Gently 17 - Gently with the Innocents by Alan Hunter

Author:Alan Hunter
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781472104632
Publisher: Constable & Robinson
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

AND THAT WAS it. All Bressingham’s mental wrestling wouldn’t recall the provenance of the Latin, though he promised to give the matter no rest until he succeeded in tracking it down. Of his identification of the store-room he remained positive, but that, alas, was academic. Orgy-room or linen-closet, it offered no key to Gently’s problem. It was secure; probably it had no other connection with Peachment’s treasure.

Bressingham felt his failure. He smoked a last, despondent Manikin with Gently. From the glum expression on his chubby face you might have thought he’d just lost on a deal.

‘Well, anyway, we’ve debunked the legend.’

His hands, like Gissing’s before him, were filthy. His neat bow-tie had got aslant and the tails of his muffler hung down to his knees.

‘And yet, I’d swear old Peachey was honest. Anything else doesn’t make sense. You just couldn’t picture him doing a job, especially a big one that needed planning.’

Gently grunted. That was certainly out! If Peachment had been a regular villain, the police would have known about him. Collectors of gold coins didn’t leave them around for casual sneak-thieves to pick up.

‘Could they have been dumped on him?’

Yes . . . more likely. Though it still left a great deal to be explained. It argued that the thieves knew Peachment well enough to trust him, while by all accounts, except for his nephew . . .

Gently shrugged. ‘We only know of the two pieces.’

‘Oh, come now!’ Immediately Bressingham perked up. ‘Two pieces like that. You can trust my instinct. They’re only the tip of a fabulous iceberg.’

‘Then where did it come from?’

‘Ah, that’s your problem. But there’s gold around and I can smell it. Perhaps I’m not so good as I think – you can always have a go at the floorboards.’

It was snowing again when they came out of the house, little dry flurries of small flakes. Across the yard the light was switched out and both doors closed. Gently checked momentarily. Bressingham glanced at him.

‘Do you fancy that fellow . . . or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘You shouldn’t ask,’ Gently grunted. ‘And I shouldn’t tell you. Yes, we fancy him.’

‘Ah,’ Bressingham said. He was silent for a few steps, then: ‘I don’t like him much either. Once I had to chase him out of my courtyard. He was smooching there with a bit of jail-bait.’

‘It doesn’t make him a killer,’ Gently shrugged. ‘By the way, which school does your son go to?’

‘Phil?’ Bressingham looked his surprise. ‘He goes to Cross Central. That’s just over there, across the sale-ground.

He kept looking for Gently to explain his query, but Gently merely unlocked the Sceptre and got in.

At the station Gissing was back from his chat with Ted Ringmer. D.C. Scoles had also come in, and sat drinking cocoa along with his senior. Scoles was a lean, quick-eyed youngster. He quickly rustled up a mug of cocoa for Gently. For some minutes they drank and thawed silently, just three men who’d come in from the cold. Then Gissing drew his hand across his mouth.

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