Twenty-one

Detective Inspector Hardcastle looked at the calendar on his desk. 20thSeptember. Just over ten days. They hadn’t been able to make as muchprogress as he would have liked because they were held up with that ini-tial difficulty: the identification of a dead body. It had taken longer thanhe would have thought possible. All the leads seemed to have petered out,failed. The laboratory examination of the clothes had brought in nothingparticularly helpful. The clothes themselves had yielded no clues. Theywere good quality clothes, export quality, not new but well cared for.

Dentists had not helped, nor laundries, nor cleaners. The dead man re-mained a “mystery man!” And yet, Hardcastle felt, he was not really a“mystery man.” There was nothing spectacular or dramatic about him. Hewas just a man whom nobody had been able to come forward and recog-nize. That was the pattern of it, he was sure. Hardcastle sighed as hethought of the telephone calls and letters that had necessarily poured inafter the publication in the public press of the photograph with the cap-tion below it: DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN? Astonishing the amount ofpeople who thought they did know this man. Daughters who wrote in ahopeful vein of fathers from whom they’d been estranged for years. Anold woman of ninety was sure that the photograph in question was herson who had left home thirty years ago. Innumerable wives had been surethat it was a missing husband. Sisters had not been quite so anxious toclaim brothers. Sisters, perhaps, were less hopeful thinkers. And, ofcourse, there were vast numbers of people who had seen that very man inLincolnshire, Newcastle, Devon, London, on a tube, in a bus, lurking on apier, looking sinister at the corner of a road, trying to hide his face as hecame out of the cinema. Hundreds of leads, the more promising of thempatiently followed up and not yielding anything.

But today, the inspector felt slightly more hopeful. He looked again atthe letter on his desk. Merlina Rival. He didn’t like the Christian namevery much. Nobody in their senses, he thought, could christen a child Mer-lina. No doubt it was a fancy name adopted by the lady herself. But heliked the feel of the letter. It was not extravagant or overconfident. Itmerely said that the writer thought it possible that the man in questionwas her husband from whom she had parted several years ago. She wasdue this morning. He pressed his buzzer and Sergeant Cray came in.

“That Mrs. Rival not arrived yet?”

“Just come this minute,” said Cray. “I was coming to tell you.”

“What’s she like?”

“Bit theatrical-looking,” said Cray, after reflecting a moment. “Lots ofmakeup—not very good makeup. Fairly reliable sort of woman on thewhole, I should say.”

“Did she seem upset?”

“No. Not noticeably.”

“All right,” said Hardcastle, “let’s have her in.”

Cray departed and presently returned saying as he did so, “Mrs. Rival,sir.”

The inspector got up and shook hands with her. About fifty, he wouldjudge, but from a long way away—quite a long way—she might havelooked thirty. Close at hand, the result of makeup carelessly applied madeher look rather older than fifty but on the whole he put it at fifty. Darkhair heavily hennaed. No hat, medium height and build, wearing a darkcoat and skirt and a white blouse. Carrying a large tartan bag. A jinglybracelet or two, several rings. On the whole, he thought, making moraljudgements on the basis of his experience, rather a good sort. Not over-scrupulous, probably, but easy to live with, reasonably generous, possiblykind. Reliable? That was the question. He wouldn’t bank on it, but then hecouldn’t afford to bank on that kind of thing anyway.

“I’m very glad to see you, Mrs. Rival,” he said, “and I hope very muchyou’ll be able to help us.”

“Of course, I’m not at all sure,” said Mrs. Rival. She spoke apologetically.

“But it did look like Harry. Very much like Harry. Of course I’m quite pre-pared to find that it isn’t, and I hope I shan’t have taken up your time fornothing.”

She seemed quite apologetic about it.

“You mustn’t feel that in any case,” said the inspector. “We want helpvery badly over this case.”

“Yes, I see. I hope I’ll be able to be sure. You see, it’s a long time since Isaw him.”

“Shall we get down a few facts to help us? When did you last see yourhusband?”

