CHAPTER TEN

What About Noreen Wilks?

1

It was about five o’clock when the three young men walked in. Twenty minutes earlier, Dr Salt had returned from the spare room, carrying the tea tray, and had told Maggie that her father had told his story and had then needed only one mild pill to send him to sleep. ‘I doubt if he’ll wake up much before breakfast time,’ Dr Salt had continued. ‘When he’ll probably feel hungry. He wants to sleep now, to take a rest from reality. I won’t tell you his story until your brother comes. He is coming, isn’t he? Good!’

‘I’ll only ask you this,’ Maggie had said. ‘Is it – something – really disgraceful – shocking?’

‘It didn’t give me a shock,’ Dr Salt had said cheerfully. ‘And if you’re the sensible girl I take you to be, Maggie, it won’t give you one. I can’t answer for your brother. You’ve been tackling the books and records, haven’t you? I’m getting damnably behindhand. So let’s keep at it.’

Having just piled some special records on his desk, at the far end of the room, they were still standing near it when the three young men, having found the front door open, walked in at the other end. Maggie felt afraid as soon as she saw them. One, who seemed to be the leader, wore dark glasses and a leather jacket. Another, very big but quite young, was wearing a dark blue sweater, dirty flannel trousers and what looked like gym shoes. The third was much smaller and rather older; he had a tight black suit and a thin and beaky face, pale and vicious. Maggie knew at once they were horrors. Even before anything was said, she took a step nearer to Dr Salt.

‘Well,’ said the one with dark glasses, ‘if he hasn’t got a bird. Made it yet, Doc?’

‘And while I’ve seen better,’ said the big one, coming farther in, ‘I’ve seen worse. So if you’re looking for anything young and fresh – what about it, Birdie?’

‘He’ll never be any use to you,’ the black-suited one sneered, as he, too, came forward. ‘Too many bloody books.’ And he aimed a kick at the nearest pile and demolished it.

Maggie cried out and put a hand on Dr Salt’s arm.

‘It’s all right,’ he told her quietly. ‘Take it easy, Maggie.’ Then he moved to open one of the drawers in his desk.

‘You won’t be told, will you, Dr Salt?’ said the one with dark glasses. ‘And you can’t say I didn’t warn you. Remember, you’re redundant now, so you can be roughed up a bit.’

‘I don’t think you’ll do anything to me, Russ,’ Dr Salt told him, quite coolly, almost pleasantly.

‘I’m afraid we’ll have to. These boys love it. And they don’t like your attitude. You see, Doc, though you don’t like Birkden, you won’t leave it when you’re told. But your bird can take off.’

‘Aw – Russ boy – don’t I have any playtime?’ This was the big one.

‘She isn’t going,’ said Dr Salt, rather sharper now. ‘But you are. For two reasons.’

‘Shove your reasons,’ said the black-suited one. He turned to the one called Russ. ‘Let’s shut him up.’

‘Not yet,’ Russ told him. ‘Let’s see how he talks his way out of this. Go on, Doc. Two reasons?’

‘Yes. The first is – I’ve an appointment here with Superintendent Hurst at five o’clock. And it’s a minute or two past five now. So he’ll be here any time now.’

‘That’s your story. And I think it’s a load of crap. Anything else?’

‘Aw, for Chrissake, Russ – let’s knock the shit out of him.’ And the big one came nearer.

But Dr Salt, who had taken something out of his desk drawer, now moved round to stand in front of Maggie. ‘The other reason is this,’ he said, not sounding at all frightened and even rather amused. ‘It looks like a water pistol. But in point of fact it’s filled with telluric acid. A little idea of my own – I’m thinking of patenting it. Telluric acid not only burns the skin but also stains what’s left of it a dark purple. Now three of you can obviously overpower me. But one of you – the first man – will have a face like a squashed black grape. And I advise him to keep his eyes tightly closed. Naturally I’ve never tried this stuff on the human eye, but I’m afraid the result will be very unpleasant indeed. Of course it won’t be easy to rush me with your eyes shut.’ He moved forward, well in front of the desk now. ‘You have your dark glasses to protect you, Russ. So if anybody’s going to risk it, then it ought to be you—’

‘Him or nobody,’ said black-suit. ‘Not me.’

‘Nor me.’ This was the big one. ‘I didn’t reckon on this packet.’

‘He could be bluffing,’ said Russ slowly.

‘Okay, Russ. Have a go – an’ see.’

‘Mind you,’ Dr Salt told them in a brisk and cheerful manner, as if giving a lecture. ‘The acid might easily burn through the frame of the dark glasses, then the eyes wouldn’t be protected. In any case, Russ, your cheeks, nose, mouth – especially the mouth – will be badly burned—’

‘I hate to see this patronizing sod get away with it,’ Russ cried. ‘Look – we could rush him with our hands stretched out, covering our faces—’

‘An’ what happens to our hands – for Chrissakes—?’

