4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [53]
“You are not—let me be quite clear—er—warning me in any way?”
“Oh, no, sir.” Inspector Craddock looked properly shocked. “Nothing of that kind. The questions I am asking you, I am asking several other people as well. There’s nothing directly personal about this. It’s just a matter of necessary eliminations.”
“Well, of course— I’m anxious to assist in any way I can. Let me see now. Such a thing isn’t easy to answer off hand, but we’re very systematic here. Miss Ellis, I expect, can help.”
He spoke briefly into one of the telephones on his desk and almost immediately a streamlined young woman in a well-cut black suit entered with a notebook.
“My secretary, Miss Ellis, Inspector Craddock. Now, Miss Ellis, the inspector would like to know what I was doing on the afternoon and evening of—what was the date?”
“Friday, 20th December.”
“Friday, 20th December. I expect you will have some record.”
“Oh, yes.” Miss Ellis left the room, returned with an office memorandum calendar and turned the pages.
“You were in the office on the morning of 20th December. You had a conference with Mr. Goldie about the Cromartie merger, you lunched with Lord Forthville at the Berkeley—”
“Ah, it was that day, yes.”
“You returned to the office about 3 o’clock and dictated half a dozen letters. You then left to attend Sotheby’s sale rooms where you were interested in some rare manuscripts which were coming up for sale that day. You did not return to the office again, but I have a note to remind you that you were attending the Catering Club dinner that evening.” She looked up interrogatively.
“Thank you, Miss Ellis.”
Miss Ellis glided from the room.
“That is all quite clear in my mind,” said Harold. “I went to Sotheby’s that afternoon but the items I wanted there went for too high a price. I had tea in a small place in Jermyn Street—Russell’s, I think, it was called. I dropped into a News Theatre for about half an hour or so, then went home—I live at 43 Cardigan Gardens. The Catering Club dinner took place at seven-thirty at Caterer’s Hall, and after it I returned home to bed. I think that should answer your questions.”
“That’s all very clear, Mr. Crackenthorpe. What time was it when you returned home to dress?”
“I don’t think I can remember exactly. Soon after six, I should think.”
“And after your dinner?”
“It was, I think, half past eleven when I got home.”
“Did your manservant let you in? Or perhaps Lady Alice Crackenthorpe—”
“My wife, Lady Alice, is abroad in the South of France and has been since early December. I let myself in with my latch key.”
“So there is no one who can vouch for your returning home when you say you did?”
Harold gave him a cold stare.
“I dare say the servants heard me come in. I have a man and wife. But, really, Inspector—”
“Please, Mr. Crackenthorpe, I know these kind of questions are annoying, but I have nearly finished. Do you own a car?”
“Yes, a Humber Hawk.”
“You drive it yourself?”
“Yes. I don’t use it much except at weekends. Driving in London is quite impossible nowadays.”
“I presume you use it when you go down to see your father and sister in Brackhampton?”
“Not unless I am going to stay there for some length of time. If I just go down for the night—as, for instance, to the inquest the other day—I always go by train. There is an excellent train service and it is far quicker than going by car. The car my sister hires meets me at the station.”
“Where do you keep your car?”
“I rent a garage in the mews behind Cardigan Gardens. Any more questions?”
“I think that’s all for now,” said Inspector Craddock, smiling and rising. “I’m very sorry for having to bother you.”
When they were outside, Sergeant Wetherall, a man who lived in a state of dark suspicions of all and sundry, remarked meaningly:
“He didn’t like those questions—didn’t like them at all. Put out, he was.”
“If you have not committed a murder, it naturally annoys you if it seems someone thinks that you have,” said Inspector Craddock mildly. “It would particularly annoy an ultra respectable