Nineteen

Professor Purdy sounded irritated as he broke off dictating and answeredthe telephone.

“Who? What? You mean he is here now? Well, ask him if tomorrow willdo?—Oh, very well—very well—Tell him to come up.”

“Always something,” he said with vexation. “How can one ever be ex-pected to do any serious work with these constant interruptions.” Helooked with mild displeasure at Sheila Webb and said: “Now where werewe, my dear?”

Sheila was about to reply when there was a knock at the door. ProfessorPurdy brought himself back with some difficulty from the chronologicaldifficulties of approximately three thousand years ago.

“Yes?” he said testily, “yes, come in, what is it? I may say I mentionedparticularly that I was not to be disturbed this afternoon.”

“I’m very sorry, sir, very sorry indeed that it has been necessary to doso. Good evening, Miss Webb.”

Sheila Webb had risen to her feet, setting aside her notebook. Hard-castle wondered if he only fancied that he saw sudden apprehension comeinto her eyes.

“Well, what is it?” said the professor again, sharply.

“I am Detective Inspector Hardcastle, as Miss Webb here will tell you.”

“Quite,” said the professor. “Quite.”

“What I really wanted was a few words with Miss Webb.”

“Can’t you wait? It is really most awkward at this moment. Most awk-ward. We were just at a critical point. Miss Webb will be disengaged inabout a quarter of an hour—oh, well, perhaps half an hour. Somethinglike that. Oh, dear me, is it six o’clock already?”

“I’m very sorry, Professor Purdy,” Hardcastle’s tone was firm.

“Oh, very well, very well. What is it—some motoring offence, I suppose?

How very officious these traffic wardens are. One insisted the other daythat I had left my car four and a half hours at a parking meter. I’m surethat could not possibly be so.”

“It’s a little more serious than a parking offence, sir.”

“Oh, yes. Oh, yes. And you don’t have a car, do you, my dear?” He lookedvaguely at Sheila Webb. “Yes, I remember, you come here by bus. Well, In-spector, what is it?”

“It’s about a girl called Edna Brent.” He turned to Sheila Webb. “I expectyou’ve heard about it.”

She stared at him. Beautiful eyes. Cornflower-blue eyes. Eyes that re-minded him of someone.

“Edna Brent, did you say?” She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, yes, I knowher, of course. What about her?”

“I see the news hasn’t got to you yet. Where did you lunch, Miss Webb?”

Colour came up in her cheeks.

“I lunched with a friend at the Ho Tung restaurant, if—if it’s really anybusiness of yours.”

“You didn’t go on afterwards to the office?”

“To the Cavendish Bureau, you mean? I called in there and was told ithad been arranged that I was to come straight here to Professor Purdy athalf past two.”

“That’s right,” said the professor, nodding his head. “Half past two. Andwe have been working here ever since. Ever since. Dear me, I should haveordered tea. I am very sorry, Miss Webb, I’m afraid you must have missedhaving your tea. You should have reminded me.”

“Oh, it didn’t matter, Professor Purdy, it didn’t matter at all.”

“Very remiss of me,” said the professor, “very remiss. But there. Imustn’t interrupt, since the inspector wants to ask you some questions.”

“So you don’t know what’s happened to Edna Brent?”

“Happened to her?” asked Sheila, sharply, her voice rising. “Happenedto her? What do you mean? Has she had an accident or something—beenrun over?”

“Very dangerous, all this speeding,” put in the professor.

“Yes,” said Hardcastle, “something’s happened to her.” He paused andthen said, putting it as brutally as possible, “She was strangled about halfpast twelve, in a telephone box.”

“In a telephone box?” said the professor, rising to the occasion by show-ing some interest.

Sheila Webb said nothing. She stared at him. Her mouth opened slightly,her eyes widened. “Either this is the first you’ve heard of it or you’re adamn’ good actress,” thought Hardcastle to himself.

“Dear, dear,” said the professor. “Strangled in a telephone box. Thatseems very extraordinary to me. Very extraordinary. Not the sort of place Iwould choose myself. I mean, if I were to do such a thing. No, indeed.