‘A sensible question,’ said Dr Salt. ‘I’d hope to hit four out of your six hands. And those four wouldn’t be picking anything up for a good many weeks – probably months. I don’t know what you two are being paid for this – I’m leaving out Russ now – but I think you’ll be badly out of pocket.’

‘An’ so do I,’ said black-suit. ‘You think you’re bloody smart, Russ, but you’d be smarter if you got some proper info before doing a job.’

‘Right,’ said the big one. ‘You said it would be dead easy.’

‘I’m afraid he’s been deceiving you. Don’t forget – for twenty years I’ve had to look at things that would make you boys go and vomit.’

‘An’ I’ll bet you have, at that. The deal’s off, Russ.’

‘You stop an’ play with him,’ said the big one. ‘Not me.’

There was a knock. ‘Come in, Superintendent,’ Dr Salt called cheerfully. Then a large middle-aged man filled the doorway. ‘Sorry I’m late, Dr Salt,’ he began. ‘Hello, who are these?’

‘Callers,’ Dr Salt told him.

The superintendent looked them over. ‘And not invited neither, if you ask me. Villains or layabouts. Well?’ he bawled at the one in the black suit.

‘We’re not doing nothing, Super. Honest.’

‘Are you charging them, Dr Salt?’

‘No, no.’

‘Sure? All right, if you say so.’ He cleared the doorway for them, then shouted: ‘Outside! Sharp as you can. And straight home. Go on.’ They left hurriedly and he closed the door behind them. ‘You don’t want to be soft-hearted with that sort, Dr Salt.’

‘Superintendent Hurst – Miss Culworth. You all right, Maggie?’

‘Now I am. But I must sit down. My knees were like jelly when you were talking to those three.’

‘Sit over there.’ He turned to the superintendent, who had now come closer. ‘No, I don’t want to charge them. And not because I’m soft-hearted, but simply because I don’t want to be kept hanging about as a witness.’

‘Would you have burnt their faces or hands?’ Maggie inquired. ‘I mean, if they’d attacked you.’

‘Not with this I wouldn’t. It’s a water pistol I took from a small boy at my surgery a week or two ago.’ He squirted a little water at the floor. ‘Must try to remember to return it to him. Well, Superintendent, I must find a chair for you—’

‘Don’t bother, Dr Salt. We had this appointment, so I looked in, but I’m not staying.’

Dr Salt frowned at him. ‘I’ve been busy since we last met. And everything that’s happened points one way. I’m certain now that Noreen Wilks never left Birkden, that she’s dead and that her death was no accident.’

‘Now, now, now, Dr Salt, I told you to leave it to us, didn’t I? If you’ve been busy trying to find out about this Noreen Wilks, then I’m afraid you’ve been wasting your time. No, just a minute. Can I use your phone?’

‘Of course. But I wish you’d listen to what I have to say.’

‘I’m trying to save your breath, Dr Salt. And your face, perhaps.’ He was now at the telephone, dialling. ‘Superintendent Hurst here. Anything come through for me from Comdon Bridge yet? Yes, Wilks inquiry. Well, you might give them a tinkle. It was a Sergeant Driver who was looking into it for me. No, I’m coming straight down myself.’

He looked across at Dr Salt as he put down the receiver. ‘Will you be here the next hour or two? Right, then. As soon as I have this information I need, I won’t just phone you, Dr Salt, I’ll come back here and tell you straight to your face exactly what we know about your Noreen Wilks. No, no, I don’t want any argument. And I don’t think you will – very soon. But I’ll be back – I’ll be back. And don’t bother – I can let myself out.’ And he bustled off.

‘And that’s that,’ Dr Salt observed darkly. ‘I don’t dislike Hurst. He’s a good, honest bobby. But he’s looking too pleased with himself. And if I know his type, that means he’s getting himself into something dam’ stupid.’

‘I’m thinking about you, not him. You’re really entitled to feel pleased with yourself. I thought you were wonderful with those three horrors,’ she continued rather shyly. ‘You’re very brave, aren’t you?’

‘Not at all. No bravery required. Just cheek. But that reminds me. I must ring up our friend Buzzy. By the way, would you like a drink?’

‘I would – but I think it’s too early.’

‘No, that excitement makes it later. I think you need one, Maggie. Doctor’s orders. Help yourself to a drink while I’m calling Buzzy.’

While she was finding the gin and tonic in the kitchen, she could hear him at the telephone. Apparently Buzzy wasn’t there. ‘All right, then, Winston. Give him a message from me, Dr Salt. Tell him I’ve had that chap I mentioned the other day – Russ – round here making a nuisance of himself again. So I’d be obliged if Buzzy could have him run out of town. . . . Yes, that’s it – seen off. And I’ll be here for some time if Buzzy wants to call me. Thank you, Winston.’

He was attending to the pile of books that had been kicked over, when she returned with her drink. ‘We’ll get on with this until your brother comes,’ he told her. ‘We can also be thinking about dinner. I don’t mean cooking it but planning it. Something good that doesn’t take too much time and fiddling about. That means the Far East is out. But one day I’ll cook you a Chinese dinner that’ll astonish you, Maggie.’

