The Lodger (35 page)

‘Mrs Carter?' said Inspector Greaves.

‘Yes?'

‘I'm Inspector Greaves of Scotland Yard. This is Detective-Sergeant Arnold.' The Inspector produced his card. ‘Have you got five minutes to spare?'

‘Yes, if you like,' said Emma wryly. Sergeant Chamberlain, the silly man, had persuaded his superior to come round and buttonhole her. That hadn't been the idea at all. ‘Please come in.'

The men from the Yard entered. The Inspector got down to business at once. Emma found him quite different from Nicholas. His gravelly voice went with his burliness. He was a rough diamond of a policeman. He referred her to her experience on Friday night, reminding her she had not been able to describe the man in any real detail. Was that because she had been in shock?

‘I wasn't in shock, Inspector, I remembered everything very clearly.'

He pointed out there were several street lamps between the top of Browning Street and her house midway down King and Queen Street.

‘Several?' said Emma. ‘One on the corner of Colworth Grove, and one on the corner of King and Queen Street. One and one are two, aren't they?'

‘Two, then,' said the Inspector, a no-nonsense arm of the law. ‘I'm accordingly suggestin' you had two chances to get a good look at him.'

‘Oh, but when one suspects one is being followed by a very questionable character, one is too alarmed to act logically, especially when one is only a weak woman.' Knowing much of Emma by now, Nicholas would have recognized this for what it was, a dart of feminine whimsy. The Inspector merely regarded her as if he was still making up his mind about her. ‘On the occasions I did look back he was very indistinct.'

The Inspector nevertheless put it to her that she might have collected a clearer picture than she realized. Might he be bold enough to suggest her memory could be jogged now she was out of a state of shock? According to Sergeant Chamberlain the man was quite close to her when she opened her front door.

‘True,' said Emma.

‘Well, then, can you put your thinkin' cap on, Mrs Carter?'

‘It's on,' said Emma, ‘and I can tell you what I told Sergeant Chamberlain, that the man was fairly tall, that he wore a cap and was muffled up.'

‘Scarf?' enquired the Inspector.

‘Could have been.'

‘Scarf, scarf.' The Inspector mused like a well-fed bulldog over a bone. ‘Woollen?'

‘I really can't say.'

‘Costermongers wear woollen scarves,' said Detective-Sergeant Arnold.

‘His cap,' said the Inspector. ‘Cloth cap? Tweed cap? Peaked cap?'

‘Flat cap,' said Emma.

‘Costermongers wear flat caps,' said Detective-Sergeant Arnold.

‘I put it to you, Mrs Carter,' said the Inspector, ‘there's a street lamp not far from your door. Near enough, you might say, to give you a bit of light.'

‘How near is forty yards?' asked Emma, showing nothing of her exasperation.

Inspector Greaves persisted, taking her through the incident from the beginning. Emma repeated all she had said to Nicholas, including the fact that she had suggested the man was not following her in a strict sense, but simply going to his own home.

‘Said suggestion was in Sergeant Chamberlain's report, Mrs Carter.'

‘And I've just thought of something else,' she said. ‘If the man was following me with foul intent on his mind, he'd have had plenty of time to catch me up well before I reached home, especially as there was no-one about. But as he didn't, that could mean he really was simply going to his own home.'

‘Can't be sure, can we?' said the Inspector. ‘I'm partial to facts, and the fact was he had nearly caught you up by the time you opened your door.' But there was a glint of approval in his eyes. He was beginning to respect Emma's intelligence, as well as her demeanour. ‘I'll accordingly get the newspapers to print an account of said incident. We want that man to come forward and clear 'imself.'

‘Oh, bother that,' said Emma, vexed, ‘I really don't want my name in any papers, Inspector.'

‘I can inform you it won't be,' he said.

‘I'd rather you gave the man the benefit of the doubt,' said Emma.

‘Can't be done, Mrs Carter.'

‘Bother,' said Emma again, and made a mental note to give Sergeant Chamberlain a piece of her mind.

The account appeared in the following day's papers, with a request for the man in question to come forward and help the police with their enquiries. It created a buzz of alarm among the residents of King and Queen Street, and a heated curiosity as to which woman it was who had been followed.

Emma felt very cross.

‘So you're back,' said Bobby to his father, who had been out when he should have been in. That was often the way.

‘Yes, it's me, son,' said the wiry, wily Mr Reeves.

