The Franchise Affair (23 page)

“He has two of them. The case is sewn up and tied with ribbon.”

“I can't believe it.”

“Will you come over, or shall we go to you? I expect you'll want to come out with us.”

“But where? Oh, yes. Yes, of course I shall. I'll come over to the Rose and Crown now. Where are you? In the lounge?”

“No, in Grant's bedroom. Number Five. The one with the casement window on the street—over the bar.”

“All right. I'm coming straight over. I say!”

“Yes?”

“A warrant for both?”

“Yes. For two.”

“All right. Thank you. I'll be with you in a moment.”

He sat for a moment getting back his breath, and trying to orientate himself. Nevil was out on business, but Nevil was not much of a moral support at any time. He got up, took his hat, and went to the door of “the office.”

“Mr. Heseltine, please,” he said, in the polite formula always used in the presence of the younger staff; and the old man followed him into the hall and out to the sunlit doorway.

“Timmy,” Robert said. “We're in trouble. Inspector Grant is here from Headquarters with a warrant to arrest the Franchise people.” Even as he said the words he could not believe that the thing was really happening.

Neither could old Mr. Heseltine; that was obvious. He stared, wordless; his pale old eyes aghast.

“It's a bit of a shock, isn't it, Timmy?” He shouldn't have hoped for support from the frail old clerk.

But shocked as he was, and frail, and old, Mr. Heseltine was nevertheless a law clerk, and the support was forthcoming. After a lifetime among formulae his mind reacted automatically to the letter of the situation.

“A warrant,” he said. “Why a
warrant?”

“Because they can't arrest anyone without one,” Robert said a trifle impatiently. Was old Timmy getting past his work?

“I don't mean that. I mean, it's a misdemeanour they're accused of, not a felony. They could surely make it a summons, Mr. Robert? They don't need to
arrest
them, surely? Not for a misdemeanour.”

Robert had not thought of that. “A summons to appear,” he said. “Yes, why not? Of course there's nothing to hinder them arresting them if they want to.”

“But why should they want to? People like the Sharpes wouldn't run away. Nor do any farther harm while they are waiting to appear. Who issued the warrant, did they say?”

“No, they didn't say. Many thanks, Timmy; you've been as good as a stiff drink. I must go over to the Rose and Crown now—Inspector Grant is there with Hallam—and face the music. There's no way of warning The Franchise because they have no telephone. I'll just have to go out there with Grant and Hallam hanging round my neck. And only this morning we were beginning to see daylight, so we thought. You might tell Nevil when he comes in, will you? And stop him doing anything foolish or impulsive.”

“You know very well Mr. Robert, I've never been able to stop Mr. Nevil doing anything he wanted to do. Though it has seemed to me that he has been surprisingly sober this last week. In the metaphorical sense, I mean.”

“Long may it last,” Robert said, stepping out into the sunlit street.

It was the dead period of the afternoon at the Rose and Crown and he passed through the hall and up the wide shallow stairs without meeting anyone, and knocked at the door of Number Five. Grant, calm and polite as always, let him in. Hallam, vaguely unhappy-looking, was leaning against the dressing-table in the window.

“I understand that you hadn't expected this, Mr. Blair,” Grant said.

“No, I hadn't. To be frank, it is a great shock to me.”

“Sit down,” Grant said. “I don't want to hurry you.”

“You have new evidence, Inspector Hallam says.”

“Yes; what we think is conclusive evidence.”

“May I know what it is?”

“Certainly. We have a man who saw Betty Kane being picked up by the car at the bus stop—”

“By
a
car,” Robert said.

“Yes, if you like, by a car—but its description fits that of the Sharpes'.”

“So do ten thousand others in Britain. And?”

“The girl from the farm, who went once a week to help clean The Franchise, will swear that she heard screams coming from the attic.”

“Went
once a week? Doesn't she go any longer?”

“Not since the Kane affair became common gossip.”

“I see.”

