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Mr. Artole was still in bed when Agnes rang the doorbell to his apartment. He asked who was there through the door, and upon learning that it was Agnes and Inga, opened it, and stood blinking in his slippers and dressing gown. He was astonished to see them at this hour on Sunday morning; they both exuded consternation and worry, and he immediately thought their visit was in connection with last night’s party.
‘Ladies! What is this? You are up and about early for Sunday morning, is there anything wrong? Come in please?’
Agnes and Inga entered the apartment that smelled strongly of stale cooking. Mr. Artole led them through to the lounge where he drew back the curtains. He bid them to sit, and asked if they cared for a coffee or a pot of tea; he had not had breakfast yet as they caught him unawares. A sudden intuition suggested to him that their early visit was in some way connected with the theft from the flats and George’s arrest.
‘I know why you are both here; it is in connection with what I said last night about George and his pilfering from the tenants, am I correct?’
‘Yes, it is Mr. Artole,’ said Agnes sitting on a soft leather couch that threatened to envelop her like a giant clam. ‘I spoke with Inga after everyone left, and it seems she knows more of this than we do; is that not so Inga?’
‘It is so Miss. Braarken, I am sorry, but please, you be telling Mr. Artole, it will come better from you.’
Agnes then related Inga’s story about her seeing Mr. Hogg getting on the bus with her old suitcase. Then, how he alighted from the bus in Tooting, of Inga’s determination to keep him in sight, and finally how she watched him cross the road to enter the junk shop. Agnes concluded Inga’s account by telling Mr. Artole that Inga saw Hogg waiting near the same shop for the return bus, but this time without the case.
Mr. Artole picked up a notebook and jotted down her words. He asked about the case, and discovered from Inga that the case was very old, broken, with shipping stickers on it, and connected in some odd way with reindeer and the Lapps. It appeared that Mr. Hogg had made some sort of repair to the handle so he could use it. Agnes, then rather tentatively mentioned Mr. Hogg’s body odour, and to her surprise, Mr. Artole was aware of it. Apparently, some of the tenants had complained to Mrs. Whelp about his smell, and this was one of the reasons to take him off the reception desk to make way for the return of the commissionaire.
‘You say that you have both noticed his smell in the flat but at different times?’ asked Mr. Artole, ‘that is very suspicious; it certainly means he has been in there poking about. Well, what you have told me will be of interest to the police, and I suggest we report the matter as soon as possible.’ He looked at the wall clock. ‘It is eight-fifteen, let us make it an hour, yes, an hour, and we should all be ready. I will phone the station to tell them we are coming in, and then I will call a taxi to take us there. How does that sound? Are you both agreeable? Inga will be asked to sign a statement, and then we will see how things turn out. I am sure from what you told me that there are grounds for investigation, including a search of Mr. Hogg’s flat under warrant. So please, do not speak of this to anyone.’
An hour later, Agnes and Inga returned to Mr. Artole’s apartment and found him dressed in his usual office suit and looking very formal. He greeted them cheerfully at the door, and asked them to step in for a few minutes, as the taxi was not due yet.
‘I have phoned the police station,’ said Mr. Artole, ‘I was hoping the officer who was dealing with the case was on duty, but it appears that he has this Sunday off. I see him playing golf some weekends, but the weather is so appalling today that he probably won’t go; never mind, there is another officer primed up to the case, Inspector Bates and he will see us today. We may as well go down and wait for the taxi in the foyer rather than stay here; another ten minutes and it should be here.’
Mr. Artole was first out of the lift, and he immediately saw Mr. Hogg engaged in wiping mud from the entrance mat. He turned and almost pushed Agnes and Inga back into the lift, and entreated them to go back up to her floor, and then come down again in a few minutes. ‘We cannot be too careful,’ said Mr. Artole, ‘Hogg must not see us all together, he is clever no doubt, and the slightest thing will put him on guard, be sure of that. I will go outside to wait under the porch. Come out in five minutes, and I will ask the driver to move away from the entrance.’
