4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [67]
Sergeant Leakie, assigned to a case of thefts from lorries, had been at the Load of Bricks, a lorry pull-up on the Waddington- Brackhampton Road, keeping certain lorry drivers under observation. He had noticed at an adjoining table, Chick Evans, one of the Dicky Rogers mob. With him had been Alfred Crackenthorpe whom he knew by sight, having seen him give evidence in the Dicky Rogers case. He’d wondered what they were cooking up together. Time, 9:30 p.m., Friday, 20th December. Alfred Crackenthorpe had boarded a bus a few minutes later, going in the direction of Brackhampton. William Baker, ticket collector at Brackhampton station, had clipped ticket of gentleman whom he recognized by sight as one of Miss Crackenthorpe’s brothers, just before departure of eleven-fifty-five train for Paddington. Remembers day as there had been story of some batty old lady who swore she had seen somebody murdered in a train that afternoon.
“Alfred?” said Craddock as he laid the report down. “Alfred? I wonder.”
“Puts him right on the spot, there,” Wetherall pointed out.
Craddock nodded. Yes, Alfred could have travelled down by the 4:33 to Brackhampton committing murder on the way. Then he could have gone out by bus to the Load of Bricks. He could have left there at nine-thirty and would have had plenty of time to go to Rutherford Hall, move the body from the embankment to the sarcophagus, and get into Brackhampton in time to catch the 11:55 back to London. One of the Dicky Rogers gang might even have helped move the body, though Craddock doubted this. An unpleasant lot, but not killers.
“Alfred?” he repeated speculatively.
II
At Rutherford Hall there had been a gathering of the Crackenthorpe family. Harold and Alfred had come down from London and very soon voices were raised and tempers were running high.
On her own initiative, Lucy mixed cocktails in a jug with ice and then took them towards the library. The voices sounded clearly in the hall, and indicated that a good deal of acrimony was being directed towards Emma.
“Entirely your fault, Emma,” Harold’s bass voice rang out angrily. “How you could be so shortsighted and foolish beats me. If you hadn’t taken that letter to Scotland Yard—and started all this—”
Alfred’s high-pitched voice said: “You must have been out of your senses!”
“Now don’t bully her,” said Cedric. “What’s done is done. Much more fishy if they’d identified the woman as the missing Martine and we’d all kept mum about having heard from her.”
“It’s all very well for you, Cedric,” said Harold angrily. “You were out of the country on the 20th which seems to be the day they are inquiring about. But it’s very embarrassing for Alfred and myself. Fortunately, I can remember where I was that afternoon and what I was doing.”
“I bet you can,” said Alfred. “If you’d arranged a murder, Harold, you’d arrange your alibi very carefully, I’m sure.”
“I gather you are not so fortunate,” said Harold coldly.
“That depends,” said Alfred. “Anything’s better than presenting a cast-iron alibi to the police if it isn’t really cast-iron. They’re so clever at breaking these things down.”
“If you are insinuating that I killed the woman—”
“Oh, do stop, all of you,” cried Emma. “Of course none of you killed the woman.”
“And just for your information, I wasn’t out of England on the 20th,” said Cedric. “And the police are wise to it! So we’re all under suspicion.”
“If it hadn’t been for Emma—”
“Oh, don’t begin again, Harold,” cried Emma.
Dr. Quimper came out of the study where he had been closeted with old Mr. Crackenthorpe. His eye fell on the jug in Lucy’s hand.
“What’s this? A celebration?”
“More in the nature of oil on troubled waters. They’re at it hammer and tongs in there.”
“Recriminations?”
“Mostly abusing Emma.”
Dr. Quimper’s eyebrows rose.
“Indeed?” He took the jug from Lucy’s hand, opened the library door and went in.
“Good evening.”
“Ah, Dr. Quimper, I should like a word with you.” It was Harold’s voice, raised and irritable. “I should like