Joe fidgeted with his cup for a while, then said, ‘It was an argument, that’s all.’
‘What about?’
‘Money. Like I told you.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘Nothing to tell. I owed this chap some money, and I couldn’t pay, so he cut up rough and . . . Well, you can see.’
‘How much money?’
‘Five quid.’
‘He did that for five quid?’
‘Well . . .’ Joe hesitated. ‘It might have been a bit more.’
‘Really?’ Stratton put his teacup down on the hearth. ‘How much more?’
‘About ten quid.’
‘Ten quid more than five quid, or just ten quid?’
‘Just ten.’
‘I see. And what was this chap’s name?’
‘He’s just a friend.’
Stratton raised his eyebrows. ‘A friend?’
‘Yes.’ Joe looked defiant. ‘Someone I know.’
‘And what does someone look like?’
‘Just . . . you know . . . ordinary.’
‘So someone ordinary, who may or may not be your friend - although by the look of you, I’d say he was more of an enemy - lent you a sum of money which might have been five pounds or ten pounds, and then thumped you because you couldn’t pay it back?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was he charging interest?’
‘Interest?’
‘Money on top of the loan. I believe it’s about three per cent, but,’ Stratton added, disingenuously, ‘I should think a moneylender would ask for a bit more, wouldn’t he?’
‘He did ask for a few bob, yes.’
‘A few bob? that would be, what, three bob? Four?’
‘Five.’
‘So your friend asked you to pay interest, did he? How long did you want to borrow the money for?’
‘A week.’
‘And what did you offer him?’
Joe turned pale. ‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered.
‘What security for the loan?’
‘Oh. Nothing.’
‘So, this friend who charges interest doesn’t want security. Supposing you’d scarpered?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You said five bob, so . . . let’s see . . . five bob on a tenner would be two and a half per cent, wouldn’t it? Bit on the low side, I’d have thought. Not really worth his while. Perhaps,’ said Stratton, thoughtfully, ‘your friend ought to take a course in economics.’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ said Joe, sulkily.
‘Evidently. Thought it was worth damaging his knuckles, though, didn’t he?’
Joe shrugged.
‘Where did you meet this man?’
‘At the Wheatsheaf.’
‘The Wheatsheaf in Rathbone Place?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not your local. Too far away.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Joe. ‘But I go in there sometimes . . . Or I used to . . .’ Joe stopped, his face whiter, if possible, than before.
‘Used to . . . ?’
‘Mabel. Miss Morgan. It was her favourite pub. She liked the people in there - artists and all that. I used to pick her up from there on my way home from work.’
‘Did Miss Morgan introduce you to the man who lent you the money?’
‘She didn’t know him.’
‘So who did?’
‘No-one. I mean, we just got talking, and . . .’
‘When was this?’
‘A few weeks ago.’
‘What time? The Tivoli doesn’t close until late. You’d have a job getting there before last orders.’
‘I left early.’
‘How early?’
‘Half an hour or so.’
‘So you met this man for, what, ten minutes, a few weeks ago, and he was prepared to lend you the money without any security?’
‘I saw him again after that. He knew where I lived.’
‘Did he visit you?’
‘A few times.’
‘Was Miss Morgan there?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘But she might have been?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘So she knew who he was?’
‘No! I told you, she didn’t know him. I must have given him my address, I can’t remember.’
‘So he never came to your flat?’
Joe lowered his head in defeat. ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered.
‘You’ve just told me he did, and now you’re saying you don’t know. Did he come to your flat or didn’t he?’
‘No.’ Joe’s voice was a whisper.
‘This isn’t getting us very far,’ said Stratton. ‘Let’s say third time lucky, shall we? Now then,’ he leant forward, ‘this time, no dogs, no loans, and no strange men in pubs - or anywhere else, for that matter - unless, of course, they actually exist. And I’m guessing that this,’ - he gestured at Joe’s face, which had gone rigid - ‘wasn’t the result of a lovers’ tiff.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, I think you do.’ Stratton didn’t enjoy threatening people, and, after all, the poor sod couldn’t help what he was any more than he, Stratton, could help fancying women, but he was determined to get at the truth. He continued to stare at Joe, who was now looking intently at the unlit gas fire, as if searching for inspiration.
‘You won’t believe it,’ he said, finally.
Stratton shifted back slightly, feeling the tension in the room break, knowing that Joe was close to telling the truth. ‘Try me,’ he said, mildly.
‘I don’t know why they came.’
Stratton remembered the conversation with Arliss. ‘They?’
‘There was two of them. Waiting for me when I got home.’
‘When was this?’
‘Monday. About half-past eleven.’
‘At night?’
Joe nodded.
‘So you’d been at the cinema in the morning, had the afternoon off, and gone back to work in the evening?’
Joe flushed and shook his head.
‘So Monday isn’t your afternoon off?’
‘No. I don’t have one.’
‘Right.’ Stratton reached into his pocket for his notebook. ‘So, there were two of them, then?’
Joe nodded. ‘At my flat.’
‘How did they get in?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Joe, miserably. ‘I suppose Mrs Cope - that’s my landlady - must have let them in.’ Stratton scribbled a reminder to himself to ask Mrs Cope about this, although, given what he knew of the woman, he felt that she was unlikely, in view of the circumstances, to let such an event pass without remarking on it to all and sundry. ‘Could anyone else have let them in?’
