burglar? But why so still? Then, as her eyes focused, she saw it was Bernard, standing with his head flung back as though gazing into the top branches of the trees at the foot of the garden. Had he heard or seen something? What was he doing but there at three in the morning, in his pyjamas and dressing-gown?
The breeze felt suddenly chill and Claire shivered. Slowly, so as not to attract his attention—though he was facing away from her—she withdrew inside the window. For a moment she stood hugging herself, stroking her cool bare arms as though for comfort. Perhaps he couldn't sleep, either. But—outside? And how long had he been there?
She went to the bathroom for a glass of water and drank it slowly, sip by sip. By the time she got back to her room, he'd have gone. But when, almost fearfully, she again looked out of the window, he was still there, seeming not to have moved since she'd last seen him. Shivering and perplexed, Claire crept back to bed.
Saturday morning, and Webb was seated at his desk, looking through some reports before leaving for Steeple Bayliss. There was a knock on the door and young Marshbanks looked round it.
'Come in, Simon. What is it?'
'It might not be important, sir, but my mother's just been on. She says her daily help saw Arlette with a man in a car.' 'When?'
'A week or two ago. They were parked near her digs. Edna can't describe the car—it was dark, and she's not really up on cars anyway. But she saw the back of the man's head, and he had a bald patch.'
'Anything else?'
'Afraid not, sir.'
'Well, we'll look into it. Thanks, Simon. Ask Sergeant Jackson to come in, would you?'
Jackson knocked and entered, his china-blue eyes less bright than usual. Webb grinned at him sympathetically. 'You look as though you've been out on the tiles, Ken.'
'Not exactly the tiles. Millie had a false alarm during the night. I whipped her into hospital and hung around for an hour or so. Then they came and said she's a while to go yet, so I took her home. In a way, I'd rather they'd kept her in. She'd get more rest there.'
'When are the babies due?'
'Tomorrow's the date we were given, but you never know.'
'Well, if she's a while to go, it won't be today. Sit down a minute. I've been going through the reports of the SB team which we collected last night. They've managed to trace a few of Arlette's admirers, but that's as far as it goes. However, according to Simon she was seen with an older man, so we'll have a look at the fathers of the kids she's been coaching and the rest of the tutors. What did you think of the two we saw yesterday?'
'Not much. Lightbody was a bit too cooperative— smarmy, almost. And those little eyes behind the glasses. They didn't miss a trick.'
'You think he might fancy Arlette?'
'I wouldn't be surprised. I can see him smacking his lips over a bit of skirt. Still, that doesn't make him a killer.'
'You reckon that's what we're looking for?'
Jackson met his eyes squarely. 'Don't you?'
Webb drummed his fingers on the desk without replying. Then he said, 'What about Duncan?'
Jackson grinned. 'Typical Scot. Gave nothing away, even information. But if it was a two-way thing, he's the more likely bet.'
'Hm. I also intend to have a word with the Professor this morning, whether he thinks he can spare the time or not. What did you make of him?'
'A rum egg, wasn't he? Like a dummy in a tailor's window,'
'He's living on his nerves. You can almost feel him vibrating.'
'I don't reckon him for any hanky-panky, though. From the look of him, he wouldn't know where to start.'
Webb thought of Jackson's description when, two hours later, they were seated opposite Professor Warwick in his study. Not so much a dummy, he thought, as a robot, whose inner workings were whirring out of control. He'd the uneasy impression that it was several seconds before Warwick had realized who he was. Then his computer-brain reasserted itself.
'You're lucky to find me here on a Saturday, Chief
The breeze felt suddenly chill and Claire shivered. Slowly, so as not to attract his attention—though he was facing away from her—she withdrew inside the window. For a moment she stood hugging herself, stroking her cool bare arms as though for comfort. Perhaps he couldn't sleep, either. But—outside? And how long had he been there?
She went to the bathroom for a glass of water and drank it slowly, sip by sip. By the time she got back to her room, he'd have gone. But when, almost fearfully, she again looked out of the window, he was still there, seeming not to have moved since she'd last seen him. Shivering and perplexed, Claire crept back to bed.
Saturday morning, and Webb was seated at his desk, looking through some reports before leaving for Steeple Bayliss. There was a knock on the door and young Marshbanks looked round it.
'Come in, Simon. What is it?'
'It might not be important, sir, but my mother's just been on. She says her daily help saw Arlette with a man in a car.' 'When?'
'A week or two ago. They were parked near her digs. Edna can't describe the car—it was dark, and she's not really up on cars anyway. But she saw the back of the man's head, and he had a bald patch.'
'Anything else?'
'Afraid not, sir.'
'Well, we'll look into it. Thanks, Simon. Ask Sergeant Jackson to come in, would you?'
Jackson knocked and entered, his china-blue eyes less bright than usual. Webb grinned at him sympathetically. 'You look as though you've been out on the tiles, Ken.'
'Not exactly the tiles. Millie had a false alarm during the night. I whipped her into hospital and hung around for an hour or so. Then they came and said she's a while to go yet, so I took her home. In a way, I'd rather they'd kept her in. She'd get more rest there.'
'When are the babies due?'
'Tomorrow's the date we were given, but you never know.'
'Well, if she's a while to go, it won't be today. Sit down a minute. I've been going through the reports of the SB team which we collected last night. They've managed to trace a few of Arlette's admirers, but that's as far as it goes. However, according to Simon she was seen with an older man, so we'll have a look at the fathers of the kids she's been coaching and the rest of the tutors. What did you think of the two we saw yesterday?'
'Not much. Lightbody was a bit too cooperative— smarmy, almost. And those little eyes behind the glasses. They didn't miss a trick.'
'You think he might fancy Arlette?'
'I wouldn't be surprised. I can see him smacking his lips over a bit of skirt. Still, that doesn't make him a killer.'
'You reckon that's what we're looking for?'
Jackson met his eyes squarely. 'Don't you?'
Webb drummed his fingers on the desk without replying. Then he said, 'What about Duncan?'
Jackson grinned. 'Typical Scot. Gave nothing away, even information. But if it was a two-way thing, he's the more likely bet.'
'Hm. I also intend to have a word with the Professor this morning, whether he thinks he can spare the time or not. What did you make of him?'
'A rum egg, wasn't he? Like a dummy in a tailor's window,'
'He's living on his nerves. You can almost feel him vibrating.'
'I don't reckon him for any hanky-panky, though. From the look of him, he wouldn't know where to start.'
Webb thought of Jackson's description when, two hours later, they were seated opposite Professor Warwick in his study. Not so much a dummy, he thought, as a robot, whose inner workings were whirring out of control. He'd the uneasy impression that it was several seconds before Warwick had realized who he was. Then his computer-brain reasserted itself.
'You're lucky to find me here on a Saturday, Chief
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