Listerdale Mystery - Agatha Christie [64]
‘Yes, sir. Detective-Inspector Verrall. This is Detective-Sergeant Carter.’
‘Well, Inspector Verrall, the time has come to talk sense–and to listen to it too. I’m not Conrad What’s his-name. My name is Anthony Eastwood, as I told you, and I am a writer by profession. If you will accompany me to my flat, I think that I shall be able to satisfy you of my identity.’
Something in the matter-of-fact way Anthony spoke seemed to impress the detectives. For the first time an expression of doubt passed over Verrall’s face.
Carter, apparently, was harder to convince.
‘I dare say,’ he sneered. ‘But you’ll remember the young lady was calling you “Conrad” all right.’
‘Ah! that’s another matter. I don’t mind admitting to you both that for–er–reasons of my own, I was passing myself off upon that lady as a person called Conrad. A private matter, you understand.’
‘Likely story, isn’t it?’ observed Carter. ‘No, sir, you come along with us. Hail that taxi, Joe.’
A passing taxi was stopped, and the three men got inside. Anthony made a last attempt, addressing himself to Verrall as the more easily convinced of the two.
‘Look here, my dear inspector, what harm is it going to do you to come along to my flat and see if I’m speaking the truth? You can keep the taxi if you like–there’s a generous offer! It won’t make five minutes’ difference either way.’
Verrall looked at him searchingly.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said suddenly. ‘Strange as it appears, I believe you’re speaking the truth. We don’t want to make fools of ourselves at the station by arresting the wrong man. What’s the address?’
‘Forty-eight Brandenburg Mansions.’
Verrall leant out and shouted the address to the taxi-driver. All three sat in silence until they arrived at their destination, when Carter sprang out, and Verrall motioned to Anthony to follow him.
‘No need for any unpleasantness,’ he explained, as he, too, descended. ‘We’ll go in friendly like, as though Mr Eastwood was bringing a couple of pals home.’
Anthony felt extremely grateful for the suggestion, and his opinion of the Criminal Investigation Department rose every minute.
In the hall-way they were fortunate enough to meet Rogers, the porter. Anthony stopped.
‘Ah! Good-evening, Rogers,’ he remarked casually.
‘Good-evening, Mr Eastwood,’ replied the porter respectfully.
He was attached to Anthony, who set an example of liberality not always followed by his neighbours.
Anthony paused with his foot on the bottom step of the stairs.
‘By the way, Rogers,’ he said casually. ‘How long have I been living here? I was just having a little discussion about it with these friends of mine.’
‘Let me see, sir, it must be getting on for close on four years now.’
‘Just what I thought.’
Anthony flung a glance of triumph at the two detectives. Carter grunted, but Verrall was smiling broadly.
‘Good, but not good enough, sir,’ he remarked. ‘Shall we go up?’
Anthony opened the door of the flat with his latchkey. He was thankful to remember that Seamark, his man, was out. The fewer witnesses of this catastrophe the better.
The typewriter was as he had left it. Carter strode across to the table and read the headline on the paper.
‘THE MYSTERY OF THE SECOND CUCUMBER’
he announced in a gloomy voice.
‘A story of mine,’ explained Anthony nonchalantly.
‘That’s another good point, sir,’ said Verrall, nodding his head, his eyes twinkling. ‘By the way, sir, what was it about? What was the mystery of the second cucumber?’
‘Ah, there you have me,’ said Anthony. ‘It’s that second cucumber that’s been at the bottom of all this trouble.’
Carter was looking at him intently. Suddenly he shook his head and tapped his forehead significantly.
‘Balmy, poor young fellow,’ he murmured in an audible aside.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ said Mr Eastwood briskly. ‘To business. Here are letters addressed to me, my bankbook, communications from editors. What more do you want?’
Verrall examined the papers that Anthony thrust upon him.
‘Speaking for myself, sir,’ he said respectfully, ‘I want nothing