Agnes raised her eyes in exasperation, but they returned to their floor, and waited a few minutes before descending again; this time Mr. Hogg had gone, and they went out to find the taxi. The journey did not take long on Sunday morning, and they soon found themselves in the car park outside the police station. Mr. Artole led them into the building and introduced them to Inspector Bates; a tall thin man with a hooked nose that floated above a well-clipped military moustache. The inspector listened carefully to their story as related by Agnes, and at the end of it called Inga aside. He asked her to describe the items missing in the chance that they were those recovered from George’s flat. Inga told the officer that her prized photograph of Bernt was gone, along with her small collection of four plates made in Denmark.
‘Just wait here a moment will you Miss. Johansson, I believe we have the photo frame you describe; silver, and embossed round the edges.’ He left the room shortly to return with a cardboard box. ‘Now, is this yours?’ asked the inspector holding up a silver frame. ‘There is no Danish porcelain here, but I do have this patterned plate, is it yours?’
The plate was not Inga’s, but she eagerly grabbed the frame and announced it hers. She then became disconsolate. ‘The photo of Bernt, it is removed!’ wailed Inga quite distraught, ‘what has happened to it? It is the only picture I have of him.’
‘I don’t know Miss we only found the frame. I tend to say the thief removed the photo. Sorry, but nothing we can do about that. I will have to hold the frame a little longer, but we will let you have it back very soon.’
‘I do not care,’ said Inga, ‘I have the frame back, but without the photo it means nothing.’
‘Mr. Artole told me Mr. Hogg is at Duncan Court this morning, so we will go and ask him a few questions,’ said the inspector; ‘I ask you and Miss. Bracken not to make any of this public, and we will let you know if we need any more help from you. The information you have provided is very useful to us, especially as it indicates that we may have the wrong man; but it is early stages, and our investigation will take up some time; also, I will have to update the officer who was initially assigned the case.’
Agnes and Inga, along with Mr. Artole, left the police station, and walked a few steps down the road to a cafe, where at Mr. Artole’s suggestion they all had breakfast.
‘What do you think will happen, Mr. Artole?’ asked Agnes, ‘will they arrest Mr. Hogg?’
‘If there are grounds for it Agnes; the police will conduct a search of his flat, but the tricky part is proof, actori incumbit probatio — oh, I’m sorry, that means the burden of proof you know. It depends upon evidence, and it depends whether they find anything incriminating. Hogg is a tricky customer, and I have met his like before. He will have been scrupulous to make sure any incriminating material is out of the way.’
After the meal in the café that consisted of various things served on toast, Mr. Artole hailed a passing cab, and they returned to Duncan Court. ‘Well, look at that!’ said Mr. Artole, as the taxi pulled up at the entrance. Through the steamed-up windows of the cab, they caught sight of Mr. Hogg entering the back of a police car, and followed in by a stout young constable. Inspector Bates stood nearby talking to another officer who held a notebook. ‘They have him Inga; they have him; so, they must have found something in his flat after all. Let me out driver. The fare, how much is it? I must speak to the inspector before they drive off.’
Mr. Artole hurried over to where the inspector and a sergeant stood under the porch sheltering from the rain, the former greeting him as he approached. He told him that they arrested Mr. Hogg for alleged theft of property from Inga Johansson, and he expected more charges to be taken into consideration.
‘And what did you find?’ asked Mr. Artole, highly elated, ‘or did he come clean and own up right away?’
The inspector took the notebook from the sergeant and lowered his voice. The investigation was at an early stage and he did not want to compromise anything. ‘Hogg opened the door to us good as gold,’ said the Inspector, ‘we told him we had reason to believe, etcetera. You know the form our enquiries take?’
‘Well, and then what?’ asked Mr. Artole, eyeing the notebook with interest.
