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‘I don’t know, and what’s more I shan’t inquire,’ said Hemingway encouragingly.
‘All right, then, I had.’
‘Just as a matter of interest, was Mr Carter to put up the cash?’
‘Considering we – I – never had the chance to tell him about it, I can’t say. I thought he might be glad of the chance to make a bit of money.’
‘And you and Mr Jones were going to get a rake-off, I take it?’
‘I’m not going to answer for Jones. Naturally, there would have been some sort of a commission.’
‘My mistake!’ apologised the Inspector. ‘Seems to have been a fair pleasure to handle, Mr Carter.’
White gave a short laugh. ‘Poor devil, he was anxious to make some money of his own, which he hadn’t got to account for to that wife of his!’
‘How did he account to her for the hundred pounds he lent you a couple of months ago?’ asked the Inspector.
‘I don’t suppose he did. She made him an allowance. No reason for her ever to have found out about it if he hadn’t been shot. I only wanted a loan to tide me over to the quarter. Don’t get any wrong idea into your head about that! I could sit down and write a cheque for the amount right now. I don’t say it’s convenient, but my bank will meet it all right.’ He glanced up rather shamefacedly, and added: ‘If you want the truth, it’s damned inconvenient that Carter’s dead! Of course, we weren’t going to make a fortune out of that little deal, but anything’s welcome in these hard times.’
The Inspector nodded. ‘Anyone but Jones and Carter know of this scheme of yours?’
‘Well, of course not!’ said White impatiently. ‘A nice stink there’d have been
if they had! I can’t see what you want to know about it for. It can’t have any bearing on the case.’ A thought struck him; he said sharply: ‘Who put you on to it, anyway?’
‘I needn’t worry you with that,’ replied Hemingway. He thrust a hand into his pocket, and drew out certain objects, which he laid on the desk before White. ‘Now, if you could identify any of these, you might help me a lot,’ he said. ‘One lady’s hair-slide; one broken nail-file; one small magnet; and one gent’s pocket-knife in good condition. Seen any of them before?’
White took a moment to answer. ‘What’s this? Starting an ironmongery business? Where did you find them?’
‘In your shrubbery.’
‘I’ve never seen any of them before in my life.’
‘Funny. I thought for a moment you had,’ said the Inspector blandly.
‘Well, I haven’t.’ White flicked the hair-slide with a contemptuous finger. ‘Probably the maid’s. I don’t wear them myself. I don’t amuse myself picking up needles with magnets either; and I’ve never used a nail-file in my life.’
‘What about the knife?’ inquired the Inspector.
‘It might belong to anyone. I’ve seen dozens like it. I used to have one myself, if it comes to that. Anyone could have dropped it.’
‘No idea who, sir?’
‘No, none at all,’ said White, looking him in the eye.
‘Well, that’s very disappointing. Mind if I ask your son if he happens to know anything about it?’
‘Good Lord, you don’t suppose my son had anything to do with Carter’s death, do you? You’re wasting your time! He’d got no interest in Carter whatsoever.’
‘Still, I don’t know why you should object to my asking him if he’s seen the knife before,’ said the Inspector.
White got up. ‘Object! I don’t care a damn how you choose to waste your time. I’ll call my son.’
Alan, stridently summoned, lounged into the study a moment or two later. From the defensive expression on his face, the Inspector judged that he expected to be violently taxed with having betrayed his parent. He made haste to dispel this fear by holding out the pocket-knife. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Ever seen that before?’
Alan looked rather relieved, and took the knife. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘Do you recognise it, sir?’
