Twenty-eight

NOT FROM CAPTAIN HASTINGS’ PERSONAL NARRATIVEIInspector Crome was in his office at Scotland Yard.

The telephone on his desk gave a discreet buzz and he picked it up.

“Jacobs speaking, sir. There’s a young fellow come in with a story that I think you ought tohear.”

Inspector Crome sighed. On an average twenty people a day turned up with so-called importantinformation about the A B C case. Some of them were harmless lunatics, some of them were well-meaning persons who genuinely believed that their information was of value. It was the duty ofSergeant Jacobs to act as a human sieve—retaining the grosser matter and passing on the residueto his superior.

“Very well, Jacobs,” said Crome. “Send him along.”

A few minutes later there was a tap on the inspector’s door and Sergeant Jacobs appeared,ushering in a tall, moderately good-looking young man.

“This is Mr. Tom Hartigan, sir. He’s got something to tell us which may have a possible bearingon the A B C case.”

The inspector rose pleasantly and shook hands.

“Good morning, Mr. Hartigan. Sit down, won’t you? Smoke? Have a cigarette?”

Tom Hartigan sat down awkwardly and looked with some awe at what he called in his ownmind “One of the bigwigs.” The appearance of the inspector vaguely disappointed him. He lookedquite an ordinary person!

“Now then,” said Crome. “You’ve got something to tell us that you think may have a bearing onthe case. Fire ahead.”

Tom began nervously.

“Of course it may be nothing at all. It’s just an idea of mine. I may be wasting your time.”

Again Inspector Crome sighed imperceptibly. The amount of time he had to waste in reassuringpeople!

“We’re the best judge of that. Let’s have the facts, Mr. Hartigan.”

“Well, it’s like this, sir. I’ve got a young lady, you see, and her mother lets rooms. Up CamdenTown way. Their second-floor back has been let for over a year to a man called Cust.”

“Cust—eh?”

“That’s right, sir. A sort of middle-aged bloke what’s rather vague and soft—and come down inthe world a bit, I should say. Sort of creature who wouldn’t hurt a fly you’d say—and I’d never ofdreamed of anything being wrong if it hadn’t been for something rather odd.”

In a somewhat confused manner and repeating himself once or twice, Tom described hisencounter with Mr. Cust at Euston Station and the incident of the dropped ticket.

“You see, sir, look at it how you will, it’s funny like. Lily—that’s my young lady, sir—she wasquite positive that it was Cheltenham he said, and her mother says the same—says she remembersdistinct talking about it the morning he went off. Of course, I didn’t pay much attention to it at thetime. Lily—my young lady—said as how she hoped he wouldn’t cop it from this A B C fellowgoing to Doncaster—and then she says it’s rather a coincidence because he was down Churstonway at the time of the last crime. Laughing like, I asks her whether he was at Bexhill the timebefore, and she says she don’t know where he was, but he was away at the seaside—that she doesknow. And then I said to her it would be odd if he was the A B C himself and she said poor Mr.

Cust wouldn’t hurt a fly—and that was all at the time. We didn’t think no more about it. At least,in a sort of way I did, sir, underneath like. I began wondering about this Cust fellow and thinkingthat, after all, harmless as he seemed, he might be a bit batty.”

Tom took a breath and then went on. Inspector Crome was listening intently now.

“And then after the Doncaster murder, sir, it was in all the papers that information was wantedas to the whereabouts of a certain A B Case or Cash, and it gave a description that fitted wellenough. First evening off I had, I went round to Lily’s and asked her what her Mr. Cust’s initialswere. She couldn’t remember at first, but her mother did. Said they were A B right enough. Thenwe got down to it and tried to figure out if Cust had been away at the time of the first murder atAndover. Well, as you know, sir, it isn’t too easy to remember things three months back. We had ajob of it, but we got it fixed down in the end, because Mrs. Marbury had a brother come fromCanada to see her on June 21st. He arrived unexpected like and she wanted to give him a bed, andLily suggested that as Mr. Cust was away Bert Smith might have his bed. But Mrs. Marburywouldn’t agree, because she said it wasn’t acting right by her lodger, and she always liked to actfair and square. But we fixed the date all right because of Bert Smith’s ship docking atSouthampton that day.”

