Dead Man’s Shoes (19 page)

“Oh, he often stays, bless him. Such fun. Lots of money now, too. I adore Lance. But you're nice. Why must you sit so far away? Oh, this heavenly drink. The first one of the day is the best, I always think. Well, you look just the same. But men do, don't they? Do you think I've changed much? Of course it's a long time.”

“Could you tell me the dates of that visit?”

“Oh, don't be a bore, darling. What visit? Lance's. That's right. They'll be in my diary, of course. But I can't
really get involved with a diary now. You know, I find you rather attractive. It must be interesting to be a policeman and make cocktails all the time. I can't think why you keep asking questions about Lance. I mean, I quite liked him. I mean, he was fun. But I shouldn't want to keep asking questions about him really. I mean, I should get a weeny bit tired of that. Why do you sit on that uncomfortable chair right over there? Do come and sit here and I'll tell you all about Lance. You know he and I were in a film together? My dear, it was a riot. Something madly historical. Lance was a large priest. You'd have screamed. Of course we hadn't actual parts or anything. We got rather high, I remember.”

“You were saying that the dates I want would be in your diary.”

“That's right. I never actually remember things like that. Wait, I'll go and look it up. Then you must talk about something more interesting than Lance. He's quite a pet, but I don't want to talk about him all day. And what about another drink? When you're ready. That's right.”

She left the room again and returned with the dates pat. Lance had stayed with her as he said from Thursday to Monday—the week-end during which Gregory Willick was murdered.

“I remember perfectly now. Heavenly weather. We got a teeny bit tiddly on the Saturday down on the beach. Rather heaven, really, to sober up in the sea. Have you ever done that? Of course you have. I remember you at Antibes that time. It really seems yesterday, doesn't it? You don't think I've changed too much, do you? I can't think how anyone can mix martinis as well as you. It will soon be time for another, won't it?”

“Who else would remember Lance Willick's stay here that week-end?”

“Really, darling, I don't want to be difficult, but I've told you I'm bored with the subject of Lance. I find you far
more interesting, anyway. And certainly more talented. Lance could never mix cocktails like these.”

“You haven't answered me, Mrs Gibbons. I know I'm tiresome about this, but I've just got to go on till you tell me what I want to know. If he stayed here from Thursday to Monday there must be other people who met him. Please tell me who they were and I'll stop asking questions as soon as I can.”

“Oh, I don't mind you asking questions, but you choose such boring subjects. As a matter of fact I
like
your asking questions. I think you're rather heaven. Only I can't imagine why you talk about nothing but Lance. Unless—oh, but you don't look a bit like that. He's certainly not, anyway. I'm trying to remember that week-end. Who would have been here? Not a soul, darling. The place was empty. I don't remember seeing anyone. If you need any more ice ask Teresa. She'll get it for you. And there's another lemon on the tray. I can't tell you how good I find your martinis. I'm aching for one now, so just pop through and mix another, my sweet, while I'm thinking really
hard
about Lance for you.”

“If he didn't meet anyone with you, surely there must be someone in the town who remembers his being here. Someone like a dentist or a tailor.”

“There! I knew there was something. Lance had a teeny toothache on the Friday. Rather agony, I mean. We tried raw whisky on it but it did no good. He went out, and when he came back it had gone, so I suppose he'd been to the dentist. We never talked about things like that, where we'd been and so on, because there was so much else to talk about. I often think there isn't time in life to do all the talking one wants.”

“If he had, which dentist would he have gone to?”

“Oh, it could only be
one.
Our sweet old Ferny. Fernandez, his name is, and he's just an old poppet. He speaks English. Lance has known him for ages. He'd be able to
tell you that Lance was here that week-end. You go and see old Ferny. Give him my love, the old pet, and ask him when he's coming for another midnight swim.”

“No one else? No shop-keeper?”

“I shouldn't think so. Lance used to have his summer suits made here, but that was for economy's sake before he came into all that delicious money.”

