Ordeal by Innocence - Agatha Christie [19]
“Is there anyone who could?”
Marshall considered for a moment or two. Then he said, almost reluctantly:
“You might go and see the local doctor. Dr.—er—MacMaster, I think his name is. He’s retired now, but still lives in the neighbourhood. He was medical attendant to the war nursery. He must have known and seen a good deal of the life at Sunny Point. Whether you can persuade him to tell you anything is up to you. But I think that if he chose, he might be helpful, though—pardon me for saying this—do you think it likely that you can accomplish anything that the police cannot accomplish much more easily?”
“I don’t know,” said Calgary. “Probably not. But I do know this. I’ve got to try. Yes, I’ve got to try.”
Five
The Chief Constable’s eyebrows climbed slowly up his forehead in a vain attempt to reach the receding line of his grey hair. He cast his eyes up to the ceiling and then down again to the papers on his desk.
“It beggars description!” he said.
The young man whose business it was to make the right responses to the Chief Constable, said:
“Yes, sir.”
“A pretty kettle of fish,” muttered Major Finney. He tapped with his fingers on the table. “Is Huish here?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Superintendent Huish came about five minutes ago.”
“Right,” said the Chief Constable. “Send him in, will you?”
Superintendent Huish was a tall, sad-looking man. His air of melancholy was so profound that no one would have believed that he could be the life and soul of a children’s party, cracking jokes and bringing pennies out of little boys’ ears, much to their delight. The Chief Constable said:
“Morning, Huish, this is a pretty kettle of fish we’ve got here. What d’you think of it?”
Superintendent Huish breathed heavily and sat down in the chair indicated.
“It seems as though we made a mistake two years ago,” he said. “This fellow—what’s-his-name—”
The Chief Constable rustled his papers. “Calory—no, Calgary. Some sort of a professor. Absentminded bloke, maybe? People like that often vague about times and all that sort of thing?” There was perhaps a hint of appeal in his voice, but Huish did not respond. He said:
“He’s a kind of scientist, I understand.”
“So that you think we’ve got to accept what he says?”
“Well,” said Huish, “Sir Reginald seems to have accepted it, and I don’t suppose there’s anything would get past him.” This was a tribute to the Director of Public Prosecutions.
“No,” said Major Finney, rather unwillingly. “If the DPP’s convinced, well I suppose we’ve just got to take it. That means opening up the case again. You’ve brought the relevant data with you, have you, as I asked?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve got it here.”
The superintendent spread out various documents on the table.
“Been over it?” the Chief Constable asked.
“Yes, sir, I went all over it last night. My memory of it was fairly fresh. After all, it’s not so long ago.”
“Well, let’s have it, Huish. Where are we?”
“Back at the beginning, sir,” said Superintendent Huish. “The trouble is, you see, there really wasn’t any doubt at the time.”
“No,” said the Chief Constable. “It seemed a perfectly clear case. Don’t think I’m blaming you, Huish. I was behind you a hundred per cent.”
“There wasn’t anything else really that we could think,” said Huish thoughtfully. “A call came in that she’d been killed. The information that the boy had been there threatening her, the fingerprint evidence—his fingerprints on the poker, and the money. We picked him up almost at once and there the money was, in his possession.”
“What sort of impression did he make on you at the time?”
Huish considered. “Bad,” he said. “Far too cocky and plausible. Came reeling out with his times and his alibis. Cocky. You know the type. Murderers are usually cocky. Think they’re so clever. Think whatever they’ve done is sure to be all right, no matter how things go for other people. He was a wrong ’un all right.”
“Yes,” Finney agreed, “he was a wrong ’un. All his record goes to prove that. But were you convinced at once that he was