Chapter Twenty

Hoax Or Offer

“What’s this?” demanded Chittering. “You playing detective, too?” There was a sharp note in his voice, but any hint of criticism was killed by the way he smiled at Lorna, and added: “What a lucky man John is!”

“I asked Rebecca Blest to come and see me. If she could spare the time,” Lorna improvised, “and Mr. McKay brought her.”

“That explains the motorcycle I saw downstairs,” said Chittering. “Any sensations for a newspaperman?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Rebecca, coming into sight.

Chittering spoke as if he were quite satisfied: “While you’re here, then, there’s one thing you could help to clear up – not for publication, but to help us get at the facts. Do you know whether entry was forced into your flat when your father was attacked, Miss Blest?” When the girl didn’t answer immediately, he went on: “I’m sorry to keep reminding you, but this could be very important. The police have been cagey with me and I don’t know whether this means they’ve got information they don’t want me to have, or are cagey about being so ignorant.”

McKay said: “It was opened with a key, Becky, wasn’t it?”

“Well, I think so,” answered the girl. “I remember that the police spread a lot of powder round the key hole. I think they were looking for fingerprints, and I heard someone say that there weren’t any, and there weren’t any scratches. So it looks as if a key was used.”

“Or a skeleton key,” put in McKay, eagerly. “Some of these thieves can open a door with a bit of bent wire, and not leave a trace. And I knew a chap once who could open a car door—”

“Friend of yours?” inquired Chittering.

McKay grinned.

“Not exactly, and he’s in prison now, but I don’t mind admitting that I admired the way he did it, even if I don’t approve of thievery. What difference does it make how the door was opened?”

“If by a key, who had keys?” inquired Chattering.

“That’s a point,” McKay admitted.

Lorna was watching the girl closely. She was anxious to hear what Chittering had come about, and the talk of a hoax had puzzled her; but the youngsters had brought a kind of hope for the first time, and it was possible that they could offer more. Chittering was obviously very anxious to have the answer. The girl frowned in concentration. She looked more tired now than when she had come into the flat, as if she had keyed herself up to the effort, and once it was made she had drooped.

“I had one,” she said slowly. “And my father, of course, and … my uncle.”

“Rett Laker?” Chittering exclaimed.

“Yes,” answered Rebecca. “I’ve been trying to remember whether we ever got it back after … after his death. I don’t think we did.”

“It would be worth trying to check,” said Chittering, and went on almost casually: “Did you have a key hanging inside the letter box so that if you lost your own, all you had to do was hook the piece of string out and get hold of the key?”

“No. My father was always very insistent that we shouldn’t do that.”

“Wise chap,” said Chittering, and paused. “Well, if you want my opinion, Becky should be getting to bed pretty soon, she looks tired out. Is that bag of bones called Ruth still keeping you company, Becky?” Chittering could get away with a cheeky impudence which a lot of people liked.

“Ruth’s been very kind,” said Rebecca. “All the Ashtons have, they’ve been very kind. But—”

“Any reason why we shouldn’t hear what you came to tell Mrs. Mannering?” demanded McKay, hopefully.

“Yes,” answered Chittering, flatly. “A lot of reasons – it’s highly confidential.”

“Oh, well – I tried,” said McKay. “We’d better get along.”

“Mrs. Mannering,” Rebecca said, with appealing sincerity, “I hope very much that you can prove that your husband is innocent.”

Lorna just managed to say: “Thank you.” She went to the door with them, and watched them walking down the stairs; before they were half-way down the first flight, their hands were clutching. Chittering was standing at Lorna’s shoulder, and as she turned away and closed the door, he said: “That looks like a case of young love.”

“I hope it is,” said Lorna. “That child needs someone to help her. Has she any relatives?”

“None we’ve heard of, and none the police have traced,” answered Chittering. Obviously he was still suppressing his excitement, but doing so more effectively than before. He led the way into the kitchen, the door of which stood open, and sniffed. Lorna heard the percolator bubbling. “What did that couple come for?”

Lorna said resignedly: “So you weren’t fooled.”

“Of course I wasn’t. Not for my ears?”

“I didn’t want them to know that you knew,” said Lorna. “It must be confidential, Chitty.”