Still squatting among the books, he looked up and gave her a wide grin. Hardly knowing what she was up to, she said, ‘I hope so, Salt,’ and bending down quickly, she gave him a brief light kiss somewhere just below his right eye.

2

‘I still can’t see,’ said Alan as soon as the three of them had settled down, ‘why my father couldn’t have waited and then told us himself.’ And he gave Dr Salt a defiant look, for which Maggie could have slapped him.

‘Try using your imagination,’ said Dr Salt. ‘Start by imagining yourself a man in his late fifties, far from robust, bewildered, worried, loaded with a guilty secret like a rucksack full of lead. Right?’

‘Oh – Alan – I did explain,’ Maggie began.

‘Next, you’re knocked out and then wake up all dopey in a strange nursing home. Before you can make sense of anything, you’re out again. But you’re just as full of worry and feelings of guilt as you are of sedatives. Finally, you’re taken out of this nursing home by another doctor – and your daughter’s with him.’

‘And he must tell somebody,’ cried Maggie, ‘but he can’t face telling you or me – not yet. Alan, you’re deliberately being stupid—’

‘All right, then,’ said Alan, impatient rather than convinced, ‘let’s say it had to be done this way. Go on, Dr Salt. What’s the great and terrible secret?’

‘Well, it won’t be one to you – or to Maggie – but I want you to remember that it is one to him. And might be to your mother if she ever found it out. And you two can’t afford to take it lightly, not only for your parents’ sake but also because it could easily become entangled with a murder—’

‘Oh – no!’ And as Maggie, horrified, cried out, she couldn’t help feeling that somewhere, at the back of her mind, she had known this all along.

‘Is that a fact or just your opinion?’ Alan looked and sounded sceptical.

‘So far – just my opinion,’ said Dr Salt quite mildly. ‘But during the last two days, as Maggie realizes even if you don’t, several of my opinions have turned into facts.’

‘And if they hadn’t, Alan, we’d still be wondering what had happened to our father. What’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing, Mag. I’m not trying to be offensive. I just thought the murder thing a bit much, that’s all.’

‘Quite so. And I’m not taking offence, Alan. Now then,’ Dr Salt continued briskly, ‘I’m leaving out all details, accusations or excuses, mental lights and shades, and just giving you what you want – the facts. During the War, as you know, your father was some sort of clerk, with the rank of sergeant, in the RAF. He fell in love and had an affair with a girl in the WRAF. She was a young and childless widow whose husband, a rear-gunner of a bomber, had been killed early in 1940. Her name was Catherine Wilks. I came to know her fairly well because she ended up as a patient of mine. She only died a year ago – cancer. She had a daughter, Noreen, and from the first your father regarded her as his child—’

‘So that’s it,’ cried Maggie. ‘And I think I’ve really known it all the time. Haven’t you, Alan?’

‘No, I haven’t. I’ve been divided between thinking there was nothing at all in this Noreen Wilks thing or that she was his girl friend. I discussed it last night with Jill, though, and she was dead against the girl-friend theory.’

‘And she’s really my half-sister,’ said Maggie, remembering how she had resented this Noreen Wilks character that Dr Salt had kept dragging in all the time. Now she looked at him. ‘I’m sorry. Go on.’

‘When your father settled in Hemton after the War, Mrs Wilks came to Birkden and finally got a job at United Fabrics, which was then beginning to expand. I don’t know if this was his idea or hers. I don’t know if the affair went on or whether he simply felt responsible for her and the child. My guess is he’d still feel responsible for her even if he knew – or guessed – she was having affairs with other men. And I’d say she was. He couldn’t spend much time with her. She must have been quite attractive up to her last few years. And I’d say she was one of those rather vain, shallow but good-natured women who enjoy men’s attention and then don’t like to refuse them anything. Probably your father lost all interest in her – they can’t have had much in common – but, of course, he felt deeply responsible for Noreen. He gave Mrs Wilks a regular allowance, of course – and that can’t have been easy—’

‘Alan, that’s why we’ve always thought he was so ridiculously cautious and careful about money – almost mean—’

‘I know, I know,’ Alan told her gruffly. ‘You’re not the only one who’s working it out—’

‘Then when Mrs Wilks died and Noreen was on her own, he felt even more responsible and worried harder than ever. I know that because I’ve read several letters he wrote to her that arrived after she was missing. I called on Mrs Pearson, her landlady, this morning, and she handed them over to me, along with some notes from her boy friend that Noreen had kept.’

‘Well, I don’t see why you should have read those letters my father wrote to her. Does he know?’ Alan’s tone seemed to Maggie unpleasantly hostile, and she felt fearful of what might happen next.

‘No, he doesn’t know, Alan. And I don’t propose to tell him.’ Once again Maggie marvelled at the way in which Dr Salt, unlike almost everybody she had ever known, was able to avoid returning hostility with hostility, for he spoke quite mildly.

‘Then, if you ask me, I think you’ve been nosy and officious.’ And Alan gave him a hard, challenging look.