“I’ve been trying to get it accurate,” said Mrs. Rival, “all the way down inthe train. It’s terrible how one’s memory goes when it comes to time. I be-lieve I said in my letter to you it was about ten years ago, but it’s morethan that. D’you know, I think it’s nearer fifteen. Time does go so fast. Isuppose,” she added shrewdly, “that one tends to think it’s less than it isbecause it makes you yourself feel younger. Don’t you think so?”

“I should think it could do,” said the inspector. “Anyway you think it’sroughly fifteen years since you saw him? When were you married?”

“It must have been about three years before that,” said Mrs. Rival.

“And you were living then?”

“At a place called Shipton Bois in Suffolk. Nice town. Market town.

Rather one-horse, if you know what I mean.”

“And what did your husband do?”

“He was an insurance agent. At least—” she stopped herself “—that’swhat he said he was.”

The inspector looked up sharply.

“You found out that that wasn’t true?”

“Well, no, not exactly … Not at the time. It’s only since then that I’vethought that perhaps it wasn’t true. It’d be an easy thing for a man to say,wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it would in certain circumstances.”

“I mean, it gives a man an excuse for being away from home a gooddeal.”

“Your husband was away from home a good deal, Mrs. Rival?”

“Yes. I never thought about it much to begin with—”

“But later?”

She did not answer at once then she said:

“Can’t we get on with it? After all, if it isn’t Harry….”

He wondered what exactly she was thinking. There was strain in hervoice, possibly emotion? He was not sure.

“I can understand,” he said, “that you’d like to get it over. We’ll go now.”

He rose and escorted her out of the room to the waiting car. Hernervousness when they got to where they were going, was no more thanthe nervousness of other people he had taken to this same place. He saidthe usual reassuring things.

“It’ll be quite all right. Nothing distressing. It will only take a minute ortwo.”

The tray was rolled out, the attendant lifted the sheet. She stood staringdown for a few moments, her breath came a little faster, she made a faintgasping sound, then she turned away abruptly. She said:

“It’s Harry. Yes. He’s a lot older, he looks different … But it’s Harry.”

The inspector nodded to the attendant, then he laid his hand on her armand took her out again to the car and they drove back to the station. Hedidn’t say anything. He left her to pull herself together. When they gotback to his room a constable came in almost at once with a tray of tea.

“There you are, Mrs. Rival. Have a cup, it’ll pull you together. Then we’lltalk.”

“Thank you.”

She put sugar in the tea, a good deal of it, and gulped it down quickly.

“That’s better,” she said. “It’s not that I mind really. Only—only, well itdoes turn you up a bit, doesn’t it?”

“You think this man is definitely your husband?”

“I’m sure he is. Of course, he’s much older, but he hasn’t changed reallyso much. He always looked—well, very neat. Nice, you know, good class.”

Yes, thought Hardcastle, it was quite a good description. Good class. Pre-sumably, Harry had looked much better class than he was. Some men did,and it was helpful to them for their particular purposes.

Mrs. Rival said, “He was very particular always about his clothes andeverything. That’s why, I think—they fell for him so easily. They neversuspected anything.”

“Who fell for him, Mrs. Rival?” Hardcastle’s voice was gentle, sympath-etic.

“Women,” said Mrs. Rival. “Women. That’s where he was most of thetime.”

“I see. And you got to know about it.”

“Well, I—I suspected. I mean, he was away such a lot. Of course I knewwhat men are like. I thought probably there was a girl from time to time.

But it’s no good asking men about these things. They’ll lie to you and that’sall. But I didn’t think—I really didn’t think that he made a business of it.”

“And did he?”

She nodded. “I think he must have done.”

“How did you find out?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“He came back one day from a trip he’d taken. To Newcastle, he said.

Anyway, he came back and said he’d have to clear out quickly. He saidthat the game was up. There was some woman he’d got into trouble. Aschoolteacher, he said, and there might be a bit of a stink about it. I askedhim questions then. He didn’t mind telling me. Probably he thought Iknew more than I did. They used to fall for him, you know, easily enough,just as I did. He’d give her a ring and they’d get engaged—and then he’dsay he’d invest money for them. They usually gave it him quite easily.”