“He hadn't come into it then.”

“Oh no. Of course he hadn't. But I don't think he went to the tailors or anything like that. He was with me most of the time. Now I've told you everything, so let's talk about interesting things. If I could mix Martinis like you I wouldn't be a policeman, I'd be a barman. But of course you are, aren't you? Is that why I have to persuade you every time to mix another? You're on holiday. Of course I remember you now. You were a friend of Elizabeth's. But you look so young still. I hope you don't think I look too old? It's a long time, isn't it?”

“Tell me, has Lance been back here? Since that weekend, I mean?”

“Oh really! This is
too
much! Can't you talk of anything but Lance? Yes, once, I think. Yes, I'm sure. He's been here once since then.”

“I'm most grateful to you for your information, Mrs Gibbons, and I'm sure Lance Willick will be too. You've confirmed his alibi.”

“Is that what I've done? It sounds madly important. But you're not going? You couldn't be so mean. You mustn't think of going till you've mixed another of those lovely, lovely Martinis. And why must you sit right over there? You know, darling, I don't want to be personal, but I do think you're a teeny bit of a bore, if I may say so. You keep asking questions at me from the other side of the room. I can't have changed all that much since … When was it we met?”

“About an hour ago.”

“Since an hour ago. I know one does get older and all that, but really I haven't gone so far that all I can expect is questions. I mean, have I? I mean, I think you're madly attractive. Thank you. This is the best you've mixed yet. No, sit down. You can't possibly go now. You've only just come. After all these years. Come and sit here. Never mind your hat. Now do sit down again. You make me restless. No, you're
not
to go. Come here. Sit
down.
What's your name? Sit here, anyway….”

But Carolus was through the door and in another moment out of the flat.

His taxi-driver knew where the surgery of Dr Fernandez was to be found, and after waiting for three-quarters of an hour Carolus was admitted and faced a friendly little man in his sixties. He explained what he wanted to know, but Dr'Fernandez shook his head.

“No, I haven't seen Mr Willick for some months,” he said. “He must have found relief for his toothache without consulting me.”

“You have known him for some time?”

“Oh yes. It must be five or six years. The first time he came to me was to have a special set of teeth made for a part he was playing in a film'.”

“That makes it five and a half years ago.”

“Does it? Yes. It would be about that. He's a nice fellow. I was sorry to hear about his uncle.”

“Sad,” said Carolus and took his leave.

Carolus stayed in Cadiz that night and next morning was driven to Gibraltar, whence he would fly to England. He could not get a seat on the plane till next day and decided to stay at the Rock Hotel.

From here he phoned Lance Willick and told him with some amusement that his alibi had been charmingly and several times confirmed. Lance did not seem much interested, but thanked Carolus for calling.

He was dining on the terrace later that evening when he
had an odd and rather startling experience. He saw Michaelis walk straight towards him.

Not since the war had Carolus felt quite that mixture of fear and tense curiosity. He did not suppose, of course, that the man was going to pull out a revolver and shoot him here, before a few score dull English people eating a dull English dinner. But the man's approach was unhesitating and his face unsmiling.

“You allow me to sit with you?” he asked.

Carolus nodded.

“There is something most interesting I will tell you,” Michaelis said as he took the place opposite Carolus. “I am not about to kill you, after all.”

“I agree, it's most interesting.”

Michaelis turned to the waiter and ordered as decisively as he did most things.

“It saves much trouble,” said Michaelis.

“And mess.”

“I lose a little money, but not sufficient that I am disturbed.”

“I'm sorry to hear you lose money for such a trivial reason. I do hope your expenses have been met?”

“Certainly. I do not ever work credit.”

“Very wise. No one should expect to run up an account for assassination. Who was employing you, by the way?”

“In your little matter? I should not, probably, inform you in any case, for I must be like a doctor respecting professional secrecy. But whether so or not is away from the point, for I simply am not aware.”

