My Name is Michael Sibley (24 page)

At midnight I switched the light out and lay on my bed fully clothed. At one o’clock I judged that if I was under observation it would be assumed that I had retired to bed for the night. I let myself out of the house at one fifteen, and walked quickly up Harrington Gardens to South Kensington and the litter basket.

When I examined the litter basket and found the knuckleduster no longer on top of the litter, I rummaged hurriedly among the old paper bags, orange peel, and used cardboard cartons. I did not give a thought to the unsavoury nature of the stuff I was turning over with my hands. I felt certain that my knuckleduster must be there somewhere.

I delved right to the bottom of the rubbish, and when I still could not find it I stood looking at the litter basket in despair. I walked home. It was always possible that some tramp had removed the knuckleduster, I told myself. But I knew it was not true. I knew the police found it, and that they had found it because they had been following me.

I was puzzled as well as dismayed. I did not then know that there is more than one way of following a man. When you are being followed, your shadower is not necessarily right behind you on the pavement. He may be ahead of you, anticipating the direction you will take. He may also be on the other side of the road. He may not even be alone. He may have a colleague with him. One of them may be ahead of you and one behind you, but on the opposite side of the road. There are all sorts of combinations.

It is no good just looking behind you, if you think you are being followed. No good at all. But I didn’t know it at that time.

I
am no longer surprised when I read that some prisoner in the witness box has made an extraordinary statement describing some wholly improbable act which he says he did in a state of panic. I may feel certain that neither judge nor jury will believe him, but, failing irrefutable evidence to the contrary, I am quite prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt; because I myself now understand how foolishly an innocent man may act when he begins to lose his head.

For instance, there I was the following day at 8:30 a.m. sitting in the train to Palesby. It is almost impossible for anybody who has not been subjected to a similar strain to understand how the action of the mind, in revolving the same thoughts over and over again, can create panic, much as a dynamo creates electricity, and plunge him into action such as that which I was taking.

I knew now that I was under observation by the police. The case which was being built up against me was straightforward and easy to understand. I had failed to disclose my last visit to Ockleton until the admission was forced out of me, though I had had ample opportunity to do so. There was reason to believe that my fiancée had spent an evening with Prosset, and that Prosset and I had quarrelled. One of my suits had disappeared. I was now known to have had a knuckleduster in my possession. What if it could be shown that, so far from being friendlily disposed towards Prosset, as I had said, I had hated him for years? There was only one person who could tell the police about that. I knew that I would have no rest until I found out, first, whether Cynthia had remembered my words about Prosset, and, second, whether she had been questioned by the police. I also had some scheme in my mind whereby I might make my peace with Cynthia. I thought that, if I could find some delicate opportunity of doing so, I could perhaps make use of the chequebook in my pocket. But that would depend upon various things.

It was, of course, a fantastic and ridiculous, even dangerous undertaking. I should have just sat back and let events take their course. But I didn’t, because I couldn’t. In the face of what seemed to be a growing menace, it was impossible to remain inactive. I sometimes think the police may well allow a suspect to know that he is under suspicion for the express purpose of trying to panic him into some injudicious act.

I left my lodgings at 6 a.m. I guessed that nobody would be watching at that hour, a guess which subsequently proved to be correct. I left a note in my room, telling Ethel that I had had to go out early on a job for the paper. At St. Pancras I gave a porter a good tip to send off two telegrams: one to Baines at the office saying I would not be in owing to family trouble, and one to Kate saying that I had been sent to the country on a job and would be back the following day. I had thought out my plan of action thoroughly.

It was important that no member of the
Palesby Gazette
staff should see me, because Baines in London knew that I had no relatives in Palesby, and he might well be on the telephone to the
Gazette
office in the course of the day. I had therefore put on a suit which I had bought since coming to London, and was wearing a raincoat. If I kept my hat pulled down over my face and took a taxi at the station, and sat well back in the car with my handkerchief to my face, as though I had toothache, I considered I had a reasonable chance of not being seen as I drove through the streets.

If all went well, I could get Cynthia to keep quiet about my visit, too. Once again, looking back on it all, I am staggered at my optimism. It was inevitable, of course, that I should come to disaster.