‘Alan – no!’

‘It’s all right, Maggie. I’m sorry you think that, Alan. But I want you to remember this. I’m not interested in your father’s private life, except that, for the moment, I consider him my patient. What I really am concerned about – and if it’s boring to hear this again, just put up with me for a moment – and what keeps me here in Birkden when I want to get out of the place – is simply the answer to one question – what really happened to Noreen Wilks? That’s what I want to know, and it’s what I’m going to find out, even if it means reading other people’s letters and taking a few assorted risks—’

‘Were those three horrible young men part of it?’ Maggie demanded.

‘Of course. It was Russ’s second attempt to frighten me out of Birkden. Look, Alan, there’s more in this than you seem to understand—’

‘He doesn’t want to, that’s why,’ Maggie cried. ‘That girl, Jill—’

‘Shut up, Mag. Jill doesn’t come into this.’

‘She does. Of course she does. She’s one of that lot—’

‘Let it ride, Maggie,’ said Dr Salt. He regarded Alan gravely. ‘I’m sure that Noreen Wilks is dead. And I’m almost sure now that she was murdered. But let’s get back to your father. When she didn’t reply to his letters, he wrote to Peggy Pearson. She rang him at the shop on Monday morning, telling him she thought Noreen didn’t come back from the Fabrics Club party on September 12th because she’d gone to the South of France with her boy friend. Peggy didn’t know who this boy friend was, but your father did – Noreen must have told him. He was young Derek Donnington, who shot himself early in the morning of September 13th. So what had happened to Noreen, missing for three weeks? Your father couldn’t find Peggy or her mother, so finally he went to the Fabrics Club. He got no sense out of them, as you can imagine, so then he decided to search the big empty house, the Worsley place, which shares the same grounds as the Club. It was dark by that time. Before he got to the house he ran into the man who was looking after it – and was also half drunk, your father thinks. They exchanged some angry remarks. Your father tried to push past the man, who coshed him. I doubt if it was a heavy blow, but your father wasn’t wearing a hat, he hasn’t a thick skull and, anyhow, he isn’t a robust type. He went out like a light and stayed out. We can guess the rest. He was taken into the Club; Dews sent for Dr Lemmert, who afterwards spoke to Aricson, who in turn – though I can’t prove this – told Sir Arnold Donnington what had happened. Then your father was rushed off to a nursing home, with the firm or Donnington himself ready to pay all expenses. And if you want to know why, I’ll tell you. This man – your father – wasn’t just a casual trespasser. He was somebody who was asking questions about Noreen Wilks. Therefore – no hospital, no police, no public fuss.’ He stopped to light his pipe.

Alan looked dubious. ‘What you’re really asking us to believe is that Noreen Wilks may have been killed, and that somebody high up in United Fabrics may be involved. And I must say, I can’t wear it. I’ll agree there’s something queer and fishy about this Noreen Wilks thing – Jill knows that, and what happened at the Club last night was very suspicious – but it seems to me you’re jumping wildly to conclusions, Dr Salt.’

‘I agree there doesn’t seem much real proof yet,’ said Maggie, glancing apologetically at Dr Salt before she looked at Alan again. ‘But I’ve seen a lot more of this mysterious business than you have, Alan, and so far Dr Salt’s been right every time. Last night – and this morning – we hadn’t the ghost of an idea where Father was, but Dr Salt found him. It may be some kind of intuition—’

‘No, it isn’t, Maggie,’ he told her. ‘It’s just that I’m used to watching people very carefully and listening intently to them, and then drawing my own conclusions. And I’ve also spent years dealing with people who aren’t so obvious as we are. That’s all.’ Now he looked at Alan. ‘But there isn’t as much wild jumping to conclusions as you think. I’ve collected plenty of my own kind of evidence, though so far it wouldn’t be worth tuppence as legal proof. If I haven’t given it all to you two, that’s because I’m waiting to give it to Superintendent Hurst when he comes back.’

‘Do you want us out of the way, then?’ asked Maggie, hoping hard that he didn’t.

‘No, I want you here. I need witnesses. And if Hurst objects – and he easily might – I’ll make a fuss. But I propose to keep your father out of it—’

‘Oh – thank goodness!’

‘That’s what I say, Mag.’ Alan wagged a finger at her. ‘So don’t forget – and then drag him in yourself. Better just keep quiet.’

‘And I think it’s about time you kept quiet,’ she told him indignantly. ‘Ever since you came you’ve behaved as if Dr Salt had gone and lost Daddy and not found him for us. You don’t know half of what’s happened, where Dr Salt has been and what he’s done since you saw him last, and then you stalk in here and say you don’t believe this and you doubt that – as if you were some pompous silly old judge. And that’s all you have done so far.’ And she nearly added something about his precious Jill, but checked herself in time.

She was instantly rewarded. Alan gave her one of his rare sweet smiles. ‘You’re quite right, Mag. I’ve been a bit much. Would you like an apology, Dr Salt?’

