Authors: Frederic Lindsay
Persuaded
to
come
to
the
phone,
Bittern
sounded
unwelcoming.
'I
have
something
Foley
might
be
interested
in
hearing.'
'You're
off
that
enquiry.
I
made
that
perfectly
clear.'
'I
think
he
might
want
me
back
on
it
again.'
'I
would
regard
that
as
irregular,
highly
irregular.
’
The
successive
'eh's'
lengthened
like
a
sheep
giving
warning.
'I
know
where
to
find
Beddowes
.
'
'…
Oh,
yes?'
'My
information
is
that
Mrs
Foley
has
left
him
and
taken
the
money
with
her.'
'That
would
be
unfortunate.'
'I
can
find
out
from
Beddowes
where
they
were
a
couple
of
days
ago.
That
should
give
me
a
chance
of
finding
her.'
'Why
should
Mr
Beddowes
co-operate?'
'What
else
can
he
do?
I'll
tell
him
if
we
get
the
money
back
the
business
can
still
be
saved
for
all
of
them.
He's
afraid
of
Foley –
but
then
he
doesn't
know
how
often
the
husband
takes
it
out
on
his
wife
instead
of
the
other
man.
I
can
persuade
him.'
Bittern
was
non-committal,
but
climbing
the
stair
he
felt
as
if
he
might
be
back
in
business.
He
decided
to
give
Mrs
Beddowcs
more
time
with
her
husband
and
pushed
open
the
door
of
the
Residents
Lounge
from
which
he
could
keep
an
eye
on
the
landing.
It
was
dark
inside
and
he
felt
on
the
wall
for
a
light
switch.
He
touched
only
the
rippled
surface
of
a
heavy
paper,
but
instantly
a
standard
lamp
beside
one
of
the
chairs
came
on.
'Didn't
you
hear
me
call?'
Irene
asked.
'I
watched
you
going down
the
stairs.'
'Why
are
you
sitting
in
the
dark?'
The
question
came
out
too
emphatically.
There
was
something
about
the
suddenness
of
her
appearance
which
he
felt
as
uncanny.
More
startled
than
he
wanted
her
to
see,
he
took
a
deep
breath
and
tried
to
slow
the
beating
of
his
heart.
'I
was
thinking,'
she
said.
She
was
curled
with
her
legs
under
her
into
a
corner
of
the
big
chair,
and
he
noticed
how
its
leather
had
dried
and
begun
to
split.
'Malcolm's
told
me
you'd
killed
a
man
once.'
He
shook
his
head.
'Oh,
yes,'
she
said.
'In
America.'
He
sat
opposite
her.
An
ashtray
was
balanced
on
the
arm
and
he
put
it
on
the
floor
beside
the
chair.
The
mash
of
stubs
in
it
surprised
him;
it
was
hard
to
imagine
a
Resident
venturing
in
here
where
the
chairs
kept
their
distance
in
the
underwater
light.
Perhaps
it
had
been
Beddowes,
tired
of
lying
on
his
bed
staring
at
the
ceiling,
who
had
sat
here
smoking
last
night.
Whatever
happens,
I
did
him
a
favour,
Murray
thought;
but
it
was
like
a
verdict
on
someone
he
did
not
expect
to
see
again.
'You
know
I
think
Frances
Fernie
is
your
sister,'
he
said.
'And
do
you
agree
with
your
friend
Peerse?
Do
you
think
she
was
the
one
who
killed
John
Merchant?'
She
spoke
quietly,
sounding
almost
indifferent
as
if
the
problem
was
his
and
he
had
asked
for
help.
'Does
that
make
her
Jill?
What
does
it
make
me?'
'You're
not
like
her.'
She
was
his
sister-in-law,
who
sat
with them
on
Sundays
at
Mother's
table.
'Your
lives
are
different.'
'She
was
a
prostitute
in
London,
did
you
know
that?
After
the
woman
died –'
'The
woman?'
'The
one
she
stayed
with.'
'The
woman
who
adopted
you
both?'
'Yes.
After
that,
she
met
this
man
and
lived
with
him
in
London.
It
was
all
right
at
first,
but
then
he
asked
her
to
oblige
his
friends.
She
told
me
that's
how
he
described
it.
And
she
did
–
if
she'd
obliged
them
any
more
they'd
have
had
to
invent
another
opening
.
..
That's
what
she
said
to
me.'
He
got
up
and
came
close
to
her,
standing
over
her.
She
stared up,
waiting,
but
he
could
find
nothing
to
say.
What
he
felt
was
irrational – that
she
felt
she
could
say
anything
to
him,
as
if
he
was
without
sexuality.
I'm a man!
But
his
rage
was
too
confused
and
humiliating.