‘There’s two other lodgers, Mr Stockley and Mr Rogers.’ Stratton noted the names. ‘I suppose it might have been one of them, if Mrs Cope wasn’t there. She goes out some evenings to see her daughter.’
‘And Mr Cope?’
‘She’s a widow.’
‘Do you know how they got into your flat?’
‘They must have picked the lock. I shouldn’t think it’s that difficult . . . I mean, if you know what you’re doing.’
‘Have you any idea how long they’d been there?’
‘Not really. I know they’d smoked a couple of cigarettes, because I saw them in the ashtray when I was clearing up afterwards.’
‘Clearing up?’
‘They’d made a real mess of the place. All her things . . .’ Joe put his face in his hands. ‘It was horrible.’
‘All Miss Morgan’s things?’
‘Yes. Her clothes, and her pictures . . . newspapers with stuff from when she was in films, all over the floor. The mirror was broken, glass everywhere, and they’d pulled the mattress off the bed.’
‘What about your things?’
‘They’d gone through those, too, but . . . It was seeing her things like that, I couldn’t . . .’ Joe gulped and began to cry. ‘I couldn’t bear it . . .’
‘It’s all right,’ said Stratton, softly. ‘Here,’ he fished in his pocket again, and pulled out his cigarettes. ‘Have one of these.’ Joe took one, cautiously, as if touching the packet might cause an explosion. ‘I think,’ Stratton leant across to give him a light, ‘we might ask your sister if she’d be kind enough to freshen the pot, don’t you? And then you can tell me the rest.’ He got up and knocked on Beryl’s door.
‘Hello?’
Stratton stuck his head round. Beryl was sitting on her bed, sewing something intricate that looked as if it might be a neckline. ‘Would you mind boiling a spot more water? I think Joe could do with another cup. A handkerchief might not go amiss, either.’
Beryl rose, skewering the material with a final jab of her needle. ‘What have you been saying to him?’ Without waiting for a reply, she barged straight past Stratton and, after taking one look at Joe, wheeled round and said, fiercely, ‘You promised.’
Joe raised his head and regarded her through sodden eyes. ‘It’s all right, Beryl,’ he said, softly.
Beryl continued to glare at Stratton. ‘All right,’ she said finally. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to Joe before picking up the teapot and retreating to the kitchen. Stratton waited in silence while Joe mopped his face and blew his nose, and when more tea was brought and poured and Beryl had returned to her work, he said, ‘Now then, these men. What do you think they were looking for?’
‘I don’t know, but that’s what they said when they saw me - “You’ve got something we want.” I didn’t know what they were talking about, and I told them, but they wouldn’t listen. They just kept on and on hitting me . . . I thought they were going to kill me.’
‘And you can’t think of anything it might be?’
Joe shook his head. ‘I haven’t got anything.’
‘What about Miss Morgan? You said they went through her things, too.’
‘Yes, but that was just clothes and trinkets and stuff. I told you.’
‘Nothing hidden, nothing she wanted to keep secret?’
‘No. She used to get a bit funny about people coming into the house, but . . .’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, she’d look out of the window a lot. Seeing who was in the street. If she had visitors, she’d throw her keys down, but I don’t think that was very often . . . I mean, I was at the cinema most of the time, so . . . She didn’t like the blackout much, but most people don’t, do they?’
‘Do you think she was frightened about something?’
‘I wouldn’t say frightened, just that she liked to know what was happening. I think it was more . . . well, she didn’t have a lot of money, and she used to get a bit lonely, up there on her own.’
‘But she went to the Wheatsheaf in the evenings?’
‘Yes. She was quite well known there. If somebody bought her a drink, then she’d talk to them. She used to like that.’
‘And she never went anywhere else?’
‘I don’t think so. At least, she was always at the Wheatsheaf when I came to fetch her, and when it started getting dark early, in the winter, I used to nip out of work and take her down there at opening time.’
‘I see. So these two men said you had something they wanted, and you said you hadn’t, and they hit you, and then what? Did they say anything else?’
‘Not really. Just kept on about how they knew I’d got whatever it was.’
‘Do you know how they got into the house?’
‘No. We all have our own keys, so I suppose someone must have let them in.’
‘Did they threaten you before they left?’
‘Not . . . Well, they said something about how they knew I wouldn’t go to the police. And I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t met that copper.’
‘Don’t worry, Joe. They don’t know where you are, do they?’
‘Not here, but they know where I work, and—’
‘Did they say that?’
‘No, but they can ask around, can’t they?’
‘I might be able to do something about that,’ said Stratton, ‘if you tell me a bit more about them.’ Joe looked as if he doubted this, but didn’t say anything. ‘Did you find anything missing after they’d gone?’
‘Not directly. I went out afterwards, when they’d gone. I didn’t want to stay there, I thought they might come back . . . I didn’t really know what I was doing. I had the idea I’d come over here, but I was pretty groggy.’
‘That was when you met PC Arliss, was it?’
‘Yes. I don’t honestly remember much about it.’
‘He said you were in a bad way,’ said Stratton. ‘What happened after that?’
‘After I left the station, you mean?’
Stratton nodded.
‘Then I came here.’
‘So when did you go back to your flat?’
‘Tuesday. After work.’
‘They must have been a bit surprised at work when they saw your appearance.’