“Had he tried the same thing with you?”

“He had, as a matter of fact, only I didn’t give him any.”

“Why not? Didn’t you trust him even then?”

“Well, I wasn’t the kind that trusts anybody. I’d had what you’d call a bitof experience, you know, of men and their ways and the seamier side ofthings. Anyway, I didn’t want him investing my money for me. Whatmoney I had I could invest for myself. Always keep your money in yourhands and then you’ll be sure you’ve got it! I’ve seen too many girls andwomen make fools of themselves.”

“When did he want you to invest money? Before you were married orafter?”

“I think he suggested something of the kind beforehand, but I didn’t re-spond and he sheered off the subject at once. Then, after we were mar-ried, he told me about some wonderful opportunity he’d got. I said, ‘Noth-ing doing.’ It wasn’t only because I didn’t trust him, but I’d often heardmen say they’re on to something wonderful and then it turned out thatthey’d been had for a mug themselves.”

“Had your husband ever been in trouble with the police?”

“No fear,” said Mrs. Rival. “Women don’t like the world to know they’vebeen duped. But this time, apparently, things might be different. This girlor woman, she was an educated woman. She wouldn’t be as easy to de-ceive as the others may have been.”

“She was going to have a child?”

“Yes.”

“Had that happened on other occasions?”

“I rather think so.” She added, “I don’t honestly know what it was usedto start him off in the first place. Whether it was only the money—a way ofgetting a living, as you might say—or whether he was the kind of man whojust had to have women and he saw no reason why they shouldn’t pay theexpenses of his fun.” There was no bitterness now in her voice.

Hardcastle said gently:

“You were fond of him, Mrs. Rival?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I suppose I was in a way, or Iwouldn’t have married him….”

“You were—excuse me—married to him?”

“I don’t even know that for sure,” said Mrs. Rival frankly. “We weremarried all right. In a church, too, but I don’t know if he had marriedother women as well, using a different name, I suppose. His name wasCastleton when I married him. I don’t think it was his own name.”

“Harry Castleton. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And you lived in this place, Shipton Bois, as man and wife—for howlong?”

“We’d been there about two years. Before that we lived near Doncaster.

I don’t say I was really surprised when he came back that day and told me.

I think I’d known he was a wrong ’un for some time. One just couldn’t be-lieve it because, you see, he always seemed so respectable. So absolutelythe gentleman!”

“And what happened then?”

“He said he’d got to get out of there quick and I said he could go andgood riddance, that I wasn’t standing for all this!” She added thoughtfully,“I gave him ten pounds. It was all I had in the house. He said he was shortof money … I’ve never seen or heard of him since. Until today. Or rather,until I saw his picture in the paper.”

“He didn’t have any special distinguishing marks? Scars? An operation—or a fracture—anything like that?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t think so.”

“Did he ever use the name Curry?”

“Curry? No, I don’t think so. Not that I know of, anyway.” Hardcastleslipped the card across the table to her.

“This was in his pocket,” he said.

“Still saying he’s an insurance agent, I see,” she remarked. “I expect heuses—used, I mean—all sorts of different names.”

“You say you’ve never heard of him for the last fifteen years?”

“He hasn’t sent me a Christmas card, if that’s what you mean,” said Mrs.

Rival, with a sudden glint of humour. “I don’t suppose he’d know where Iwas, anyway. I went back to the stage for a bit after we parted. On tourmostly. It wasn’t much of a life and I dropped the name of Castleton too.

Went back to Merlina Rival.”

“Merlina’s—er—not your real name, I suppose?”

She shook her head and a faint, cheerful smile appeared on her face.

“I thought it up. Unusual. My real name’s Flossie Gapp. Florence, I sup-pose I must have been christened, but everyone always calls me Flossie orFlo. Flossie Gapp. Not very romantic, is it?”

“What are you doing now? Are you still acting, Mrs. Rival?”