‘He agreed to a search. We conducted a small search of his flat, but nothing, we could not find anything suspicious, and we were about to leave, when that young constable you see waiting in the car with Hogg found something of interest.’
‘Ah ha!’ said Mr. Artole, looking pleased.
‘In his kitchen,’ continued the inspector, ‘there was a box of old newspapers; nothing odd about that, you say, and true. The constable here, a new man to the force, and only two weeks out of Hendon; well, he shuffled through the box and found this.’ Inspector Bates opened an envelope and produced a photograph of a young man sitting in a chair with the wording, ‘Elsker! at Inga fra Bernt’ written across in blue pen.
Mr. Artole gasped! ‘Well, if that is not damning evidence, I am blowed if I know what is.’
‘That’s right,’ said the inspector, ‘he owned up about it then, and admitted that he planted the frame in George’s room. I think he expected us to wrap up the matter then and there, and cart him off but no. I am an old dog Mr. Artole, and there is always more to find in ninety-nine out of one hundred cases. We then took a better look round his pad, and found something else, this?’ He held up the notebook. ‘This notebook contains the names and addresses of people who live in these flats, and is ruled with columns that contain details of money received. We asked him about it but he has declined to comment, a foolish move because we can easily find out. My guess is that these are blackmail payments. When you look through the names, and then at the receipts it becomes very obvious; this is a more serious crime as you will know. Hogg was hoping we would not find this book.’
The inspector thumbed through the pages, stopped at one of the entries and whistled. ‘He has Inga and Agnes’s names written in his book, and notes about parcels being delivered to the flat she occupies, do you know of this?’
Mr. Artole told the inspector that Agnes mentioned the parcels, but was unaware of the contents, and Inga was storing them for the return of the elusive Mr. Brown.
‘I gather then,’ said the inspector, ‘that Hogg saw some kind of potential for extorting money from Agnes; I bet you he thinks something shady is going on. Hmm! Do you think he is right, what do you know of Agnes and Inga?’
‘Of Inga, I know nothing, but Agnes has been with my firm for several years, and I have no complaints; she is a shorthand typist and gives administration support. She is reliable and dependable, but often at odds with her manager, my partner; petty matters you understand, nothing of consequence.’
‘What is your view of these parcels?’
‘I have no idea. Agnes mentioned them in passing, and I know she is curious about them. It is none of her concern of course; she shares the flat with Inga who is employed through an agency to act as a caretaker for the tenant, Brown, who is away on business. What this business is I do not know, and I don’t believe they know either. They tell me Brown has not been seen or heard of for a considerable time, and yet funds are available to pay Inga, and to pay the rent, and other outgoings for the flat.’
‘And parcels for him are delivered and stored on the premises?’ asked the inspector; ‘well, there is nothing in that to suggest anything is wrong. Now, we had better get this cove back to the station and let you get on with the rest of your Sunday.’
Agnes and Inga had scuttled back to the flat following the excitement of the morning. Inga looked tense and worried, and Agnes felt flat and uneasy; they hated the thought that Mr. Hogg was looking round in their flat without their knowledge. What had he seen, what else had he done? Perhaps he looked through the drawer where she kept her underwear. She shuddered at the thought and felt tempted to throw everything in the bin.
Before he returned to his apartment, Mr. Artole called to tell Agnes and Inga that Mr. Hogg would likely face a charge of theft. He did not mention the notebook found in Hogg’s possession, or of his suspected blackmailing activities; after all, the salient issue from Agnes and Inga’s point of view was the thieving and nothing more. The two women were overjoyed to hear that George was no longer under arrest, and their sombre moods lifted in an instant. Mr. Artole went on to tell Inga, who broke into a huge smile, that her valued photo of Bernt was found in Mr. Hogg’s possession, and this was the clue that brought the case together.