Inspector Crome had listened very attentively, jotting down an occasional note.

“That’s all?” he asked.

“That’s all, sir. I hope you don’t think I’m making a lot of nothing.”

Tom flushed slightly.

“Not at all. You were quite right to come here. Of course, it’s very slight evidence—these datesmay be mere coincidence and the likeness of the name, too. But it certainly warrants my having aninterview with your Mr. Cust. Is he at home now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When did he return?”

“The evening of the Doncaster murder, sir.”

“What’s he been doing since?”

“He’s stayed in mostly, sir. And he’s been looking very queer, Mrs. Marbury says. He buys alot of newspapers—goes out early and gets the morning ones, and then after dark he goes out andgets the evening ones. Mrs. Marbury says he talks a lot to himself, too. She thinks he’s gettingqueerer.”

“What is this Mrs. Marbury’s address?”

Tom gave it to him.

“Thank you. I shall probably be calling round in the course of the day. I need hardly tell you tobe careful of your manner if you come across this Cust.”

He rose and shook hands.

“You may be quite satisfied you did the right thing in coming to us. Good morning, Mr.

Hartigan.”

“Well, sir?” asked Jacobs, reentering the room a few minutes later. “Think it’s the goods?”

“It’s promising,” said Inspector Crome. “That is, if the facts are as the boy stated them. We’vehad no luck with the stocking manufacturers yet. It was time we got hold of something. By theway, give me that file of the Churston case.”

He spent some minutes looking for what he wanted.

“Ah, here it is. It’s amongst the statements made to the Torquay police. Young man of the nameof Hill. Deposes he was leaving the Torquay Palladium after the film Not a Sparrow and noticed aman behaving queerly. He was talking to himself. Hill heard him say ‘That’s an idea.’ Not aSparrow—that’s the film that was on at the Regal in Doncaster?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There may be something in that. Nothing to it at the time—but it’s possible that the idea of themodus operandi for his next crime occurred to our man then. We’ve got Hill’s name and address, Isee. His description of the man is vague but it links up well enough with the descriptions of MaryStroud and this Tom Hartigan….”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“We’re getting warm,” said Inspector Crome—rather inaccurately, for he himself was alwaysslightly chilly.

“Any instructions, sir?”

“Put on a couple of men to watch this Camden Town address, but I don’t want our birdfrightened. I must have a word with the AC. Then I think it would be as well if Cust was broughtalong here and asked if he’d like to make a statement. It sounds as though he’s quite ready to getrattled.”

Outside Tom Hartigan had rejoined Lily Marbury who was waiting for him on theEmbankment.

“All right, Tom?”

Tom nodded.

“I saw Inspector Crome himself. The one who’s in charge of the case.”

“What’s he like?”

“A bit quiet and lah-di-dah—not my idea of a detective.”

“That’s Lord Trenchard’s new kind,” said Lily with respect. “Some of them are ever so grand.

Well, what did he say?”

Tom gave her a brief résumé of the interview.

“So they think as it really was him?”

“They think it might be. Anyway, they’ll come along and ask him a question or two.”

“Poor Mr. Cust.”

“It’s no good saying poor Mr. Cust, my girl. If he’s A B C, he’s committed four terriblemurders.”

Lily sighed and shook her head.

“It does seem awful,” she observed.

“Well, now you’re going to come and have a bite of lunch, my girl. Just you think that if we’reright I expect my name will be in the papers!”

“Oh, Tom, will it?”

“Rather. And yours, too. And your mother’s. And I dare say you’ll have your picture in it, too.”

“Oh, Tom.” Lily squeezed his arm in an ecstasy.

“And in the meantime what do you say to a bite at the Corner House?”

Lily squeezed tighter.

“Come on then!”

“All right—half a minute. I must just telephone from the station.”

“Who to?”

“A girl I was going to meet.”

She slipped across the road, and rejoined him three minutes later, looking rather flushed.

“Now then, Tom.”

She slipped her arm in his.

“Tell me more about Scotland Yard. You didn’t see the other one there?”

“What other one?”

“The Belgian gentleman. The one that A B C writes to always.”

“No. He wasn’t there.”

“Well, tell me all about it. What happened when you got inside? Who did you speak to andwhat did you say?”