“Occasionally,” said Mrs. Rival with a touch of reticence. “On and off, asyou might say.”

Hardcastle was tactful.

“I see,” he said.

“I do odd jobs here and there,” she said. “Help out at parties, a bit ofhostess work, that sort of thing. It’s not a bad life. At any rate you meetpeople. Things get near the bone now and again.”

“You’ve never heard anything of Henry Castleton since you parted—orabout him?”

“Not a word. I thought perhaps he’d gone abroad—or was dead.”

“The only other thing I can ask you, Mrs. Rival, is if you have any ideawhy Harry Castleton should have come to this neighbourhood?”

“No. Of course I’ve no idea. I don’t even know what he’s been doing allthese years.”

“Would it be likely that he would be selling fraudulent insurance —something of that kind?”

“I simply don’t know. It doesn’t seem to me terribly likely. I mean, Harrywas very careful of himself always. He wouldn’t stick his neck out doingsomething that he might be brought to book for. I should have thought itmore likely it was some racket with women.”

“Might it have been, do you think, Mrs. Rival, some form of blackmail?”

“Well, I don’t know … I suppose, yes, in a way. Some woman, perhaps,that wouldn’t want something in her past raked up. He’d feel pretty safeover that, I think. Mind you, I don’t say it is so, but it might be. I don’tthink he’d want very much money, you know. I don’t think he’d drive any-one desperate, but he might just collect in a small way.” She nodded in af-firmation. “Yes.”

“Women liked him, did they?”

“Yes. They always fell for him rather easily. Mainly, I think, because healways seemed so good class and respectable. They were proud of havingmade a conquest of a man like that. They looked forward to a nice safe fu-ture with him. That’s the nearest way I can put it. I felt the same way my-self,” added Mrs. Rival with some frankness.

“There’s just one more small point,” Hardcastle spoke to his subordin-ate. “Just bring those clocks in, will you?”

They were brought in on a tray with a cloth over them. Hardcastlewhipped off the cloth and exposed them to Mrs. Rival’s gaze. She inspec-ted them with frank interest and approbation.

“Pretty, aren’t they? I like that one.” She touched the ormolu clock.

“You haven’t seen any of them before? They don’t mean anything toyou?”

“Can’t say they do. Ought they to?”

“Can you think of any connection between your husband and the nameRosemary?”

“Rosemary? Let me think. There was a red-head—No, her name wasRosalie. I’m afraid I can’t think of anyone. But then I probably wouldn’tknow, would I? Harry kept his affairs very dark.”

“If you saw a clock with the hands pointing to four-thirteen—” Hard-castle paused.

Mrs. Rival gave a cheerful chuckle.

“I’d think it was getting on for teatime.”

Hardcastle sighed.

“Well, Mrs. Rival,” he said, “we are very grateful to you. The adjournedinquest, as I told you, will be the day after tomorrow. You won’t mind giv-ing evidence of identification, will you?”

“No. No, that will be all right. I’ll just have to say who he was, is that it? Ishan’t have to go into things? I won’t have to go into the manner of his life—anything of that kind?”

“That will not be necessary at present. All you will have to swear to is heis the man, Harry Castleton, to whom you were married. The exact datewill be on record at Somerset House. Where were you married? Can youremember that?”

“Place called Donbrook — St. Michael’s, I think was the name of thechurch. I hope it isn’t more than twenty years ago. That would make mefeel I had one foot in the grave,” said Mrs. Rival.

She got up and held out her hand. Hardcastle said good-bye. He wentback to his desk and sat there tapping it with a pencil. Presently SergeantCray came in.

“Satisfactory?” he asked.

“Seems so,” said the inspector. “Name of Harry Castleton—possibly analias. We’ll have to see what we can find out about the fellow. It seemslikely that more than one woman might have reason to want revenge onhim.”

“Looks so respectable, too,” said Cray.

“That,” said Hardcastle, “seems to have been his principal stock- in-trade.”

He thought again about the clock with Rosemary written on it. Remem-brance?