Twenty-nine

Once more I was in Wilbraham Crescent, proceeding in a westerly direc-tion.

I stopped before the gate of No. 19. No one came screaming out of thehouse this time. It was neat and peaceful.

I went up to the front door and rang the bell.

Miss Millicent Pebmarsh opened it.

“This is Colin Lamb,” I said. “May I come in and speak to you?”

“Certainly.”

She preceded me into the sitting room.

“You seem to spend a lot of time down here, Mr. Lamb. I understoodthat you were not connected with the local police—”

“You understood rightly. I think, really, you have known exactly who Iam from the first day you spoke to me.”

“I’m not sure quite what you mean by that.”

“I’ve been extremely stupid, Miss Pebmarsh. I came to this place to lookfor you. I found you the first day I was here—and I didn’t know I hadfound you!”

“Possibly murder distracted you.”

“As you say. I was also stupid enough to look at a piece of paper thewrong way up.”

“And what is the point of all this?”

“Just that the game is up, Miss Pebmarsh. I’ve found the headquarterswhere all the planning is done. Such records and memoranda as are ne-cessary are kept by you on the microdot system in Braille. The informa-tion Larkin got at Portlebury was passed to you. From here it went to itsdestination by means of Ramsay. He came across when necessary from hishouse to yours at night by way of the garden. He dropped a Czech coin inyour garden one day—”

“That was careless of him.”

“We’re all careless at some time or another. Your cover is very good.

You’re blind, you work at an institute for disabled children, you keep chil-dren’s books in Braille in your house as is only natural—you are a womanof unusual intelligence and personality. I don’t know what is the drivingpower that animates you—”

“Say if you like that I am dedicated.”

“Yes. I thought it might be like that.”

“And why are you telling me all this? It seems unusual.”

I looked at my watch.

“You have two hours, Miss Pebmarsh. In two hours’ time members ofthe special branch will come here and take charge—”

“I don’t understand you. Why do you come here ahead of your people,to give me what seems to be a warning—”

“It is a warning. I have come here myself, and shall remain here untilmy people arrive, to see that nothing leaves this house—with one excep-tion. That exception is you yourself. You have two hours’ start if youchoose to go.”

“But why? Why?”

I said slowly:

“Because I think there is an off-chance that you might shortly becomemy mother-in-law … I may be quite wrong.”

There was a silence. Millicent Pebmarsh got up and went to the window.

I didn’t take my eyes off her. I had no illusions about Millicent Pebmarsh. Ididn’t trust her an inch. She was blind but even a blind woman can catchyou if you are off guard. Her blindness wouldn’t handicap her if she oncegot her chance to jam an automatic against my spine.

She said quietly:

“I shall not tell you if you’re right or wrong. What makes you think that—that it might be so?”

“Eyes.”

“But we are not alike in character.”

“No.”

She spoke almost defiantly.

“I did the best I could for her.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. With you a cause came first.”

“As it should do.”

“I don’t agree.”

There was silence again. Then I asked, “Did you know who she was—that day?”

“Not until I heard the name … I had kept myself informed about her—al-ways.”

“You were never as inhuman as you would have liked to be.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

I looked at my watch again.

“Time is going on,” I said.

She came back from the window and across to the desk.

“I have a photograph of her here—as a child….”

I was behind her as she pulled the drawer open. It wasn’t an automatic.

It was a small very deadly knife….

My hand closed over hers and took it away.

“I may be soft, but I’m not a fool,” I said.

She felt for a chair and sat down. She displayed no emotion whatever.

“I am not taking advantage of your offer. What would be the use? I shallstay here until — they come. There are always opportunities — even inprison.”

“Of indoctrination, you mean?”

“If you like to put it that way.”

We sat there, hostile to each other, but with understanding.

“I’ve resigned from the Service,” I told her. “I’m going back to my old job—marine biology. There’s a post going at a university in Australia.”

“I think you are wise. You haven’t got what it takes for this job. You arelike Rosemary’s father. He couldn’t understand Lenin’s dictum: ‘Awaywith softness.’”

I thought of Hercule Poirot’s words.

“I’m content,” I said, “to be human….”

We sat there in silence, each of us convinced that the other’s point ofview was wrong.

Letter from Detective Inspector Hardcastle to M. Hercule PoirotDear M. Poirot,

We are now in possession of certain facts, and I feel youmay be interested to hear about them.

A Mr. Quentin Duguesclin of Quebec left Canada forEurope approximately four weeks ago. He has no near rel-atives and his plans for return were indefinite. His pass-port was found by the proprietor of a small restaurant inBoulogne, who handed it in to the police. It has not so farbeen claimed.

Mr. Duguesclin was a lifelong friend of the Montresor fam-ily of Quebec. The head of that family, Mr. Henry Montre-sor, died eighteen months ago, leaving his very consider-able fortune to his only surviving relative, his great-nieceValerie, described as the wife of Josaiah Bland of Portle-bury, England. A very reputable firm of London solicitorsacted for the Canadian executors. All communicationsbetween Mrs. Bland and her family in Canada ceasedfrom the time of her marriage of which her family did notapprove. Mr. Duguesclin mentioned to one of his friendsthat he intended to look up the Blands while he was inEngland, since he had always been very fond of Valerie.

The body hitherto identified as that of Henry Castletonhas been positively identified as Quentin Duguesclin.

Certain boards have been found stowed away in a cornerof Bland’s building yard. Though hastily painted out, thewords SNOWFLAKE LAUNDRY are plainly perceptibleafter treatment by experts.

I will not trouble you with lesser details, but the publicprosecutor considers that a warrant can be granted for thearrest of Josaiah Bland. Miss Martindale and Mrs. Blandare, as you conjectured, sisters, but though I agree withyour views on her participation in these crimes, satisfact-ory evidence will be hard to obtain. She is undoubtedly avery clever woman. I have hopes, though, of Mrs. Bland.

She is the type of woman who rats.

The death of the first Mrs. Bland through enemy action inFrance, and his second marriage to Hilda Martindale(who was in the N.A.A.F.I.) also in France can be, I think,clearly established, though many records were, of course,destroyed at that time.

It was a great pleasure meeting you that day, and I mustthank you for the very useful suggestions you made on thatoccasion. I hope the alterations and redecorations of yourLondon flat have been satisfactory.

Yours sincerely,

Richard Hardcastle

Further communication from R.H. to H.P.

Good news! The Bland woman cracked! Admitted thewhole thing!!! Puts the blame entirely on her sister and herhusband. She “never understood until too late what theymeant to do!” Thought they were only “going to dope himso that he wouldn’t recognize she was the wrong woman!”

A likely story! But I’d say it’s true enough that she wasn’tthe prime mover.

The Portobello Market people have identified Miss Mar-tindale as the “American” lady who bought two of theclocks.

Mrs. McNaughton now says she saw Duguesclin in Bland’svan being driven into Bland’s garage. Did she really?

Our friend Colin has married that girl. If you ask me, he’smad. All the best.

Yours,

Richard Hardcastle