Calamity in Kent, A British Library Crime Classic by John Rowland

Author:John Rowland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2015-12-10T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter XVI

In Which I Talk to the Liftman

It seemed, for the moment, as if we had come to a dead end in our investigations. I knew that to get any really fresh information I should have to await the collation of the material that Shelley was getting from Scotland Yard. Only thus could I hope to get hold of new stuff.

But now that I was fairly launched on my career as a special investigator for the Press I could not bear the thought of inaction. Only a couple of days before I had been a convalescent, lazing away a few weeks on the Kentish coast. But thought of returning to that status now seemed to me to be hopeless. I had been plunged into such exciting events that to get back to the old routine of meals under the eagle eye of Mrs. Cecil, walks on the promenade, and an occasional decorous bathe seemed to me to be the most completely feeble way of getting on with life. I wanted to feel myself involved in uncovering facts, revealing unexpected connections between the people in the case, and finding out what I could do.

And Shelley’s warning had some influence on me as well. I had no intention of giving any murderer a sitting target. But it was true enough that I was in some danger, especially if the murderer thought that I might be revealing something of what he was doing. The sooner the man was caught the sooner I should be safe. Thus my professional interest was reinforced by the personal interest of my own safety.

Yet I did not see what more I could do. Shelley had not suggested anything further that I could carry out in the way of investigations—and I knew that I had now established myself well enough in his confidence to be asked to do anything which I could. It was thus clear enough that there was nothing that he considered could usefully be given to me to do at the moment. Yet, as I’ve said, I was not content. I wanted to do something, even though I wasn’t sure what it was.

I sat on the old familiar seat on the promenade. I cast my mind over all that had happened in the case. I wondered who there was who might be able to help. Naturally, sooner or later we should have to see how the death of Margerison had affected all the odd people who had come into the case earlier on. But meanwhile I thought that there must be someone who had not been as fully investigated as probably would pay.

At the back of my mind, like the nag of an aching tooth, was the thought that there was someone whose background had not been looked into as much as it should have been. Then I recalled who it was. Of course! Aloysius Bender. I had not spoken to him much since the second murder. Everything had happened in such a rush, Shelley had

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