‘Lofty Short's just been an' gone,' said Bobby sternly.

‘Lofty?' Mr Reeves looked alarmed. ‘What for, to give me an 'eart attack?'

‘He said you were expectin' him.'

‘Me?' said Mr Reeves in protest. ‘I've given up expectin' Lofty, and it ain't safe to invite 'im to call, neither. 'E's bad for me 'ealth Bobby, 'e's just done a Norwood job.'

‘He'll get nicked,' said Bobby, ‘and when the coppers can't find the swag, they'll be round here to look for it an' to nick you. He's dumped it on you, Dad. He said you owed 'im a favour.'

‘Me? I don't owe Lofty nothing except the wrong end of a barge pole.'

‘He said you did. That's why he left the swag.'

‘Bleedin' O'Reilly,' said Mr Reeves. His eyes, like bright buttons, swivelled about. ‘'E'll get me jugged, me that ain't injured the law since I dunno when, an' then it was 'ighly circumstantial. Bobby, yer dozy ‘a'porth, why'd yer let him plonk the stuff?'

‘Best thing, that's why,' said Bobby. ‘Now you've got a chance to do yerself and your fam'ly a good turn. Otherwise, we'll all disown yer.'

‘'Ere, 'ere, you startin' to run my life for me?' demanded Mr Reeves. ‘And what d'you mean, disown me?'

‘Bolt the door on you,' said Bobby. ‘Listen, the swag's on the larder floor. Get it an' take it to the police station. They know you've done receivin', Dad, even if they've never nabbed you, except that time when Mr Bradshaw 'elped to get you off light. Go on, take that stuff to the police station, tell 'em you found it dumped at the door of the flat, that someone expected you to take care of it, but that you're turnin' it in on account of goin' straight.'

‘Eh?' said Mr Reeves.

‘You 'eard,' said Bobby. ‘They can't nick you if you turn the stuff in, and you don't have to name names.'

‘Don't 'ave to? Course I don't. Nor won't, son. I ain't goin' to be sent to me grave as a coppers' nark. That won't get me to 'eaven. I got some rights as a Christian, yer know. Look, you ain't old enough yet to take these kind of liberties – '

‘I'm old enough, and an inch taller than you,' said Bobby, ‘so that's what you're goin' to do, deliver the swag to the police station. There's a reward, anyway. Said so in the paper this mornin'.'

‘Eh?' Mr Reeves perked up. ‘Reward? No, I couldn't do that, Bobby, it's dead against me principles. 'Ow much reward?'

‘Fifty quid,' said Bobby.

‘Fifty quid?' said Mr Reeves. ‘That's arm-twistin', if yer like. It's bleedin' unscrupulous.'

‘I'm writin' Lofty Short a letter,' said Bobby, ‘I'm tellin' him I turned the loot in myself on account of fam'ly principles, that I did it before you got 'ome. So that's it, Dad, off you go. Put the swag bag in one of mum's shoppin' bags, and while you're about it just remember I don't want to 'ave to do all the thinkin' for this fam'ly. Time you took a turn. Still, mum said you didn't do too bad on the stall last Saturday. That's something.'

‘Well, blind old Mother ‘Awkins, if I ain't a pie-eyed marine,' said Mr Reeves.

‘Better than the Scrubs,' said Bobby. ‘I've got to remind you, Dad, that I'm dead against you disgracin' this fam'ly, that I want to be able to hold me 'ead up in Mrs Wilson's house. So go on, off you go with that swag.'

‘Well, if that don't beat Fred Karno's Army,' said Mr Reeves, ‘who's 'ead of this fam'ly, might I ask?'

‘Right now?' said Bobby. ‘Me. Still, as soon as you're really goin' straight, Mum and me'll hand you back the trousers.'

Mr Reeves thought hard. His brow creased as if his thoughts hurt. Then he chuckled, ‘Dunno 'ow I come to 'ave one like you, Bobby,' he said.

He was on his way to the police station a few minutes later, carrying the swag in a shopping bag. It took the police a long time to believe that the man they knew as Shifty Reeves really was handing in stolen goods. The bugger was even enquiring after the reward.

Bobby had won one more round.

The meter man from the gas company knocked on Maggie's door on Wednesday afternoon. His face was new to her.

‘Where's George?' she asked, the May sunlight gilding her hair.

‘We've changed rounds,' said Herbert Stephens, ‘it's more convenient. Well, it's more convenient to me. You're Mrs Wilson,' he added, looking at his book.