The main worry I had as the train drew into Palesby was whether Cynthia would see me at all. I had rehearsed carefully what I should say, and on arrival I hurried into a telephone booth which I remembered was situated in a rather remote corner of the station. I had to look up her telephone number; it was strange that I had forgotten it in so short a time.

It was 2:15 p.m. when I telephoned, and I guessed she would be back from lunch. When the operator answered I said, “May I speak to Miss Harrison, please?”

I adopted a deeper tone of voice than usual, and hoped the operator would not listen to our talk.

“Who wants her?” asked the operator. I recognized her voice. I could even visualize where she was sitting in the office. She was a ginger-haired girl with a rather blotchy complexion who spent most of her time knitting.

“Just say it is a personal call.”

I heard her put me through, and Cynthia’s hard, brisk little voice came on the line.

“Hello?” she said. I remained quiet.

“Hello?” she repeated. “Cynthia Harrison here.”

I purposely allowed her to speak three times, reckoning that if the ginger-haired girl was listening in she would probably interrupt with some remark. But the operator said nothing.

“This is Mike,” I said at last.

“Who?” She sounded incredulous.

“Mike. Mike Sibley.”

“Well, you’ve got a nerve, haven’t you, ringing me up? You can ring off. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Look, Cynthia, listen just a second. It’s important.”

“It may be important to you; it isn’t to me, I assure you. So you’d better hang up.”

I had a feeling she was going to ring off, though I might have known her curiosity would keep her listening.

“Don’t go,” I said quickly. “I want to see you, and it’s important for both of us.”

“You want to see me?”

“Yes, as soon as possible. This evening. Directly you leave the office.”

“I am not sure that I want to see you. Why should I see you, after the way you’ve treated me? You’ve got a nerve, I must say.”

“There’s something I must say to you and I’ve got to get back to London tonight. I came up specially to see you. Will you meet me in Central Park at six o’clock? By that bench where I first spoke to you?”

The sentimental touch undoubtedly meant nothing to her, but I knew by then that she would see me, if only out of a desire to tell me face to face what she thought of me. However, she owed it to her dignity still to hesitate.

“As far as I am concerned, you can go back to London again, and this minute, too.”

“It’s really important.”

She paused for some seconds. “All right, then. I’ll see you for exactly two minutes. You can say what you have to say in that time or not at all. Then you can clear off.” She banged the receiver down.

So far so good. I went into the Station Hotel, said I wanted to have a few hours’ sleep, and booked a room. I felt sure I would be unseen in the hotel. I asked them to call me at 5:30 p.m., took off my raincoat and jacket, and lay on the bed under the eiderdown. Although I had had literally no sleep the previous night, I thought I might stay awake brooding and worrying, but nature was too strong. In about ten minutes I was sound asleep.

When they woke me up I felt awful. But I have always found that when you are tired even an hour’s sleep works wonders. Although you feel dreadful when you wake up, after a wash you notice the benefit of the rest. I went downstairs, paid the bill, and hired one of the taxis which always wait opposite the hotel. I told the driver to go to the main gates of Central Park.

It was strange passing all the familiar landmarks which I had known so well, and to feel at the same time like a fugitive in the town. I saw one of the office boys coming out of the
Gazette
offices as we drove by, and I remembered helping him with his shorthand outlines a few times; he was an ambitious kid and hoped one day to be a reporter. He waited to cross the road until my taxi had passed and I turned my head away as we drove by. I looked out of the rear window, but he was making his way nonchalantly over the road and had noticed nothing. I envied him his carefree life. I think at that moment I would willingly have exchanged my income for his and started afresh. I would have given it all up, salary, income, and even Kate, too, at that moment. It was a case of Sibley first, last, and all the time; a badly frightened, unheroic man who would have put his foot in the face of anybody swimming around, if it would have helped him to scramble on to some raft.

When we arrived at Central Park I told the driver to wait. I said I might be as long as half an hour or more, and that I would pay him waiting time and generally make it worth his while.

I walked quickly through the park until I came to the bench, but I need not have hurried. She was ten minutes late. As she always left the office precisely at 5:30, and as the park was only a penny-halfpenny tram ride from the office, I assumed she was late on purpose. I watched her walk towards the bench where I sat, and noted she was wearing, by coincidence, the same dark blue coat which she had worn when I first met her. She walked briskly, as usual, a paper carrierbag in one hand and a pair of gloves in the other. She looked what she was, attractive, competent and self-reliant; a very different picture from Kate, who, despite her recent improvements, usually managed to look somewhat disordered, who walked at a slow, easy pace, her eyes often on the ground as though she were deep in thought.