‘No, thanks, Alan. Apologies don’t work. By the time people have made ’em, they’re beginning to resent you all over again. Hello – this must be Hurst. Could one of you clear another chair for him?’

3

Maggie knew at once that Superintendent Hurst was feeling very pleased with himself. As soon as he had been introduced to Alan and given a chair large enough for him, he looked as if he might be about to start purring. ‘Now, Dr Salt, before I tell you what we’ve done, I wish you’d repeat, word for word, what you said about Noreen Wilks when I called earlier. D’you mind?’

‘Not at all. I told you I’m certain now that Noreen Wilks never left Birkden, that she’s dead and that her death was no accident.’

‘Thank you, Doctor. That’s what I thought you said. You’ve been making your inquiries, I suppose, and they’ve brought you to that conclusion – eh? And a very serious conclusion, I think you’d agree – eh?’

‘Of course. And I hope you’d like me to explain how I arrived at it.’

‘Not till you’ve heard the result of our inquiries. Because we haven’t been idle, you know, Dr Salt. You’ll remember I promised on Tuesday morning we’d start making inquiries. These included informing all the police in our area, borough and county, that the girl was missing. Now – do you happen to know Comdon Bridge?’

‘I know roughly where it is, that’s all.’

‘Quite so. Between here and Birmingham – and nearer Birmingham. Oldish town but all industrial – dozens of small metal works. By the way, do you want Miss Culworth and her brother to hear all this?’

‘Yes, if you don’t mind, Superintendent. They’re related to Noreen Wilks.’

‘Oh – well – they’ll be glad to hear what I have to say.’ He twinkled round at Maggie and Alan. ‘You must have been down in the dumps listening to what Dr Salt had to tell you. And I did warn him against trying any amateur detective work. He probably reads too many of these detective storybooks. Eh – Dr Salt?’

‘I read very few.’ Dr Salt looked at him steadily. ‘But what’s happened at Comdon Bridge – to make you feel so delighted with yourself?’

‘Well,’ Hurst began, pulling out and opening a notebook. ‘It’s where Noreen Wilks went on the morning of September 13th. She stayed there a couple of weeks and then left for London. And it’s just about what I told you she’d do, when we were talking on Tuesday morning. Another of these little fly-by-nights, I said to you. Remember?’

‘Certainly. And I said you were wrong. I still think you’re wrong.’

‘And I don’t think, I know you’re wrong, Doctor. She did leave Birkden and she isn’t dead. And we’re not guessing. We have evidence.’ He looked at his notebook. ‘She stayed about ten days with a Mrs Duffy at 86 Gladstone Street, Comdon Bridge. And then she went to London. Mrs Duffy says so. Her daughter, Rose, says so. And her brother, Michael Corrigan, says so. And I’ve had all this, over the phone, from a Sergeant Driver, who’s interviewed all three of ’em. So there you are, Dr Salt.’

Maggie noticed Alan giving her an I-told-you-so look, making her feel almost sorry that the wretched Noreen Wilks, though now apparently her stepsister, was still alive. But though Dr Salt ought to have been feeling crushed – and the superintendent’s manner was meant to be crushing – quite clearly he wasn’t.

‘I’m sorry, Superintendent, but I don’t believe it—’

‘Calling me a liar?’

‘No, of course not. Neither you nor the Comdon Bridge sergeant. It’s those three in Gladstone Street I don’t believe. How did they come to volunteer this information? The Comdon Bridge police can’t have been advertising Noreen’s disappearance. They can’t have been calling at every house asking about her. So – what happened?’

‘That’s a fair enough doubt, coming from a member of the public, Doctor. But, you see, as soon as we’ve put out an inquiry of this sort – especially if it concerns a young girl – it soon gets around. You don’t need any advertising or house-to-house calls. The men on their beats say something, perhaps ask a question or two, and then all the nosey parkers and gossips know about it. I’ve known it happen dozens of times. So don’t think there’s anything suspicious about this lot coming up with their information.’

‘Well, I’ll believe them after I’ve talked to them – and not before.’

‘My word – but you’re obstinate, Dr Salt. If you think she’s dead, nobody can tell you she’s alive—’

‘Something in that,’ Alan murmured.

Dr Salt ignored him. ‘Now look, Superintendent. I’ve not set myself up as an investigator, and I’m not enjoying this Noreen Wilks business. I want to end it and go away.’ He waited for a moment but still looked at Hurst, large and complacent, half smiling. ‘Do me a favour, Superintendent. No – two favours. For your own sake as well as mine. I want to talk to those people now – as soon as I can – so will you please ring up Comdon Bridge, see if this Sergeant Driver is still on duty, and ask him to take me to call on those three? Next – I don’t know what you’re doing tonight—’

‘One doubtful case of receiving – and a breaking-and-entering. Why?’

‘Because when I come back from Comdon Bridge, I’d like to ring you and ask you to come round here for a talk. But of course I’ll only do that if I’m sure those people have been lying. Because that will mean I’ve something very serious to say to you. But if they’ve been telling the truth – and Noreen Wilks really was there – I’ll let you know at once, over the phone, that I’ve been wrong all the time. If I haven’t been, then you come here as soon as you can – and listen to me. Two favours, please.’