“Lorna, my dear,” said Chittering, turning to face her, and putting his hands on her shoulders, “I have one interest and one interest only: getting John cleared. I shall use nothing in the Globe that might do him the slightest harm. I’m on your side all the way. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Lorna, in a muffled voice. “Yes, of course I do. But—”

“I know about the row with Lloyd,” Chittering went on. “He telephoned me just after he left here, and asked me to plead for him. I hedged. We can talk about that afterwards. It’s still possible that Toby Pleydell will be here in the morning, and that will get us out of the legal hiatus. What did the young innocents want – if they’re innocents?”

Lorna told him.

After a pause, Chittering said softly: “Well, well, a hole in the police case after all. If Becky will say in court that she thinks the jewellery she gave John and the jewellery shown to her by the police and offered as Exhibit A wasn’t the same, then – well, Lloyd would have a bit more of the defence evidence he wants.”

“Chitty—”

“I know, I know,” said Chittering hastily. “We are not going to allow the case to get to a trial, we want a ‘case dismissed’ decision next Wednesday, or else a withdrawal of the charges. I think Lloyd’s probably right to try the coldly pessimistic attitude, but that’s by the way. A very peculiar thing happened tonight.”

Lorna didn’t speak.

“Happened to me,” went on Chittering, in an over-stilted voice. “I’d been out on the case, the editor having assigned me to it full time, and I was trying to get something from the other people who live in Larraby’s mews, about other people being there on Tuesday night. No luck, so far. There never were so many people who heard nothing. I was waylaid by a man coming away from the mews, and he told me that if I wanted to help one John Mannering, I should telephone a certain number. This number,” Chittering added, and drew a slip of paper out of his pocket. He showed the pencilled letters and figures to Lorna; the number was PADDINGTON 92543.

“Did you ring it?”

“I did, from the nearest call box,” Chittering replied. “I got an answer after a long, long time. A man answered.” He paused, as if he found it difficult to say what the message was, and Lorna fought back her impatience, yet felt her nerves more on edge than ever. “It shook me badly.”

“Chitty—”

“The man said that for a sufficient reward, he would give me the names of witnesses who could help. He said that these witnesses could prove that Farmer had been attacked before he came up to the flat – in a car in Green Street, in fact. In other words, he certainly knows enough about the case to realise what evidence John needs, and how badly we need it. But—”

“But what?”

“It could be a hoax,” Chittering said reasoningly. “It could be a clever way of getting some easy money, too. He wants a thousand pounds for the information.”

Lorna echoed: “A thousand.”

“A thousand pounds for what might be a simple fraud,” said Chittering. “I doubt if we’ll know whether it is or not unless the money is paid over. I am to be one messenger. You are to come with me.”

Lorna said: “If it were ten thousand it would be worth it even for half a chance. Did … did Lloyd tell you about John’s reward suggestion?”

“Yes.”

Lorna said, slowly: “And you don’t think it’s a good one, either.”

“From John, hopeless. But if the Globe offered the reward, it would be a different kettle of fish,” Chittering pointed out quietly. “I doubt if the old rag would go to ten thousand, but it would go to one or two. What are we going to do about this message?”

“We’re going to take a chance,” Lorna said at once. “We must.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Chittering, a little uneasily. “We can sleep on it, anyhow – we’re to go and see this man tomorrow evening, after dark.”

“Where?”

“We’re to meet him at Hammersmith Underground Station,” answered Chittering. “He will come up to us, and in exchange for the money, give us more details. It sounds preposterous, but—”

“We’ve got to do it.”

“Lloyd wouldn’t agree.”

“I don’t care what Lloyd thinks,” Lorna said. “Chitty, we need another lawyer, who—”

“Listen, my dear,” Chittering interrupted. He reminded her very much of Lloyd in that moment, and she felt almost antagonistic towards him. “If John swops lawyers, it will hit all the headlines. It will prove complete lack of trust between him and Lloyd, and make it extremely difficult for Toby Pleydell to take over. I think you’ve got to wait a bit before you decide what to do, at least until Toby arrives. And he’ll be here, there’s no more doubt of that.”

“How can you be sure?”

“His plane left Idlewild at half-past nine, Greenwich Mean Time,” Chittering told her, and for the second time tonight she felt a flare of hope. “He’ll be here at crack of dawn. So will I, and we can have a long session and work out policy before he goes to see John. But there’s one other thing.” “Yes?”

“You mustn’t leave here,” said Chittering. “And you mustn’t take any notice of any messages you might get. You and John are both too emotionally involved, you’re not seeing really straight. God knows I don’t blame you, but it’s something you’ve both got to realise.”