minute.’
He had hardly spoken when they heard the sports car being started; a couple of full-throated roars, then ascrape of gears and the rattle of gravel. Evans started for the door, but Gently dropped a hand on his arm:
‘Take it easy! You’re too late, and it may not be our business anyway.’
‘But she had a bloke in here!’
‘That’s not one hundred per cent criminal.’
‘You don’t know – it might be that Stanley. It might tie in good and proper.’
Gently shrugged, shaking his head. ‘He couldn’t have got over here ahead of us. Better be a sportsman, laddie. After all, it’s the servants’ day out …’
Evans relaxed, but he still looked indignant. ‘The deadly wickedness of the world!’ he said. ‘And her old man still lying in the mortuary – due for burial Friday, they tell me.’
‘There couldn’t have been much love lost there.’
‘You’re telling me there couldn’t, man.’
‘It’s a point that’s worth remembering … and perhaps our driver can describe the bloke.’
When Mrs Fleece rejoined them she was looking inconspicuously neater and she darted a timid glance at them, as though anticipating comment. She chose a straight-backed chair and sat awkwardly, folding her hands in her lap. She said quickly:
‘I had to let out the plumber. We’ve been having trouble with the drains …’
Evans raised his eyes to the ceiling, where the prospect seemed to fascinate him.
Gently said: ‘We’d like some information about your husband, Mrs Fleece. It’s a painful subject, I’m afraid, but we’ll be as brief as we can. When were you married to him, by the way?’
‘When? Oh, in nineteen-thirty-nine.’ She appeared surprised by the question, but she answered it quite readily.
‘Had you known him for very long?’
‘Well, a year or two, I think.’
‘How did you come to be acquainted?’
‘I met him at a party my mother gave. Actually’ – she gave her shoulders a twist – ‘he was brought there by a friend of mine. I probably behaved very badly – Sally was awfully cut up, poor girl. But I really couldn’t help it, and it’s such a long time ago …
‘And when was that?’
‘Oh, years ago. Before he went on the expedition. They were planning it at the time, so it would be the autumn of nineteen-thirty-six. I remember Arthur taking me somewhere to look at their equipment – odd sort of tents and weird gas-masks, and the most frightful-looking food. It was all very expensive and I could never see the point of it.’
‘Did you meet other members of the expedition?’
‘I – well, I met some of them.’
‘Which ones, Mrs Fleece?’
‘Er, well … there was Dick Overton.’
‘Who else?’
‘I don’t know … there were several. I don’t remember.’
‘But you do remember Reginald Kincaid?’
‘No. I never actually met him.’
Her reactions were curious; Gently couldn’t quite fathom them. For instance, his question about Kincaid had the effect of relieving a mounting distress. Asthough it were somehow a safer subject, she added hurriedly:
‘But I knew about him, of course. He used to work for the same people as Arthur, and Arthur told me of his funny ways.’
‘Didn’t you ever see him at the works?’
‘Me? How should I? I never went there. It was before Arthur started on his own, an electrical firm in North London somewhere. I was doing secretarial work for a business agency in Balham – Dyson’s, that was the place. They’ve moved to Lambeth now, I believe.’
‘What was your maiden name, Mrs Fleece?’
‘Amies. Sarah Amies.’
‘And you’ve always lived in Fulham?’
‘Fulham? Never – did I say I’d lived in Fulham?’
‘I understood that your mother lived there.’
‘Oh no; you’ve been misinformed. Actually, I was born not far from Dorking. Then we took the house in Kensington when’ – she shrugged – ‘when Mother’s divorce came through.’
‘And your mother still lives in
He had hardly spoken when they heard the sports car being started; a couple of full-throated roars, then ascrape of gears and the rattle of gravel. Evans started for the door, but Gently dropped a hand on his arm:
‘Take it easy! You’re too late, and it may not be our business anyway.’
‘But she had a bloke in here!’
‘That’s not one hundred per cent criminal.’
‘You don’t know – it might be that Stanley. It might tie in good and proper.’
Gently shrugged, shaking his head. ‘He couldn’t have got over here ahead of us. Better be a sportsman, laddie. After all, it’s the servants’ day out …’
Evans relaxed, but he still looked indignant. ‘The deadly wickedness of the world!’ he said. ‘And her old man still lying in the mortuary – due for burial Friday, they tell me.’
‘There couldn’t have been much love lost there.’
‘You’re telling me there couldn’t, man.’
‘It’s a point that’s worth remembering … and perhaps our driver can describe the bloke.’
When Mrs Fleece rejoined them she was looking inconspicuously neater and she darted a timid glance at them, as though anticipating comment. She chose a straight-backed chair and sat awkwardly, folding her hands in her lap. She said quickly:
‘I had to let out the plumber. We’ve been having trouble with the drains …’
Evans raised his eyes to the ceiling, where the prospect seemed to fascinate him.
Gently said: ‘We’d like some information about your husband, Mrs Fleece. It’s a painful subject, I’m afraid, but we’ll be as brief as we can. When were you married to him, by the way?’
‘When? Oh, in nineteen-thirty-nine.’ She appeared surprised by the question, but she answered it quite readily.
‘Had you known him for very long?’
‘Well, a year or two, I think.’
‘How did you come to be acquainted?’
‘I met him at a party my mother gave. Actually’ – she gave her shoulders a twist – ‘he was brought there by a friend of mine. I probably behaved very badly – Sally was awfully cut up, poor girl. But I really couldn’t help it, and it’s such a long time ago …
‘And when was that?’
‘Oh, years ago. Before he went on the expedition. They were planning it at the time, so it would be the autumn of nineteen-thirty-six. I remember Arthur taking me somewhere to look at their equipment – odd sort of tents and weird gas-masks, and the most frightful-looking food. It was all very expensive and I could never see the point of it.’
‘Did you meet other members of the expedition?’
‘I – well, I met some of them.’
‘Which ones, Mrs Fleece?’
‘Er, well … there was Dick Overton.’
‘Who else?’
‘I don’t know … there were several. I don’t remember.’
‘But you do remember Reginald Kincaid?’
‘No. I never actually met him.’
Her reactions were curious; Gently couldn’t quite fathom them. For instance, his question about Kincaid had the effect of relieving a mounting distress. Asthough it were somehow a safer subject, she added hurriedly:
‘But I knew about him, of course. He used to work for the same people as Arthur, and Arthur told me of his funny ways.’
‘Didn’t you ever see him at the works?’
‘Me? How should I? I never went there. It was before Arthur started on his own, an electrical firm in North London somewhere. I was doing secretarial work for a business agency in Balham – Dyson’s, that was the place. They’ve moved to Lambeth now, I believe.’
‘What was your maiden name, Mrs Fleece?’
‘Amies. Sarah Amies.’
‘And you’ve always lived in Fulham?’
‘Fulham? Never – did I say I’d lived in Fulham?’
‘I understood that your mother lived there.’
‘Oh no; you’ve been misinformed. Actually, I was born not far from Dorking. Then we took the house in Kensington when’ – she shrugged – ‘when Mother’s divorce came through.’
‘And your mother still lives in
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