The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [78]
Then Rudge remembered something he had been told by the garrulous landlady of the Lord Marshall Hotel at Whynmouth. This man, Mount, had had trouble in his life. His wife had run away from him with some man. Now could it be … ?
Rudge whistled softly between his teeth. If Mrs. Arkwright-Marsh were really Mrs. Mount, it might at least partially account for these mysterious proceedings. Some question, possibly that of a divorce, might have been raised, which would have necessitated an immediate interview. This would account for the visit to the Vicarage and Mount’s subsequent journey to town, though it might not explain Mount’s denying knowledge of her call. Oh, yes, it might, though. Rudge saw that he had been wrong. In the excitement of discussing a divorce the taxi might well have been forgotten, and when Mount found it waiting he might have invented the story about the housekeeper to allay possible scandal.
On the whole Rudge thought this theory promising enough to justify further enquiry into it. He did not see, it must be admitted, how it was connected with the death of Admiral Penistone, but that connection was suggested by the boat, the hat, and particularly by the Vicar’s eagerness at the inquest.
How, Rudge wondered, could he find out about Mount’s erring wife? He thought for a while, then, returning to the Yard, borrowed a Crockford. From this he found that Mount had been in his present position for ten years, before which he had been a curate in one of the Hull churches. Rudge immediately put through a call to the Superintendent at Hull, asking him to try to obtain a description and if possible a photograph of Mrs. Mount.
In a couple of hours there was a reply to say that a photograph and description had been obtained and were being sent up to the Yard.
On Monday morning they arrived. The photograph had been got from one of the local newspaper offices, and showed the lady in a hospital committee group. The description gave Rudge a thrill of satisfaction. It looked as if he were on the right track.
In half an hour he was back in the hotel in Judd Street. He was sorry to trouble the manageress again, but would she be good enough to tell him if Mrs. Arkwright was among this group?
The manageress hesitated a little, but when he explained that the photograph was ten years old she became quite certain. Yes, that fourth lady from the left was undoubtedly Mrs. Arkwright.
Full of self-satisfaction, Rudge took the first train from Waterloo. Determined to be thorough, he went to Drychester and saw his friend, the taxi-man. Here he had not such definite confirmation, though the man agreed that his passenger might well have been the original of the photo.
It was with the gratifying consciousness of something attempted, something done, that Rudge returned to the police station at Whynmouth that afternoon to report his progress to Superintendent Hawkesworth. Hawkesworth, however, took the disappointingly narrow view of achievement so frequently displayed by Authority.
“Huh,” he said when Rudge had finished, “it looks to me like a wash-out. This blessed parson is considering making things up with his wife or divorcing her or whatever you like to make it. But that won’t help us any with the question of who killed old Penistone. What do you propose to do now?”
“I thought, sir, of going to Mount and asking for an explanation.”
Hawkesworth frowned. “An explanation of just what?” he asked.
“An explanation of where Mrs. Mount went to that night. The boat was gone; it was connected with the murder; who took it? Did Mrs. Mount? I think, sir, we could press that question under the circumstances.”
The Superintendent considered, then nodded shortly. “Very well; try it. You may as well, now you’ve gone so far.”
Rudge was bitterly indignant as he drove out to Lingham Vicarage. This was always what happened when you took trouble and did anything specially well! What sort of mind had Hawkesworth? Surely to goodness it was clear that this information