‘Hogg was very careless you see, very careless. It just shows that by overlooking a simple detail like that can overthrow his carefully laid plans. He put the photo into a box of old newspapers to go out with the rubbish and had forgotten it was there. You will have to wait before the photo is restored to you Inga as it is evidence.’ Mr. Artole noticed that despite the good news about George and their initial euphoria, they had both lapsed into a solemn mood and still looked worried. He asked if anything else was troubling them. He was aware of the stress this sort of event produces in people, and he was concerned for their wellbeing.
‘I am worried Mr. Artole,’ said Inga, who stood with her back to the window and gazed down at the carpet, ‘I am worried about what will happen to us now Mr. Brown has come back last night.’
Agnes looked up sharply but said nothing. Mr. Artole looked first at Inga and then at Agnes and gave a sigh of impatience. ‘Do you mean he has turned up at last? Please sit Inga, and tell me what happened.’
‘We were not going to mention Brown until we discussed this further,’ said Agnes, with a scowl, glancing at Inga, with a shake of her head. Yes, he did come here, at nearly three in the morning, two men turned up, not just him. Inga let them in, and they went into the room we call his office to collect one of the parcels, and then they left saying they will be back.’
‘At three in the morning, well, there is something amiss here and no mistake,’ said Mr. Artole; ‘did he say why he was out of touch for so long?’
‘Mr. Brown, he spoke to me but not Miss. Braarken,’ said Inga, ‘he did not know she was in his bed. He spoke to me, he told me he was delayed, and oh yes, the other man, his name is Bill Wilson. They wore coats, very wet coats, and Mr. Brown; he changed to a dry one. They talked about weapons, shooters Mr. Artole.’
‘Bill Walker,’ said Agnes, ‘that is the name of the other one, we may as well get that right; and as you spoke of coats Inga, show Mr. Artole what you found in his pocket.’
Inga went over to the table and picked up the leaflet she found in Mr. Brown’s coat pocket. She handed it to Mr. Artole, and his eyebrows elevated as he read it.
‘This is a turn of events. This is a very serious concern that pushes the Hogg issue into the shade. Why on earth did you not tell me sooner, as I gather you want me to become involved?’
‘Because these two events happened last night,’ said Agnes, ‘first, at the dinner, you tell me of George being arrested for theft; and then, in the middle of the night, Mr. Brown shows up without any warning. All this comes as a shock.’
Mr. Artole smiled and slowly let out a breath. ‘Troubles come not as single spies Agnes, but in battalions. We will have to report this to the authorities you know, and that will be the end of your stay here. I will take it up for you if you wish, and I think that is advisable. Oh well, that is the end of my Sunday day of rest.’ They took Mr. Artole over to show him into the room where the parcels were stored, and he was surprised by the number of them. He did not touch them, and entreated Agnes and Inga to come out of the room and lock the door. ‘You cannot be too careful with a matter such as this,’ said Mr. Artole, ‘there is no question of us meddling with these parcels, particularly if you think guns are involved; our first step is to refer it to the police, and then the flat will be out of bounds for a while. You two had better leave right away, so take what you immediately need, and you can come to my apartment for the time being.’
Agnes and Inga, with two bags hurriedly packed, locked the door to the flat, and sorrowfully followed Mr. Artole to his apartment. They were both feeling very shattered and tired, and did not speak as they entered the lift. Agnes’s dream was in ruins; she knew this would happen as soon as they mentioned Mr. Brown’s return. How hard it was she thought just to get by in life without a drama. She thought of her choices now she had to vacate the flat. A room in a lodging house or perhaps to return to live with her parents along with her uncle and aunt. Oh! She could not stand the thought of it. She would have to use the small front bedroom and listen to their mindless conversation every evening. Her parents were likely to move to a council house very soon anyway, and she did not want to go with them? No, to return home would be a backward step; she wanted her own life now as she had become used to her independence.