“How is that?”

“Fortunately my reputation is for integrity and reliability. In my profession it is an essential thing. No one is under need to draw up contract with me. The conversation is sufficient. I received this order by the telephone.”

“I see. That simplifies it for everyone.”

“I stipulated a sum of money should be reaching me
immediately and a further sum at the happy conclusion of the matter. That is my customary way.”

“Very sensible, I'm sure. I raise no objection to your use of the word ‘happy', but wonder whether it is in the best of taste.”

“I apologize. I should have said ‘regrettable conclusion'. My instructions were received with clearness. I was to find you at the house of Larkin and present you with a warning. If twenty-four hours later on you were not taking this warning I proceed immediately, for my own benefit with utmost caution, to the specified though as we have agreed regrettable conclusion of the matter.”

“Nicely put. And what is preventing you?”

“I have lately, within one hour, received new instructions. There is now no reason for any further steps in the matter, as I have been instructed you are not regarded as being of any continuing consequence.”

“How fortunate! I'm sorry you have been deprived of a chance to show your professional skill, though.”

Michaelis shrugged his shoulders modestly.

“There will be more,” he said.

“In what language were your instructions given?”

“In not good Arabic. On the one hand it was surely a Moor pretending that he is European, or on the other a European attempting to sound like a Moor.”

“And the cancellation of those instructions?”

“The same voice, I believe. The telephone between this and Tangier is not good.”

“Thanks for telling me that much.”

“I will go farther and give you the best advice. I already asked you that you go back to England. Now I say that when you get there forget this case. It is ugly.”

“You knew Larkin, then?”

“By the sight only. But I heard much about him and his doing. You have had a fortunate escape. I might not by some accidental thing have received the telephone call
today, for an instance. Now do not tempt your Providence.”

“You are very thoughtful. I am leaving for England tomorrow.”

“I hope you do not forget my advice. You will be so much wiser. I have no connection now. I speak only for consideration.”

“Tell me, Michaelis,” said Carolus thoughtfully, “would you really have tried to kill me tonight if you had not received that call?”

Michaelis looked at him as though he were a small boy asking foolish questions.

“Tried? But you are talking stupidity. You would have been dead by now. So very dead.”

There was something quietly convincing about that.

“Ah well,” said Carolus.

H
E WIRED
Priggley to book him a room at the Barton Bridge Hotel and arrived there before dinner two days later. He found Priggley in the Old Snuggery. It was clear that progress had been made with the young lady who admitted to being called Mickie. She cultivated an appearance of sulky superiority when Priggley left her to join Carolus and polished glasses as though she found it a demeaning task.

“I suppose you've got some lurid story about an attempt on your life,” said Rupert.

“What have you got?”

“Nothing startling, because I decided to leave the lot of them to you. But you'll find quite a bit waiting for you. I've seen that drilling bore Packinlay several times. His wife still hasn't uttered. I'm pretty sure there's more to come from him if you can bear it. Then Socker says he's got something to tell you worth a quid or two, and it's not details of his love-life, apparently. Ridge ventures to think he may have remembered a matter which he's emboldened to hope will be of service to you. You can, of course, let the lout Habbard talk to you any time. He thinks you're absolutely out of the top drawer. As for Mrs Gunn, I challenge you to stop her. I long to put a drop of oil on that voice of hers. I can't get a word from Mrs Hoppy, though, and I haven't seen the Vicar, though he has rung up several times to ask if you were back, as he wants to see you.”

“You don't mention Marylin Sweeny.”

“I think I must be rather
épris
. She's certainly worth looking at.”

“You've forgotten your change,” said Mickie, viciously smacking it on the counter.

“So you can get to work,” Rupert went on to Carolus, without glancing towards the bar. “They're all yours. And I hope by the time you've done with them you'll be ready to produce something pretty spectacular in the way of a solution. We need it after this.”