4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [32]
“I notice that you’re not tipping your hand yet about the actual date of the crime.”
“No, we’ll keep that dark for the present. I always like to have something up my sleeve in the early stages.”
Bacon nodded in full agreement.
“Spring it on ’em when the time comes,” he said. “That’s the best plan.”
“And now,” said Craddock, “we’ll see what our correct City gentleman has to say about it all.”
Harold Crackenthorpe, thin-lipped, had very little to say about it. It was most distasteful—a very unfortunate incident. The newspapers, he was afraid… Reporters, he understood, had already been asking for interviews… All that sort of thing… Most regrettable….
Harold’s staccato unfinished sentences ended. He leaned back in his chair with the expression of a man confronted with a very bad smell.
The inspector’s probing produced no result. No, he had no idea who the woman was or could be. Yes, he had been at Rutherford Hall for Christmas. He had been unable to come down until Christmas Eve—but had stayed on over the following weekend.
“That’s that, then,” said Inspector Craddock, without pressing his questions further. He had already made up his mind that Harold Crackenthorpe was not going to be helpful.
He passed on to Alfred, who came into the room with a nonchalance that seemed just a trifle overdone.
Craddock looked at Alfred Crackenthorpe with a faint feeling of recognition. Surely he had seen this particular member of the family somewhere before? Or had it been his picture in the paper? There was something discreditable attached to the memory. He asked Alfred his occupation and Alfred’s answer was vague.
“I’m in insurance at the moment. Until recently I’ve been interested in putting a new type of talking machine on the market. Quite revolutionary. I did very well out of that as a matter of fact.”
Inspector Craddock looked appreciative—and no one could have had the least idea that he was noticing the superficially smart appearance of Alfred’s suit and gauging correctly the low price it had cost. Cedric’s clothes had been disreputable, almost threadbare, but they had been originally of good cut and excellent material. Here there was a cheap smartness that told its own tale. Craddock passed pleasantly on to his routine questions. Alfred seemed interested—even slightly amused.
“It’s quite an idea, that the woman might once have had a job here. Not as a lady’s maid; I doubt if my sister has ever had such a thing. I don’t think anyone has nowadays. But, of course, there is a good deal of foreign domestic labour floating about. We’ve had Poles—and a temperamental German or two. As Emma definitely didn’t recognize the woman, I think that washes your idea out, Inspector, Emma’s got a very good memory for a face. No, if the woman came from London… What gives you the idea she came from London, by the way?”
He slipped the question in quite casually, but his eyes were sharp and interested.
Inspector Craddock smiled and shook his head.
Alfred looked at him keenly.
“Not telling, eh? Return ticket in her coat pocket, perhaps, is that it?”
“It could be, Mr. Crackenthorpe.”
“Well, granting she came from London, perhaps the chap she came to meet had the idea that the Long Barn would be a nice place to do a quiet murder. He knows the setup here, evidently. I should go looking for him if I were you, Inspector.”
“We are,” said Inspector Craddock, and made the two little words sound quiet and confident.
He thanked Alfred and dismissed him.
“You know,” he said to Bacon, “I’ve seen that chap somewhere before….”
Inspector Bacon gave his verdict.
“Sharp customer,” he said. “So sharp that he cuts himself sometimes.”
II
“I don’t suppose you want to see me,” said Bryan Eastley apologetically, coming into the room and hesitating by the door. “I don’t exactly belong to the family—”
“Let me see, you are Mr. Bryan Eastley, the husband of Miss Edith Crackenthorpe, who died five years ago?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, it’s very kind of you, Mr. Eastley, especially if you know something that you think could assist us in some way?”
“But I don