Hurst hesitated a moment, then nodded and lumbered across to the telephone. ‘Comdon Bridge? Superintendent Hurst here, Birkden Police. Is Sergeant Driver there?’ There was a wait. ‘Sergeant Driver? There’s a Dr Salt here. That Noreen Wilks was his patient, so he wants to ask your three witnesses a few questions about her. I’d be obliged if you’d take him to see them. Good! He’ll be with you as soon as he can. Take him – what? – about forty minutes? Right you are, then.’ He left the telephone to move towards the door, but he turned before he opened it. ‘I think you’re wasting your time, Dr Salt. But I’ll be hearing from you later. ’Night – all!’

Alan was on his feet by the time the superintendent had left. ‘Jill insisted on giving me dinner tonight,’ he began.

‘Oh – cooking for you already, is she?’ said Maggie. ‘That usually comes a bit later, but of course you two are exceptionally fast workers—’

‘Shut up, Mag.’ He looked at Dr Salt. ‘If my father’s asleep, there’s no point in my disturbing him. He’s all right, isn’t he? You’re not worried about him?’

‘Not now – no. He can probably go home tomorrow. But he’ll have to take care of himself. Off you go, Alan.’

‘Well, I may be looking in later—’

‘Won’t you be too busy?’ Maggie inquired with mock sweetness.

‘Drop it – for God’s sake! I’m off, then.’ But he hesitated, ignoring Maggie now. ‘Doesn’t it look as if all this fuss about Noreen Wilks—’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Dr Salt cut in sharply. ‘Not yet. I’ll tell you later, if and when you come back.’ After Alan had mumbled something on his way out, Dr Salt went closer to Maggie, who wondered what he was going to do. But he merely put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Maggie, I want you to come with me. I need a witness. I’m afraid it means no dinner for a long time—’

‘I don’t care about that,’ Maggie told him rather breathlessly. ‘But what about my father?’

‘We’ll make sure he’s asleep. And he’ll be all right. After all, he’s a grown man. Too old to need a baby-sitter. Too young to want a night nurse.’

‘Very witty, Dr Salt. But suppose that man Russ and his horrible chums came back?’

‘Even if they did, they’re not interested in your father. And this time I’ll lock the door. And anyhow, they won’t come back. You go and take a peep at your father while I telephone our friend Buzzy.’

Maggie found that Dr Salt had already drawn the curtains in the room where her father was sleeping, and had switched on a heavily shaded standard lamp, well away from the bed. He must have done this, she realized, when the room was still in broad daylight, so that her father ran less risk of being disturbed. She crept to the bedside and stayed there several minutes, staring down at her father, who was sleeping peacefully. After telling herself that already he was looking much better, though in fact she could not see him very clearly, she began to wonder about him and that little secret life he had had, but more in compassion than in curiosity, and in the end she began to feel sad about him, about herself, about everybody. Was the best part of us – without doing anything wrong – for ever sentenced to solitary confinement? She longed to talk about this to Dr Salt, but could see little chance of doing so; he hated talking when he was driving, and, anyhow, he would be working away at this Noreen Wilks puzzle. But even if he were making a fool of himself about Noreen Wilks, being too clever and elaborate while the police were simply being sensible and realistic, he had found her father, and her father had immediately trusted him.

When she rejoined Dr Salt, he had just finished telephoning. ‘Buzzy says that his boys have just seen off Russ. This sounds more sinister than it is. They haven’t done anything to him – except to describe what they would do if he refused to go. We shan’t see Russ again. Buzzy says he was being paid, to frighten me out of Birkden, by Aricson. Buzzy also sends his respects to you. I believe he thinks you’re living here.’

‘And did you tell him I wasn’t?’

‘There wasn’t time. I let it ride. Let’s go, Maggie.’

4

‘No talk, I suppose?’ said Maggie when they were in the car.

‘Not much, if you don’t mind, Maggie,’ he told her. ‘I want to get to Comdon Bridge as soon as I can, and there may still be a lot of heavy traffic on the road. Why – something on your mind?’

‘Just a kind of large, vague sadness hanging over me.’

‘Your father’s secret – his loneliness – your loneliness – all our lonelinesses – the human condition – um? Fair enough, but don’t bother with it, not now. Ask yourself if I’m such a chump as Superintendent Hurst and your brother are telling themselves I am. But don’t give me the answer. No more talk, I’m afraid.’

Maggie tried to think about this Noreen Wilks puzzle, but soon gave it up. Cars soon flashed and screamed at them. Lorries, looking gigantic in the dusk, lumbered past them or remained maddeningly in their way. Maggie had that feeling she often had when she was being driven, especially at this time of day, along a main road – as if everybody were fleeing in a panic, trying to escape from the threat of some appalling catastrophe, as if our whole civilization were really quite mad. And she had a great longing, which rather alarmed her, just to touch this man sitting beside her who, whatever anybody might say, was sane and real and so ready to be helpful, so quick to understand.

