Ask a Policeman. Агата Кристи
this. Then he glanced at the Commissioner. “Comstock’s visiting list is more varied than I imagined. Did you know that he and Hope-Fairweather were on speaking terms? No, of course you wouldn’t. You’re a policeman, not a politician. But it seems odd to me that the Chief Government Whip should have business with a man who devoted columns daily to denouncing the policy of that Government.”
“I might point out, sir, that he devoted fully as much space to denouncing the Faith of which the Archbishop of the Midlands is a distinguished champion,” replied the Commissioner meaningly.
“Yes, but the Chief Whip! I can’t think what Hope-Fairweather was about. The Prime Minister will ask him some very pertinent questions, I expect, when he hears of this.” Sir Philip turned sharply upon Mills. “How long had Comstock known Sir Charles Hope-Fairweather?” he asked.
“I—I was not aware that they were acquainted, sir,” replied Mills, with a return to his original awkward manner.
“You were not aware that they were acquainted?” repeated Sir Philip impressively. “Then you have no knowledge of any previous interview having taken place, or of correspondence having passed between them?”
“I have no knowledge of anything of the kind, sir. But Lord Comstock may have met Sir Charles Hope-Fairweather socially.”
“I should be very much surprised to hear that the two had ever met in public,” remarked Sir Philip. “However, Hope-Fairweather himself can enlighten us on that point.”
He picked up the telephone on his desk, and spoke to his private secretary. “That you, Anderson? Ring up the Whips’ Office, and get hold of Hope-Fairweather, will you? Give him my compliments and ask him if he can make it convenient to come and see me in half an hour from now. Thanks.”
Sir Philip pushed the instrument aside, and turned once more to Mills. “Comstock being still engaged upon theological discussion with the Archbishop, how did you dispose of this second visitor?” he asked.
“Farrant had told me that Sir Charles Hope-Fairweather was in the hall, sir. I went there, and found him waiting impatiently. He had not taken off a light coat that he was wearing, and he had a pair of driving gloves on his hands. He told me that he had driven from London in a great hurry, and that he positively must see Lord Comstock on the most urgent business.
“I explained to him that Lord Comstock was extremely busy, and had given most definite instructions that he could see nobody. But Sir Charles refused to accept my statement. He insisted, very excitedly, that I should inform Lord Comstock of his visit. When I hesitated, he threatened to walk in and announce himself.”
“He knew his way about the house, then?” asked Sir Philip sharply.
“I think not, sir. But from the hall there was no doubt which room Lord Comstock occupied, since his voice was clearly audible. In order to save any unpleasantness, sir, I promised to inform Lord Comstock as soon as he was disengaged. Meanwhile, I asked Sir Charles to come into the waiting-room, which is a small room opening into my office.”
Sir Philip glanced at the plan. “You mean the room with one door opening into the office and another into the hall?”
“Yes, sir. I then went into my office, shutting the door between the two rooms. I could still hear Lord Comstock’s voice faintly through the wall, so that I knew that His Grace could not have left. After a few minutes it occurred to me that I had better tell Farrant to admit nobody else to the house. I was afraid that Lord Comstock might resort to violence if his orders were further disobeyed. I therefore went into the hall for this purpose. There, to my astonishment, I found Sir Charles Hope-Fairweather.”
“Unable to resist the temptation to listen to the highly-edifying conversation between Comstock and the Archbishop, perhaps?” suggested Sir Philip.
“I don’t know, I’m sure, sir. Before I could say anything, Sir Charles told me that he had just come out of the waiting-room because he wanted to take a message to his car that he might be kept longer than he had expected. I said that I would see that the message was conveyed, and waited till I saw Sir Charles re-enter the waiting-room.
“I then went to the front door, and looked out into the drive, expecting to see Sir Charles’ chauffeur with the car. But there was no car in sight. I did not like to be absent from my office too long, in case Lord Comstock should summon me. I therefore came back into the hall, intending to call Farrant, and give him the message to the chauffeur and instruct him as to refusing admission to any further visitors. But at that very moment a car drove up; I imagined that it must be Sir Charles’ car. But the driver got out and confronted me, and I saw at once that he was not a chauffeur.”
“What, a third visitor!” exclaimed Sir Philip incredulously. “I begin to have some sympathy with Comstock. It is outrageous that a man’s privacy should be invaded like this. And who was it, this time?”
Mills’ eyes wandered furtively from the Home Secretary to the Commissioner. “It was the Assistant Commissioner of Police, Mr. Littleton, sir,” he replied.
Sir Philip’s busy pencil stopped abruptly. The atmosphere of the room suddenly became tense as though a threat of thunder had overshadowed the bright afternoon. For several moments there was silence, and then the Home Secretary spoke in a curiously quieter tone. “You knew this, Hampton,” he said, as though stating a very ordinary fact.
“Far from knowing it for certain, sir, I had only heard a suggestion that Littleton might have gone to Hursley Lodge,” replied the Commissioner, firmly enough, with a glance in the direction of Chief Constable Shawford.
Sir Philip seemed to divine the direction of that glance, though he did not appear to intercept it. “Perhaps Littleton confided his intention to one of his subordinates,” he said icily.
There was a pause before Shawford summoned up the courage to speak. He was conscious that the Commissioner’s eye was upon him, and, between that and the awe which he felt in the august presence of the Home Secretary, his manner was deplorably nervous.
“The Assistant Commissioner was speaking to me first thing this morning, sir,” he said. “He was talking about the Little Cadbury case. I mean, sir, about the crime expert of the Daily Bugle. He was very heated about it, sir, and said it was intolerable.”
Sir Philip looked up blandly. “Intolerable? Of course it is intolerable that a poor girl should be murdered in a lonely wood, and that her assailant should escape from justice.”
“It is, indeed, sir,” agreed Shawford, positively squirming in his chair. “But that isn’t exactly what the Assistant Commissioner meant at the moment, sir. His meaning, so far as I could follow it, was that it was intolerable that the Yard should be dictated to by irresponsible journalists.”
“He had evidently taken Comstock’s criticisms to heart. Well?”
The sharp monosyllable increased Shawford’s distress. “I can’t say for certain what happened, sir. But the Assistant Commissioner went on to say that it would have to be stopped. He said that if the Government hadn’t got the pluck to stand up to Lord Comstock, he had a very good mind to go and have a few words with him himself. And as I left the room he rang for his car to be sent round, sir. He didn’t tell me where he was going.”
“He may have thought that he had said enough for you to infer that for yourself,” remarked Sir Philip sardonically. “Why those in charge of Departments should habitually attempt to mystify me upon matters within their jurisdiction has always been an insoluble puzzle to me.”
“I had no intention—” began the Commissioner sharply, but Sir Philip silenced him with a gesture. “Later, Hampton, later,” he said. “Mr. Mills has not yet completed his story. You hardly expected a visit from the Assistant Commissioner, I suppose, Mr. Mills?”
“For a moment, sir, I was quite at a loss. I endeavoured to explain to Mr. Littleton that Lord Comstock already had two visitors, and could not possibly receive any more. But he refused to listen to me, sir. He deliberately pushed past me into the hall, saying that