I got up as Cynthia approached and held out my hand.

“Hello,” I said. She ignored my hand and sat down on the bench.

“Well, what is it? I’m in a hurry.” She did not look in my direction as she spoke, but stared straight ahead.

“You’re wearing the same coat and skirt as you wore when I first met you.”

“Well, what of it? I’m allowed to, aren’t I?”

“Cynthia,” I said. “I want to ask you to forgive me for the way I’ve acted towards you.”

She turned towards me and looked me up and down coldly.

“You didn’t come all the way up here to tell me that, Michael Sibley. I know you better than that. You haven’t got the guts. Nor the decency.”

I had steeled myself to receive a reception of this kind.

“I realize now that I’ve been very silly, and that my stupidity has been the cause of my acting in a very unkind way.”

“It’s a bit late to discover that.”

“You see, you were the first girl who showed any real affection for me.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“A great deal.”

“I thought you were what they call a gentleman,” she said in a detached kind of voice. “Perhaps you are. Perhaps all you snobs are the same underneath. Selfish, rotten, ruthless. I’m sorry I didn’t find it out before, that’s all.”

For the first time her voice shook slightly. She stopped for two or three seconds, then went on again in the cold, impersonal tones she had used previously.

“I’m not good enough for you, I suppose. But you didn’t think that while you were up here, did you? I was good enough to make love to, to go out with, to entertain you at our house, even if it isn’t much of a house. So long as it suited your convenience, that is. It wasn’t till you got back to London among all the other snobs that you saw it differently.”

It was the first time she had referred in any way to the social question. I was surprised, because I had never hitherto imagined that anyone could regard me as snobbish.

“Cynthia dear, that’s not true; that’s not being fair.”

She shook her head impatiently and looked at her wristwatch. “Isn’t it? So what? And don’t call me ‘dear.’” She got to her feet. “Well, if you’ve nothing more to say, I’m off.”

I put my hand on her arm to pull her down on to the seat again, saying, “Don’t go yet, Cynthia,” but she shook herself free.

“Anyway,” she said, “I should have thought you’d hardly have had the time to come dashing up here to apologize to me. I should have thought you would have been too busy helping the police to find out who killed your great friend, John Prosset. Your great friend!” she added sarcastically. She made as if to move off. I rose quickly to my feet and stood in her way.

“So you read about that?”

She gave a hard little laugh. “Read about it? I’ll say I read about it! And I’ve—Oh, well, what’s the use?”

“And you’ve what?” She made as if to step past me, but I blocked the way. “And you’ve what?” I asked again. “Listen, Cynthia, I’ve had you on my conscience so much, I came up here to see whether I could perhaps make some amends to you in some small way. You could have sued me for breach of promise, but you didn’t. I appreciate that. I do feel that I would like you to accept—”

“Money?” she asked.

“Well, yes, but I don’t want you to regard it in that light. If you accept, say £150, not as compensation, that would be an insult, but if you would regard it as a sort of penance which I am inflicting on myself to ease my—”

“Will you please get out of my way, Michael Sibley?”

She spoke with so much assurance that I would certainly have obeyed her had I not been feeling desperate. I went on standing in her path.

“No; I won’t. Anyway, not until you’ve told me what you were going to say just now.”

For the first time she showed real emotion. I saw her mouth tighten, her eyes half close. She looked suddenly much older than I had ever seen her look. Anger made her face shrewish, her voice shrill.

“All right,” she replied. “I was going to say—
and
I’ve been questioned by the police, thanks to you,
and
they came to our house to do it,
and
they drove up in a police car,
and
all the neighbours could see them!
And
the whole neighbourhood is gossiping about us; we, who have never had anything to do with the police in our whole lives! We, who have always been respectable! Right in daylight they drove up, in their damned great police car, with police written all over it, and parked it right opposite the door, so that everybody could see it. They came tramping in, and question, question, question—” Her voice broke. She began to sob with fury. I looked at her miserably.