At the police station, she waited in the car while Dr Salt went to find the sergeant. They were talking as they approached the car. ‘All I ask,’ Dr Salt was saying, ‘is that you let me do it my way. However I look and behave, whatever I say, just let it pass, without any interruptions – um? Oh – Miss Culworth – Sergeant Driver. You can direct me from the back seat, Sergeant. And don’t sit on that old bag of mine.’

‘Not going to take their temperatures or listen to their hearts, are you, Dr Salt?’ the sergeant inquired humorously as he got in.

‘I hope not. But I never go very far without my bag. I never know when it might be wanted.’

‘Quite right, Doctor. And once we’re there, I’ll let you play it your way. I think we’ll find ’em in, because they’ve just bought themselves a new telly.’

‘They have, have they? Well, well, well!’ Dr Salt started the car.

‘Go straight on till you come to the lights,’ said the sergeant, who was a heavy, middle-aged man with a lot of chin and hardly any nose, which perhaps explained why he seemed to have some difficulty in breathing. ‘Then make a left turn and carry on till I tell you to make another turn – straight into Gladstone Street.’

Comdon Bridge was the kind of smallish industrial town – and there were lots of them in the Midlands – that Maggie could never imagine herself enduring. It was like the nastier part of a city from which there was no escape to any better part. The shopping street they were in now offered a panorama of illuminated rubbish. Gladstone Street looked exactly like Birkden’s Olton Street, where Mrs Pearson lived – and once, of course, Noreen Wilks.

‘This is it, Doctor – Number 86. End house.’ As they got out of the car, Sergeant Driver continued: ‘They’re in all right. You can hear the telly. Now I’ll go first, then explain who you are – and then leave it to you. Right?’

They were not enthusiastically welcomed. ‘Oh – not again, Sarge, not again!’ a man shouted above the noise of the sheriff’s posse firing at the rustler. ‘We’re trying to enjoy ourselves – just for once, just for once.’

The three of them had been looking at their new television set, which was on top of a chest of drawers, all seated at a small table on which were several bottles of beer and stout and the smelly remains of a chips-and-fish supper. All three of them looked hot and greasy, but while Mrs Duffy and her daughter Rose were not merely plump but fat, Mr Corrigan was thin and had an angry inflamed face. Sergeant Driver, once he had had the television switched off, said to them: ‘We shan’t keep you long. But this is Dr Salt – and his – er – secretary – Miss Culworth, and as Noreen Wilks was a patient of Dr Salt’s, he just wants to ask you a few questions.’ All three, sitting round the table again and leaving their visitors standing, nodded solemnly and looked important.

Even before he spoke, Maggie realized that Dr Salt was going into his hopeful simpleton act again, offering them the same apologetic smile that she hadn’t seen since their visit to the Fabrics Club. ‘I’m very sorry to bother you – some of these Western serials are very good, aren’t they? – take you right out of yourself, don’t they? – but, strictly for medical reasons, I must ask you a question or two about Noreen Wilks. That’s not unreasonable, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Mrs Duffy, who looked rather like an enormous parrot. ‘Quite all right, Doctor—’

‘Quite all right,’ said Mr Corrigan, who still looked angry but contrived to sound polite but important, as if he might be a doctor himself. ‘And not unreasonable – no, no, not at all.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Duffy, Mr Corrigan. You see, Noreen had been a patient of mine for several years. She even insisted upon giving me a photograph of herself – and signing it too, like a film star, but not quite so grand, of course. You see – Yours Gratefully, Noreen. Unusual, but very nice of her, I thought.’ And, to Maggie’s surprise, he handed over a postcard-size photograph.

‘Nice – very nice,’ said Mr Corrigan, after looking at it and then passing it to Mrs Duffy. ‘And the spit image, I’d say – the spit image.’

‘No,’ said Mrs Duffy, who now shared it with Rose. ‘It’s a nice photo – but doesn’t do her justice. Does it, Rose?’

‘You need colour for Noreen,’ said Rose, shaking her head so that her fat cheeks wobbled. ‘I’d know it was her, of course, but she ought to be in colour. Don’t you think so, Uncle Mike?’

Uncle Mike wasn’t sure. Colour or no colour, it remained a spit image.

‘I agree with you, Mr Corrigan,’ said Dr Salt, smiling and holding out his hand for the photograph. ‘By the way, Mrs Duffy, what made Noreen come here?’

‘I can explain that right off. She wanted to get out of Birkden. And she knew me because me and her mother worked side by side for years at United Fabrics. I lived in Birkden then, of course. And if there’s anything else you’d like to ask, Doctor, don’t hesitate. I know Noreen thought the world of you.’

‘There’s just this,’ said Dr Salt apologetically. ‘She was having some medicine from me that I told her she must take, without fail, night and morning. It wasn’t pleasant to take – and you might have noticed it because it was a very unusual dark green colour – horrible-looking stuff, I’m afraid. But I’d like to think she was taking it regularly.’