“Not very valuable pieces of evidence in themselves, but very valuable as proof of the girl's story. For instance she really did miss that Larborough-London coach. Our witness says that it passed him about half a mile down the road. When he came in sight of the bus-stop a few moments later the girl was there waiting. It is a long straight road, the main London road through Mainshill—”

“I know. I know it.”

“Yes; well, when he was still some way from the girl he saw the car stop by her, saw her get in, and saw her driven away.”

“But not who drove the car?”

“No. It was too far away for that.”

“And this girl from the farm—did she volunteer the information about the screaming?”

“Not to us. She spoke about it to her friends, and we acted on information, and found her quite willing to repeat the story on oath.”

“Did she speak about it to her friends before the gossip about Betty Kane's abduction got round?”

“Yes.”

That was unexpected, and Robert was rocked back on his heels. If that was really true—that the girl had mentioned screaming before there was any question of the Sharpes being in trouble—then the evidence would be damning. Robert got up and walked restlessly to the window and back. He thought enviously of Ben Carley. Ben wouldn't be hating this as he hated it, feeling inadequate and at a loss. Ben would be in his element; his mind delighting in the problem and in the hope of outwitting established authority. Robert was dimly aware that his own deep-seated respect for established authority was a handicap to him rather than an asset; he needed some of Ben's native belief that authority is there to be circumvented.

“Well, thank you for being so frank,” he said at last. “Now, I'm not minimising the crime you are accusing these people of, but it
is
misdemeanour not felony, so why a warrant? Surely a summons would meet the case perfectly?”

“A summons would be in order certainly,” Grant said smoothly. “But in cases where the crime is aggravated—and my superiors take a grave view of the present one—a warrant is issued.”

Robert could not help wondering how much the gadfly attentions of the
Ack-Emma
had influenced the calm judgments of the Yard. He caught Grant's eye and knew that Grant had read his thought.

“The girl was missing for a whole month—all but a day or two,” Grant said, “and had been very badly knocked about, very deliberately. It is not a case to be taken lightly.”

“But what do you gain from arrest?” Robert asked, remembering
Mr. Heseltine's point. “There is no question of these people not being there to answer the charge. Nor any question of a similar crime being committed by them in the interval. When did you want them to appear, by the way?”

“I planned to bring them up at the police court on Monday.”

“Then I suggest that you serve them with a summons to appear.”

“My superiors have decided on a warrant,” Grant said, without emotion.

“But you could use your judgment. Your superiors can have no knowledge of local conditions, for instance. If The Franchise is left without occupants it will be a wreck in a week. Have your superiors thought of that? And if you arrest these women, you can only keep them in custody until Monday, when I shall ask for bail. It seems a pity to risk hooliganism at The Franchise just for the gesture of arrest. And I know Inspector Hallam has no men to spare for its protection.”

This right-and-left gave them both pause. It was amazing how ingrained the respect for property was in the English soul; the first change in Grant's face had occurred at the mention of the possible wrecking of the house. Robert cast an unexpectedly kind thought to the louts who had provided the precedent, and so weighted his argument with example. As for Hallam, quite apart from his limited force he was not likely to look kindly on the prospect of fresh hooliganism in his district and fresh culprits to track down.

Into the long pause Hallam said tentatively: “There is something in what Mr. Blair says. Feeling in the countryside is very strong, and I doubt if they would leave the house untouched if it was empty. Especially if news of the arrest got about.”

It took nearly half an hour to convince Grant, however. For some reason there was a personal element in the affair for Grant, and Robert could not imagine what it could be, or why it should be there.

“Well,” the Inspector said at length, “you don't need me to serve a summons.” It was as if a surgeon was contemptuous at being asked to open a boil, Robert thought, amused and vastly relieved. “I'll leave that to Hallam and get back to town. But I'll be in court on Monday. I understand that the Assizes are imminent, so if we avoid a remand the case can go straight on to the Assizes. Can you be ready with your defence by Monday, do you think?”

