—killed! What girl?”

“Her name is Edna Brent and she worked at the Cavendish SecretarialBureau.”

“Another girl from there! Had she been sent for like this girl, Sheilawhat’s-her-name was?”

“I don’t think so,” said the inspector. “She did not come to see you here,at your house?”

“Here? No. Certainly not.”

“Would you have been in if she had come here?”

“I’m not sure. What time did you say?”

“Approximately twelve thirty or a little later.”

“Yes,” said Miss Pebmarsh. “I would have been home by then.”

“Where did you go after the inquest?”

“I came straight back here.” She paused and then asked, “Why did youthink this girl might have come to see me?”

“Well, she had been at the inquest this morning and she had seen youthere, and she must have had some reason for coming to Wilbraham Cres-cent. As far as we know, she was not acquainted with anyone in thisroad.”

“But why should she come to see me just because she had seen me at theinquest?”

“Well—” the inspector smiled a little, then hastily tried to put the smilein his voice as he realized that Miss Pebmarsh could not appreciate its dis-arming quality. “One never knows with these girls. She might just havewanted an autograph. Something like that.”

“An autograph!” Miss Pebmarsh sounded scornful. Then she said, “Yes …Yes, I suppose you’re right. That sort of thing does happen.” Then sheshook her head briskly. “I can only assure you, Inspector Hardcastle, thatit did not happen today. Nobody has been here since I came back from theinquest.”

“Well, thank you, Miss Pebmarsh. We thought we had better check upon every possibility.”

“How old was she?” asked Miss Pebmarsh.

“I believe she was nineteen.”

“Nineteen? Very young.” Her voice changed slightly. “Very young …Poor child. Who would want to kill a girl of that age?”

“It happens,” said Hardcastle.

“Was she pretty—attractive—sexy?”

“No,” said Hardcastle. “She would have liked to be, I think, but she wasnot.”

“Then that was not the reason,” said Miss Pebmarsh. She shook her headagain. “I’m sorry. More sorry than I can say, Inspector Hardcastle, that Ican’t help you.”

He went out, impressed as he always was impressed, by Miss Peb-marsh’s personality.