Inga also felt despondent at the thought of taking another room in a lodging house as before. A good room was hard to find at a reasonable rent, and she thought of Mildred in her tiny damp room in noisy lodgings. A house that was the abode of brawling drunks and other shady characters; those who slipped in and out at funny hours with furtive looks and suspicious bundles, not to mention the mouse! Duncan Court was nice while it lasted and she received a wage just for living there. Her job was too good to be true and the bubble had burst.
Mr. Artole saw them into his apartment and asked them to sit in his lounge while he phoned the police. He wondered how the police, following on from the Hogg matter, would receive the story. Inspector Bates was not available, and he left a message with the desk sergeant asking Bates to contact him on a matter of importance. He told the women this when he finished the call. ‘While we are waiting,’ said Mr. Artole, ‘I will tell you of an idea that has just come to my mind. You may or you may not be aware that in Duncan Court there are rooms set aside for the overnight use of visitors. The rooms are small, and contain a single bed, a table, a closet, and a shared bathroom between two. Oh! I make them sound like prison cells, but they are really quite nice, if only for a short stay. If you wish, I can ask Mrs. Whelp to see what is available to set you both up at least for tonight.’
‘That is very kind of you, thank you,’ said Agnes, ‘what do you think of this idea Inga?’
‘I am happy anywhere except back in that flat,’ replied Inga; ‘thinking of Mr. Brown coming back makes me afraid.’
‘He is an unknown quantity,’ said Mr. Artole, ‘and what cannot be measured cannot be assayed. We know nothing of him, and he may become violent if things are not going as he wishes; obviously some effort has gone into this plot of his, and he will not give it up easily.’ The phone started ringing and Mr. Artole went to answer it. They could hear the mumbled one-sided conversation in the next room. He returned looking concerned and thoughtful. ‘The inspector is occupied presently but he will call round when he is done; it seems the police have a bit on their hands today, and we haven’t helped, hah! Can you wait here for an hour or so? I would like you both to be present when he arrives to have the story straight from you. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and see Mrs. Whelp to arrange quarters for you tonight.’
After fifteen minutes, Mr. Artole returned with Mrs. Whelp following. The story of Mr. Hogg had reached her, and she was fully aware of the conduct of the former head porter. She was surprised to hear that Agnes and Inga agreed to move out. Mr. Artole had said nothing of Mr. Brown’s nocturnal visit, and the possible contents of the mysterious parcels; he merely told her that in light of what happened with Mr. Hogg, it was better if the two women moved out of the flat. Mrs. Whelp was pleased to hear this; she did not like the arrangement from the start, and was dubious of the motives of Agnes and Inga. She retained a stiff poker face when greeting them, a face cold and austere with no signs of thawing out. At first, she was uncertain whether she could let them have a guest room, and told them the rooms are set aside for the regular tenants and their guests staying overnight.
‘Oh, I am sure it won’t be for long,’ said Mr. Artole, ‘it is now past mid-day, and they have nowhere else to go at short notice.’
‘Well, I do have a twin bed-sitting room flat with a shared bathroom currently vacant; they can use that, but I shall want a deposit; shall we say ten pounds? I will take rent at two pounds a week that I think is very reasonable. Will that be satisfactory Miss. Bracken?’
It was, and Agnes and Inga thanked her, and then they thanked Mr. Artole for arranging it; who winked and said in a whisper not to speak of Mr. Brown.
Voices coming from the hall interrupted them, and Jane; Mr. Artole’s wife entered the lounge closely followed by Inspector Bates. She had returned from her visit to her sick sister, and on the way in shared the lift with the inspector; she was further surprised when he followed her to the door and introduced himself. Mrs. Artole looked vexed and flustered, and her state did not improve when she beheld Mrs. Whelp, Agnes, and Inga in her apartment.
‘Arthur, what has been going on here with these women and the police? Honestly, when my back is turned, Madam Chaos walks in. Oh, I didn’t mean you personally Mrs. Whelp, I was not suggesting you are Madam Chaos, but who are these others? Wait, I recognise one of them. Oh! I am getting the picture, they are your fancy women Arthur, and Mrs. Whelp has brought them to book and about time too! And the police are here! What have they done, stolen from us? I am not surprised looking at them.’