“Inspector, with all the defence my clients have we could be ready by tea-time,” Robert said bitterly.

To his surprise, Grant turned to him with a broader smile than was usual with him; and it was a very kind smile. “Mr. Blair,” he said, “you have done me out of an arrest this afternoon, but I don't hold it against you. On the contrary, I think your clients are luckier than they deserve in their solicitor. It will be my prayer that they are less lucky in their counsel! Otherwise, I may find myself talked into voting them a testimonial.”

So it was not with “Grant and Hallam hanging round his neck” that Robert went out to The Franchise; not with a warrant at all. He went out in Hallam's familiar car with a summons sticking out of the pocket of it; and he was sick with relief when he thought of the escape they had had, and sick with apprehension when he thought of the fix they were in.

“Inspector Grant seemed to have a very personal interest in executing that warrant,” he said to Hallam as they went along. “Is it that the
Ack-Emma
has been biting him, do you think?”

“Oh, no,” Hallam said. “Grant's as nearly indifferent to that sort of thing as a human being can be.”

“Then why?”

“Well, it's my belief—strictly between ourselves—that he can't forgive them for fooling him. The Sharpes, I mean. He's famous at the Yard for his good judgment of people, you see; and, again between ourselves, he didn't much care for the Kane
girl
or
her story; and he liked them even less when he had seen the Franchise people, in spite of all the evidence. Now he thinks the wool was pulled over his eyes, and he's not taking it lightly. It would have given him a lot of pleasure, I imagine, to produce that warrant in their drawing-room.”

As they pulled up by the Franchise gate and Robert took out his key, Hallam said: “If you open both sides I'll drive the car inside, even for the short time. No need to advertise the fact that we're here.” And Robert, pushing open the solid iron leaves, thought that when visiting actresses said “Your policemen are wonderful” they didn't know the half of it. He got back into the car and Hallam drove up the short straight drive and round the circular path to the door. As Robert got out of the car Marion came round the corner of the house, wearing gardening gloves and a very old skirt. Where her hair was blown up from her forehead by the wind it changed from the heavy dark stuff that it was to a soft smoke. The first summer sun had darkened her skin and she looked more than ever like a gipsy. Coming on Robert unexpectedly she had not time to guard her expression, and the lighting of her whole face as she saw him made his heart turn over.

“How nice!” she said. “Mother is still resting but she will be down soon and we can have some tea. I—” Her glance went to Hallam and her voice died away uncertainly. “Good afternoon, Inspector.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Sharpe. I'm sorry to break into your mother's rest, but perhaps you would ask her to come down. It's important.”

She paused a moment, and then led the way indoors. “Yes, certainly. Has there been some—some new development? Come in and sit down.” She led them into the drawing-room that he knew so well by now—the lovely mirror, the dreadful fireplace, the bead-work chair, the good “pieces,” the old pink
carpet faded to a dirty grey—and stood there, searching their faces, savouring the new threat in the atmosphere.

“What is it?” she asked Robert.

But Hallam said: “I think it would be easier if you fetched Mrs. Sharpe and I told you both at the same time.” “Yes. Yes, of course,” she agreed, and turned to go. But there was no need to go. Mrs. Sharpe came into the room, very much as she had on that previous occasion when Hallam and Robert had been there together: her short strands of white hair standing on end where they had been pushed up by her pillow, her seagull's eyes bright and inquiring.

“Only two kinds of people,” she said, “arrive in noiseless cars. Millionaires and the police. Since we have no acquaintances among the former—and an ever-widening acquaintance with the latter—I deduced that some of
our
acquaintances had arrived.”

“I'm afraid I'm even less welcome than usual, Mrs. Sharpe. I've come to serve a summons on you and Miss Sharpe.”

“A summons?” Marion said, puzzled.

“A summons to appear at the police court on Monday morning to answer a charge of abduction and assault.” It was obvious that Hallam was not happy.

“I don't believe it,” Marion said slowly. “I don't believe it. You mean you are charging us with this thing?”