Bull settled himself as comfortably as possible in the corner of a third class carriage, and turned the business of Doaks still further over in his mind.
Doaks had got the wind up over something. That much was plain. No one, however, knew how deceptive such states could be better than Bull. In fact the more upset such a man as Doaks was, the clearer it usually was that he had committed not a major crime but some paltry misdemeanour—sold ham after hours, gone through one of the new red lights at Oxford-circus, something of that kind.
Still, the only motorcycle that had turned up in connection with anybody was connected with Doaks. That much was also plain.
Bull could not have told why he was on his way to Slough with a less depressed feeling about the Colnbrook Outrage than he had had the day before. The truth was that he was glad the focus of the case had shifted from the several possible theories that had so relentlessly involved Mrs. Colton. It was preposterous to suppose that she was in league with a person like Doaks. That much of Inspector Bull’s faith in appearances was unshakeable. Louise Colton was a beautiful woman. As such it was perfectly possible for her to help kill and rob her husband; that Bull admitted; but she could not be as beautiful as she was and be in league with an inferior creature like Doaks. Or, Bull reflected, Peskett either; although Peskett was not a Doaks by any means, nor an inferior person by any but artificial standards. What Bull meant was that given a desert island with Doaks and Peskett along, Mrs. Colton could find an equal in Peskett but never in John Field’s valet.
At Slough Bull went directly to police headquarters and got a young constable to show him the way to the Doaks cottage on the outskirts of the town. It was in a row of bleak and unprepossessing houses.
Mrs. Doaks, an anaemic, harassed woman of forty-five or so, wiped off a chair with her apron and asked Bull to sit down. The constable she knew and was not formal with. Bull decided she had been a house servant in a good place in her youth. He decided also that Mrs. Doaks was on her guard.
“Are you on the phone, Mrs. Doaks?” he asked.
“More’s the pity,” she replied ungraciously. “My husband’s by rights a contractor, and we have to have it in a business way. Times is so bad we’ve precious little use for it these days.”
“What does Mr. Doaks do now?”
“He’s working on the new villas, sir, they’re putting up on the London road. Until times pick up a bit.”
“Drives to work on the motorcycle, I suppose?”
“Not now he don’t. I says to him, a gallon of petrol will buy more than a gallon of milk, and he can walk to his work like other men. The children need it more than he does.”
Inspector Bull noticed that her chin was as determined as her brother-in-law’s was weak.
“I wonder if I could see it, please.”
Mrs. Doaks promptly opened the side door.
‘There it is, and welcome. It ain’t been used for a month or longer. I put my foot down on that. I drained all the petrol out with my own hands.”
Bull went out to the shed, with the constable, and looked at the machine. Then he came back into the house.
“Now, Mrs. Doaks, I understand that your brother-in-law was here a week ago Wednesday?”
“Yes, sir. He comes down mostly, when he has a day off. It’s something like home to him, what with the children so fond of him.”
“What time did he come?”
“He came just before dinner. He says that Mr. Field, his gentleman, went out to lunch, so he got most of the day off.”
“When did he leave, Mrs. Doaks?”
Bull wondered if there was a guarded look in the woman’s eyes. Was another of the Doakses hiding something? Bull looked at her almost with impatience. “Why don’t they come out with it?” he thought.
“About half past nine, sir. He caught the 10.04 express to Paddington.”
“Then he was here until half past nine?”
This time she hesitated palpably.
“Yes, he was. At least, he was with my husband. I went to bed about nine, I have the children, and I have to get up early. My husband was with him.”
“Here in the house?”
“No. I think they walked around a bit.”
“They took the motorcycle?”
The thin lips closed tightly.
“They didn’t have that thing out,” she said stubbornly. “I’d have given them what for if they had.”
The motorcycle, Bull reflected, with appreciation of the irony that might be involved, was evidently a bone of contention in the Doaks household. He started another question, when suddenly there was a wild commotion in the front of the house.
“Land’s sakes!” said Mrs. Doaks in vexation. More children than Bull would have thought could be attached to one household rushed into the room. Out of the general babble Bull gathered, to his great but guarded interest, that the new parlour suite Uncle George had promised was at that moment arriving.
Mrs. Doaks bit her lip and glanced sharply at Bull. Bull, looking calmly out of the front window, had already observed the gorgeous tan and red and green jacquard davenport coming in the door. It meant, obviously, that Uncle George had come into money in what might be called a big way. A kind-hearted man, he hoped for Mrs. Doaks and the many small Doakses that Uncle George had not been as indiscreet as he thought he had.
“That’s a handsome piece, Mrs. Doaks,” he remarked, taking his hat. “Good day, and thank you.”
“Now take me to the husband,” he directed his constable.
The other Doaks was very much like Uncle George, except that he had a narrow pointed face with crafty eyes and a bald head. If guile was not written in that face, it had never been written, Bull thought. He reflected that in case he ever should want contracting done he would remember that Mr. Doaks was not to do it.
Doaks admitted at once that the motorcycle had been out, as Bull had seen at a glance, within the last few days. More, he admitted quite readily that it had been out Wednesday night last when his brother had been at their home. His wife, however, was not to know it, because she wouldn’t hear of his wasting money on petrol when times were so hard. Bull could understand how it was. The little woman was hard-working and chapel-going and took care of her home and her children. But she was a little hard on her husband. Moreover, she had an annuity of £75 left by an old lady she had worked for. That made her more positive than her husband liked; but £75 was £75. You couldn’t say she was close except in matters of petrol, tobacco and beer.
As a matter of fact Wednesday night his brother George was with them and got a telephone call about eight o’clock. He said it was from his employer, but between men of the world it was a woman. He could hear her voice. He couldn’t hear what she said. But when she was through, his brother asked if he could borrow the motorcycle. He was glad to oblige, provided George saw she was filled up before he got home. No, he didn’t know where George had gone. He wouldn’t care to say if he did. His brother was a hard-working man, and if he liked a drop occasionally, and had a go once in a while with the ladies, it was no more than was natural.
Bull could understand that He wondered if Mr. Field could.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Doaks,” he said. “That’s a fine looking piece of furniture your brother sent out today.”
The man looked at him sharply. Bull caught the tell-tale glint of fear in his eyes.
“Oh, yes. George is a fine boy. Generous to a fault. Always saving his money, he is, and sending little things to my wife. I tell them it’s no use; I’m hale and hearty and good for fifty years, and he’d better get him a wife for himself, to shower his presents on. Good day, Inspector.”
Bull smiled in spite of himself. Nevertheless the picture of Mrs. Doaks being showered with presents was a little pathetic. Bull was willing to wager that the red green and gold suite was the first present she had ever got. Since the £75 annuity, of course. He left Mr. Doaks to his work, wondering how much the uneasiness of both man and wife mattered, what it meant, if anything; and particularly what Uncle George had done with the motorcycle.