Well, well. Poor girl. Most unfortunate for her.”

“Edna—killed! But why?”

“Did you know, Miss Webb, that Edna Brent was very anxious to see youthe day before yesterday, that she came to your aunt’s house, and waitedfor some time for you to come back?”

“My fault again,” said the professor guiltily. “I kept Miss Webb very latethat evening, I remember. Very late indeed. I really still feel very apolo-getic about it. You must always remind me of the time, my dear. You reallymust.”

“My aunt told me about that,” said Sheila, “but I didn’t know it was any-thing special. Was it? Was Edna in trouble of any kind?”

“We don’t know,” said the inspector. “We probably never shall know.

Unless you can tell us?”

“I tell you? How should I know?”

“You might have had some idea, perhaps, of what Edna Brent wanted tosee you about?”

She shook her head. “I’ve no idea, no idea at all.”

“Hasn’t she hinted anything to you, spoken to you in the office at allabout whatever the trouble was?”

“No. No, indeed she hasn’t—hadn’t—I wasn’t at the office at all yester-day. I had to go over to Landis Bay to one of our authors for the wholeday.”

“You didn’t think that she’d been worried lately?”

“Well, Edna always looked worried or puzzled. She had a very—whatshall I say—diffident, uncertain kind of mind. I mean, she was never quitesure that what she thought of doing was the right thing or not. She missedout two whole pages in typing Armand Levine’s book once and she wasterribly worried about what to do then, because she’d sent it off to him be-fore she realized what had happened.”

“I see. And she asked you all your advice as to what she should do aboutit?”

“Yes. I told her she’d better write a note to him quickly because peopledon’t always start reading their typescript at once for correction. Shecould write and say what had happened and ask him not to complain toMiss Martindale. But she said she didn’t quite like to do that.”

“She usually came and asked for advice when one of these problemsarose?”

“Oh, yes, always. But the trouble was, of course, that we didn’t alwaysall agree as to what she should do. Then she got puzzled again.”

“So it would be quite natural that she should come to one of you if shehad a problem? It happened quite frequently?”

“Yes. Yes, it did.”

“You don’t think it might have been something more serious this time?”

“I don’t suppose so. What sort of serious thing could it be?”

Was Sheila Webb, the inspector wondered, quite as much at ease as shetried to appear?”

“I don’t know what she wanted to talk to me about,” she went on, speak-ing faster and rather breathlessly. “I’ve no idea. And I certainly can’t ima-gine why she wanted to come out to my aunt’s house and speak to methere.”

“It would seem, wouldn’t it, that it was something she did not want tospeak to you about at the Cavendish Bureau? Before the other girls, shallwe say? Something, perhaps, that she felt ought to be kept private betweenyou and her. Could that have been the case?”

“I think it’s very unlikely. I’m sure it couldn’t have been at all like that.”

Her breath came quickly.

“So you can’t help me, Miss Webb?”

“No. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry about Edna, but I don’t know anything thatcould help you.”

“Nothing that might have a connection or a tie-up with what happenedon the 9th of September?”

“You mean—that man—that man in Wilbraham Crescent?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“How could it have been? What could Edna have known about that?”

“Nothing very important, perhaps,” said the inspector, “but something.

And anything would help. Anything, however small.” He paused. “Thetelephone box where she was killed was in Wilbraham Crescent. Does thatconvey anything to you, Miss Webb?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Were you yourself in Wilbraham Crescent today?”

“No, I wasn’t,” she said vehemently. “I never went near it. I’m beginningto feel that it’s a horrible place. I wish I’d never gone there in the firstplace, I wish I’d never got mixed up in all this. Why did they send for me,ask for me specially, that day? Why did Edna have to get killed near there?

You must find out, Inspector, you must, you must!”

“We mean to find out, Miss Webb,” the inspector said. There was a faintmenace in his voice as he went on: “I can assure you of that.”

“You’re trembling, my dear,” said Professor Purdy. “I think, I really dothink that you ought to have a glass of sherry.”