‘Oh no my dear, you have completely taken hold of the wrong end of the stick,’ said Mr. Artole going very red, ‘I am sorry Agnes, I am sorry Inga; come my dear, into the kitchen and I will explain. The inspector is here to interview Miss. Bracken and Miss. Johansson, as we have had some trouble.’
‘Hmm, and I will go too,’ said Mrs. Whelp, looking annoyed and opening the door to leave, ‘come to the reception when you have finished with the police Miss. Bracken, and I will give you both a key to that flat.’ She wrote the flat number on a slip of paper and handed it to Agnes. ‘Remember, I shall want that deposit and a week’s rent in advance.’
Agnes’s mouth had remained open during the outburst from Mrs. Artole, as she could not believe what she was hearing. She managed to recollect in time that Mrs. Artole was her manager’s wife and held back from making an adverse comment. The inspector stood in the room seemingly unmoved by the tirade, as though to him, this was an everyday experience. He turned to the two women and asked Inga to wait outside for a minute, as he wanted to hear their accounts separately. When Inga left, he extracted a notebook from his pocket, and asked Agnes what she knew of Inga and Mr. Brown. He made it clear that this was just a preliminary enquiry.
Agnes went through the time that she knew Inga, from the first night at the technical college, through to her leaving home and moving into the flat. She spoke of the parcels and Mr. Brown’s unexpected visit; she mentioned his foreign accent, and she showed him the leaflet found in his coat pocket.
Inspector Bates did not speak much, and the only question he asked was whether she was aware of the contents of the parcels. Agnes told him they may contain weapons, and the inspector’s bushy eyebrows elevated into his hairline. ‘This is a serious matter if true Miss. Bracken; do you have the key to the flat? Please give it to me because we will have to secure the place as soon as possible. I will speak to Inga presently, but for now I will phone the station to ask them to call out the chief superintendent; we may have a major case on our hands and I want full support.’
The inspector phoned the police station, and after a considerable time, returned to tell Agnes that she and Inga can move into the other flat in Duncan Court; but to stay on the premises for now. He then called in Inga, and extracted much the same story from her.
Much later that day, and after the police had left, the two women called at the reception desk for the keys. Mrs. Whelp came out from an inner office and was still reserved and cold towards them. Agnes told her that the police now had the key to Mr. Brown’s flat that was now vacant. Mrs. Whelp, without a word, sniffed, and handed over two sets of keys for a twin bed-sitting room, but not before grabbing the deposit of two five-pound notes proffered by Agnes. She still did not speak, and returned to her office with another sniff at the conclusion of the arrangement.
‘That woman!’ said Agnes, ‘why is she so aloof? I cannot stand aloofness Inga; it is unashamed snobbery.’
‘I know Miss. Braarken, I am not liking her, or Mrs. Artole; what is she meaning to say we are fancy women? I am knowing what fancy biscuits are Miss. Braarken, with sugar on the outside and creamy middle, what is the meaning of fancy women, are they like loose women?’
Agnes explained fancy women and Mrs. Artole’s confusion to Inga as they walked to the lift. ‘You see Inga; people take the wrong idea and jump to conclusions.’ Despite the trauma of the day, she smiled. ‘All this does make me wonder about Mr. Artole however; perhaps she has caught him lolling about with another woman. You see Inga; men like Mr. Artole adopt a public face when at work that is quite different to his private face. At work he is professional, apart from his little quips; yes, there he is professional and sober. We do not see him at home and in a domestic setting. He may be a playboy for all we know. Ah! Here we are at the flat.’
Agnes opened the door into a small lobby with a stuffy smell to it. She turned on the light. Directly opposite the entrance was the door to the shared bathroom and toilet, while two other doors, one to the left, and the other to the right of the entrance, brought them into the bed-sitting rooms. ‘Adequate,’ said Agnes, screwing up her nose, ‘adequate, nothing more than that, but it will do.’