‘Yes, and the meter's down the passage,' said Maggie. ‘If there's any overs, they're for my girls' money-boxes.' There were often overs when a collector found there were too many pennies against the registered amount of gas used, and the Walworth housewives gladly received such surplus.

‘You'll get them, Mrs Wilson, and welcome,' said Stephens, stepping in. Maggie left him to it. He emptied the meter, counted the coppers, checked the output and called her. ‘There we are, Mrs Wilson.' He handed her three pennies with a smile.

‘Thanks,' said Maggie. It was money she didn't need these days, but it could be put away for the girls in a communal money-box. As the new meter man was a nice improvement on George, a slightly morose character, she saw him out. ‘Pleased to 'ave met you,' she said.

‘Mutual, Mrs Wilson,' said Herbert Stephens, and departed for the next house.

Emma had a different caller herself. She had been out during the afternoon, visiting a number of sister suffragettes in order to get their signatures to
Ten Proposals For Alternative Action
. She could not go out in the evenings, it seemed. Sergeant Chamberlain had forbidden it, unless she was back before dark or had an escort. The escort he had in mind was a chicken come home to roost.

The knock on her door came just before seven o'clock. Heavens, she had been inundated with knocks lately. Who was it this time? Sergeant Chamberlain? He had said he would look in on her. Well, she had a few things to say to that gentleman.

It wasn't him, however. It was a young man from the East Street market, the twenty-year-old son of a stallholder. She bought much of her greengrocery from the stall.

‘Hello, Alf,' she said.

‘I dunno about 'ello, missus,' said Alf Barker, ‘I just come from the police station. Me old man said I'd best go and get it sorted out.'

‘Oh, dear,' said Emma.

‘You know what I'm talkin' about, don't yer, Mrs Carter?'

‘I can guess,' said Emma. ‘Come in for a moment.' He came in. She closed the door. 'Alf, was it you, then, last Friday night?'

‘Blimey, didn't yer know it was?' said Alf, a well-built young man. ‘When I read about it this mornin', I didn't give it too much thought. Well, it didn't give yer name, it only said a woman 'ad been follered 'ome by some geezer considered suspicious, an' the police was askin' 'im to clear hisself. I knew it wasn't me. Well, I thought it wasn't. I never been suspicious in me life. But me old man started thinkin' about it this afternoon, 'e thought about what time I'd got 'ome, an' which way I'd come. I'd been to see me girl friend in Amelia Street, I walked 'ome from there to Brownin' Street, then up King an' Queen Street. That made me old man think some more. 'E asked did I see a woman. I said I'd seen you. Mind, I didn't know it was you at first, it was dark most of the way. Then comin' up King an' Queen Street, I said to meself, that's Mrs Carter, she's out a bit late, considerin' what's been goin' on. I started to catch you up an' said goodnight to you just as you was closin' yer front door. Didn't you 'ear me? I suppose you couldn't 'ave, seein' you didn't say so to the police, which put me in shoes that didn't fit an' was uncomfortable as well. I did speak, yer know, I said, ‘'Ello, Mrs Carter, goodnight to yer.'

‘I'm dreadfully sorry, Alf, I really wish the police had accepted my suggestion that it was just someone going innocently home,' said Emma, ‘but they're so pernickety.'

‘Well, they can't leave stones unturned, yer see,' said Alf. ‘You bein' a good customer, me old man said I'd best go to the station an' get it sorted out, which I just did. Mind, I said to me old man I dunno 'ow it was yer didn't know it was me, not when I'd said goodnight out loud. The police said I couldn't 'ave been loud enough.'

Had Nicholas been present he might, at this point, have suspected Emma of actually looking guilty.

‘I'm so sorry, Alf, I really am. I suppose I was just so glad to get indoors that my hearing failed me. Oh, well, we women are silly, aren't we?'

‘You ain't, Mrs Carter,' said Alf. ‘Me old man noticed yer name in the paper a while ago, when you made yerself 'eard at some suffragettes' meetin'. Sensible gel, he said you was.'

‘What happened at the police station?' asked Emma.

‘Blimey, they didn't 'alf make a meal of me partic'lars,' said Alf, ‘me that's been straight up and all square since me borning day. I told 'em what I 'ad to tell 'em about Friday night, an' then all about me life's work an' me comings an' goings. Then they said I could go, that I was in the clear.'