At Bertram's Hotel (Miss Marple 11)

“Oh yes. Yes, of course,” said Mr. Humfries. “The matter of Canon Pennyfather, I suppose? Most extraordinary business. I hope nothing’s happened to him, poor old chap.”

“So do I,” said Miss Gorringe. “Such a dear old man.”

“One of the old school,” said Mr. Humfries approvingly.

“You seem to have quite a lot of the old school here,” observed Chief-Inspector Davy.

“I suppose we do, I suppose we do,” said Mr. Humfries. “Yes, in many ways we are quite a survival.”

“We have our regulars you know,” said Miss Gorringe. She spoke proudly. “The same people come back year after year. We have a lot of Americans. People from Boston, and Washington. Very quiet, nice people.”

“They like our English atmosphere,” said Mr. Humfries, showing his very white teeth in a smile.

Father looked at him thoughtfully. Inspector Campbell said,

“You’re quite sure that no message came here from the Canon? I mean it might have been taken by someone who forgot to write it down or to pass it on.”

“Telephone messages are always taken down most carefully,” said Miss Gorringe with ice in her voice. “I cannot conceive it possible that a message would not have been passed on to me or to the appropriate person on duty.”

She glared at him.

Inspector Campbell looked momentarily taken aback.

“We’ve really answered all these questions before, you know,” said Mr. Humfries, also with a touch of ice in his voice. “We gave all the information at our disposal to your sergeant—I can’t remember his name for the moment.”

Father stirred a little and said, in a kind of homely way,

“Well you see, things have begun to look rather more serious. It looks like a bit more than absentmindedness. That’s why, I think, it would be a good thing if we could have a word or two with those two people you mentioned—General Radley and Miss Marple.”

“You want me to—to arrange an interview with them?” Mr. Humfries looked rather unhappy. “General Radley’s very deaf.”

“I don’t think it will be necessary to make it too formal,” said Chief-Inspector Davy. “We don’t want to worry people. You can leave it quite safely to us. Just point out those two you mentioned. There is just a chance, you know, that Canon Pennyfather might have mentioned some plan of his, or some person he was going to meet at Lucerne or who was going with him to Lucerne. Anyway, it’s worth trying.”

Mr. Humfries looked somewhat relieved.

“Nothing more we can do for you?” he asked. “I’m sure you understand that we wish to help you in every way, only you do understand how we feel about any Press publicity.”

“Quite,” said Inspector Campbell.

“And I’ll just have a word with the chambermaid,” said Father.

“Certainly, if you like. I doubt very much whether she can tell you anything.”

“Probably not. But there might be some detail—some remark the Canon made about a letter or an appointment. One never knows.”

Mr. Humfries glanced at his watch.

“She’ll be on duty at six,” he said. “Second floor. Perhaps, in the meantime, you’d care for tea?”

“Suits me,” said Father promptly.

They left the office together.

Miss Gorringe said, “General Radley will be in the smoking room. The first room down that passage on the left. He’ll be in front of the fire there with The Times. I think,” she added discreetly, “he might be asleep. You’re sure you don’t want me to—”

“No, no, I’ll see to it,” said Father. “And what about the other one—the old lady?”

“She’s sitting over there, by the fireplace,” said Miss Gorringe.

“The one with white fluffy hair and the knitting?” said Father, taking a look. “Might almost be on the stage, mightn’t she? Everybody’s universal great-aunt.”

“Great-aunts aren’t much like that nowadays,” said Miss Gorringe, “nor grandmothers nor great-grandmothers, if it comes to that. We had the Marchioness of Barlowe in yesterday. She’s a great-grandmother. Honestly, I didn’t know her when she came in. Just back from Paris. Her face a mask of pink and white and her hair platinum blonde and I suppose an entirely false figure, but it looked wonderful.”

“Ah,” said Father, “I prefer the old-fashioned kind myself. Well, thank you, ma’am.” He turned to Campbell. “I’ll look after it, shall I, sir? I know you’ve got an important appointment.”

“That’s right,” said Campbell, taking his cue. “I don’t suppose anything much will come of it, but it’s worth trying.”

Mr. Humfries disappeared into his inner sanctum, saying as he did so:

“Miss Gorringe—just a moment, please.”

Miss Gorringe followed him in and shut the door behind her.

Humfries was walking up and down. He demanded sharply:

“What do they want to see Rose for? Wadell asked all the necessary questions.”

“I suppose it’s just routine,” said Miss Gorringe, doubtfully.

“You’d better have a word with her first.”

Miss Gorringe looked a little startled.

“But surely Inspector Campbell—”

“Oh, I’m not worried about Campbell. It’s the other one. Do you know who he is?”

“I don’t think he gave his name. Sergeant of some kind, I suppose. He looks rather a yokel.”

“Yokel, my foot,” said Mr. Humfries, abandoning his elegance. “That’s Chief-Inspector Davy, an old fox if there ever was one. They think a lot of him at the Yard. I’d like to know what he’s doing here, nosing about and playing the genial hick. I don’t like it at all.”

“You can’t think—”

“I don’t know what to think. But I tell you I don’t like it. Did he ask to see anyone else besides Rose?”

“I think he’s going to have a word with Henry.”

Mr. Humfries laughed. Miss Gorringe laughed too.

“We needn’t worry about Henry.”

“No, indeed.”

“And the visitors who knew Canon Pennyfather?”

Mr. Humfries laughed again.

“I wish him joy of old Radley. He’ll have to shout the place down and then he won’t get anything worth having. He’s welcome to Radley and that funny old hen, Miss Marple. All the same, I don’t much like his poking his nose in….”

Chapter Fourteen

“You know,” said Chief-Inspector Davy thoughtfully, “I don’t much like that chap Humfries.”

“Think there’s something wrong with him?” asked Campbell.

“Well—” Father sounded apologetic, “you know the sort of feeling one gets. Smarmy sort of chap. I wonder if he’s the owner or only the manager.”

“I could ask him.” Campbell took a step back towards the desk.

“No, don’t ask him,” said Father. “Just find out—quietly.”

Campbell looked at him curiously.

“What’s on your mind, sir?”

“Nothing in particular,” said Father. “I just think I’d like to have a good deal more information about this place. I’d like to know who is behind it, what its financial status is. All that sort of thing.”

Campbell shook his head.

“I should have said if there was one place in London that was absolutely above suspicion—”

“I know, I know,” said Father. “And what a useful thing it is to have that reputation!”

Campbell shook his head and left. Father went down the passage to the smoking room. General Radley was just waking up. The Times had slipped from his knees and disintegrated slightly. Father picked it up and reassembled the sheets and handed it to him.

“Thank ye, sir. Very kind,” said General Radley gruffly.

“General Radley?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll excuse me,” said Father, raising his voice, “but I want to speak to you about Canon Pennyfather.”

“Eh

—what’s that?” The General approached a hand to his ear.

“Canon Pennyfather,” bellowed Father.

“My father? Dead years ago.”

“Canon Pennyfather.”

“Oh. What about him? Saw him the other day. He was staying here.”

“There was an address he was going to give me. Said he’d leave it with you.”

That was rather more difficult to get over but he succeeded in the end.