‘Which room are you wanting Miss. Braarken?’ asked Inga, who had walked in to inspect the bathroom and cupboards, ‘they look the same to me.’
‘The rooms are exactly the same size and shape,’ said Agnes, ‘small in size and cramped in shape, but will serve us until something better comes along.’
A single iron-framed bed in each room certainly gave the accommodation the look of a prison cell, but unlike a bed in a prison, these just had a mattress. Agnes looked in the cupboards; there were sheets but no blankets. She suggested to Inga that they return to Mr. Brown’s flat to borrow some.
‘I do not think so Miss. Braarken, remember you do not have the key, and mine is still there, I am thinking we cannot go back anyway.’
‘Hmm yes you’re right. Well, we will just have to use the sheets for now; we have our clothes and wash things, so let us unpack. Did you bring any food?’
Inga was about to say that she had brought food, when there was a loud rap on the door, which made Agnes jump and bang her head on the open cupboard door.
‘Open it will you Inga, I expect it’s that policeman again,’ said Agnes, rubbing her head.
Inspector Bates with another man in a trilby hat and wearing a buff-coloured raincoat stood at the door. Inspector Bates introduced Chief Superintendent Ironbank. ‘Good afternoon ladies,’ said the chief superintendent raising his hat, ‘I obtained the flat number from the desk. This is quite an important case you have stumbled upon, and I will need full statements from you both. I feel satisfied that you are not involved in any way, and have unfortunately become mixed up in this Brown affair. Will you both please follow me? There is a car waiting to take you to the station. I doubt it will take long and you can return soon. You realise that you cannot go back to your old flat for now, as we have several armed men in there to wait for Mr. Brown, if he turns up that is. I have it from you that he is expected, but you don’t know when that is, correct?’
Agnes looked surprised and nodded.
‘Good! Let us go down to the car, and I remind you not to speak with anyone we may encounter because we must be as discreet as possible.’
At the police station, they both made statements. Inspector Bates asked Inga whether she wanted a Danish interpreter, but she did not.
‘My English is verr good inspector, why would I be needing interpreter?’
‘It is just a formality Miss. Johansson; we must ask you all the same. If you are both finished and there is nothing to add, I will read them back to you, ask you both to sign, and then we are done for now.’
Agnes and Inga returned to Duncan Court feeling drained and exhausted. It had been quite a day of unwonted activity for them, and they were wondering if anything else might happen. Still, they were quite content for the time being to stay in the small bed-sit flat that Mr. Artole had organised. There was no doubt that he was in a good position to influence Mrs. Whelp, who they felt sure would not have let them have another flat in any circumstances. Fortunately, Inga, with foresight, brought food and some crockery and cutlery. The bed-sit flat was devoid of everything except for the two beds and a few sheets. With her usual application, she set forth to the task of preparing a very basic evening meal, far removed from the feast of the previous night. All the flats in Duncan Court were fitted with a built-in radio, and they listened to a dreary quiz show while eating their dinner that comprised cauliflower cheese and tinned peas.
Agnes kept looking out of the window that overlooked the car park to watch for any activity on the part of the police. There was nothing happening. ‘It is all very quiet Inga,’ remarked Agnes, as she looked out of the window for the tenth time, ‘nothing is happening. I was expecting to see lots of police here on the track of Mr. Brown. I have seen no one, and I am wondering if they are taking our story seriously after all.’
‘I really am not knowing Miss. Braarken, but I am thinking the police are hidden, they are not wanting Mr. Brown and his friend to see them.’
‘Yes, you have a clear point there Inga. Of course, we would not see the police. As you are suggesting, they hide in dustbins and in bushes. If not for our plight, this would be very exciting. I am glad we have moved out and watching this all happen from a distance. I am very tired now and will get an early night as I have work tomorrow. Work, I had quite forgotten that.’