Campion 06 Death of a Ghost by Margery Allingham

Author:Margery Allingham [Allingham, Margery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

Lisa’s sobbing became hysterical.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone. I won’t speak.’

Oates’s grip on her shoulder tightened and he shook her gently.

‘You pull yourself together. Come on, out with it. Whom did you see coming into this studio?’

The voice of authority had its effect. Lisa began to mutter tearfully.

‘I don’t know anything. I only saw him coming in and go out again, and afterwards when I saw her dead I wondered…’

‘Yes, yes, we know.’ The Inspector spoke impatiently. ‘But who?’

Lisa raised her drowned eyes to his.

‘Mr — Mr Potter,’ she said. ‘Her husband. For six years now he’s caught the five-thirty from Chelmsford, arrived at Liverpool Street at a little before half past six and come home by seven, and so when today I saw him come in at five and go out again in a minute or two I guessed something was going to happen.’

The Inspector, who had been jotting down facts in a small untidy notebook, nodded to his subordinate.

‘Get on to Inquiries, find out the number of the school at Chelmsford, and ask if Mr Potter left early today. Don’t say who you are, of course.’

While this operation was in progress Lisa was questioned closely in the matter of times. She was inclined to be sullen and unhelpful at first, but Oates revealed himself the soul of tact and patience and presently almost succeeded in pinning her down.

‘It was a quarter to five by the kitchen clock when I saw Miss Cunninghame go,’

she said slowly. ‘The clock is fifteen minutes fast, so that would be half past four. Then I heard the gate go again and I looked out to see if it was the fishmonger, and I saw that it was Mr Potter. It was five o’clock then, because I looked at the clock. I was afraid for a moment, you see, that it was seven o’clock and I had got muddled with the time.’

‘Then if the clock said five it was really a quarter to, since the clock was fast?’ said Oates, writing.

‘No. It was five then, because when Miss Cunninghame went I knew it must be half past four, so I altered the clock. It was then I must have got muddled in the time.’

‘Quite,’ said Oates dryly and altered his notes. ‘How long was Mr Potter in the studio here?’

I don’t know. I didn’t look at the clock again, but I think about ten minutes.’

‘Ten minutes. How did he go out? Was he in a hurry?’

Lisa began to weep again. Finally, however, she nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That was what I noticed. He crept like he was afraid of being seen. That’s why I washed the cup.’

Downing returned from the telephone, his manner betraying respectfully suppressed excitement.

‘Mr Potter has not been at Blakenham all today, sir,’ he said. ‘They received a telegram at ten o’clock this morning to say he was confined to his bed.’

The Inspector grimaced.

‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘I see.’

There was a silence after he had spoken and it was

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