‘Like clockwork,’ said Mrs Duffy. ‘She kept it down here specially so we’d notice if she missed a dose. You remember that nasty green stuff, Rose, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. The faces she pulled!’ cried Rose. ‘And when I asked her why she bothered with it, she said she’d promised her doctor—’

‘That’s right, quite right,’ said Mr Corrigan. ‘She said that even if she was running off, she was going to carry out Dr Salt’s instructions—’

‘Oh – it was Dr Salt this, Dr Salt that – till I felt like telling her to shut up sometimes.’ This was Mrs Duffy again, all nods and smiles. ‘But the time she was here, before she went to London, she must have got through a whole bottle of that nasty green medicine – poor girl. But I suppose it was doing her some good. She always said it was.’

‘If she said it to me once,’ Rose put in, ‘she said it a dozen times.’

Dr Salt turned to Sergeant Driver, and Maggie knew at once that the simpleton act was over. ‘I see no point in going on with this, Sergeant. There never was any such medicine. And the photo­graph they recognized at once was of a niece of mine who lives in Melbourne. Noreen Wilks never came here. They’ve never set eyes on her—’

‘They’re all lying?’

‘Of course they are.’

‘How d’you mean we’re lying?’ cried Corrigan belligerently, jumping up.

‘You keep still and keep quiet,’ said Sergeant Driver. He turned to Dr Salt. ‘But if they are, what’s the idea?’

‘Money.’ And Dr Salt pointed to the television set. ‘A down payment on that came out of it.’

‘That’s a dirty lie,’ Mrs Duffy screamed. ‘Coming here and soft-soaping us—’

‘And I’m not keeping quiet,’ Mr Corrigan told the world, ‘when I’m called a liar—’

‘Corrigan, just listen to me,’ said Dr Salt in his sharpest tone. And he moved a little, and then Maggie felt his hand on her arm, as if to give her some kind of warning. But he didn’t look at her, only at Corrigan. ‘You’re in a hell of a pickle, Corrigan. I’m now looking after the man you coshed on Monday night, outside the old Worsley place.’ Maggie felt the pressure on her arm again, and now she understood it. ‘He happens to have a thin skull and a bad heart. He might live – and he might die. It’s touch and go, Corrigan—’

‘I didn’t hit him so hard. How did I know he’d go out like that?’

‘You bloody daft idiot!’ Mrs Duffy screeched at him. ‘Now you’ve done it.’

‘What is all this?’ Sergeant Driver inquired severely.

‘Honest to God, Sarge—’ began Corrigan.

‘Let’s go,’ Dr Salt cut in sharply. ‘I can’t waste any more time listening to these people. I must get back to Birkden. I’ll drop you at the station – and explain everything on the way. Come on, man, let’s go.’

‘Yes, go on, bugger off,’ cried Mrs Duffy, the stout-hearted member of the trio. ‘Call yourself a doctor – coming and deceiving innocent people like that!’ She may have enlarged on this topic, but they didn’t stay to listen.

‘I dislike talking while I’m driving, Sergeant,’ said Dr Salt when they were in the car. ‘So I’ll be as brief as I can. I’m not interested in those people, only in Noreen Wilks. If you want to charge them, you won’t get any help from me. They were bribed to tell that story. It hadn’t to stand up as evidence in court. It was just a delaying tactic. Corrigan was the link with the Birkden end. I’ll admit that was a lucky shot of mine, though it wasn’t just a wild guess.’ He concentrated now on his driving; they were out of Gladstone Street and in the traffic again. Then he had to wait for a green light.

‘Corrigan had been employed as a caretaker-cum-watchman by United Fabrics. On Monday night he knocked a man out. He was probably afraid to stay, and, anyhow, was taken off the job. Somebody – and I think I know who it was – paid him to concoct that story about Noreen Wilks with his sister and niece. Noreen Wilks is dead, probably murdered.’

‘That’s nothing to do with us, Dr Salt,’ said Driver hastily. ‘You’ll have to take that up with Superintendent Hurst of the Birkden Police.’

‘I know that,’ Dr Salt told him, and then said no more until they were back at the police station. ‘All I ask you to do, Sergeant – and I think you owe it to me – is to phone Superintendent Hurst, tell him what happened, and remind him that he promised to come and listen to me if that story was proved to be false.’

‘Well, I can do that,’ said the sergeant rather dubiously. ‘But what kind of report I’m going to make out—’

‘Don’t make any report out. Forget it. Comdon Bridge is now out of the picture. It’s all bonny Birkden. Leave it to Hurst – and to me—’

‘Well, Doctor, I suppose you know what you’re doing—’

‘Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. But thank you very much, Sergeant Driver. Sorry to bustle you like this, but I’m in a hurry.’

And he was in a hurry all the way back to his flat. Which meant that he never spoke a word and Maggie was left to her own thoughts, which she found very confusing indeed: almost as if she were going at a mile a minute round and round a maze.