‘Yes, but I shall take Hawkins. I’ve got some shopping to do as well and it’s a nuisance if you’re driving yourself – you can’t leave the car anywhere.’ ‘Yes, of course.’ He said no more, but when the car came around, Bobby at the wheel very stiff and correct of demeanour, he came out on the doorstep to see her off.
‘Goodbye,’ said Frankie.
Under the circumstances she did not think of holding out a hand, but Roger took hers and held it a minute.
‘You are coming back?’ he said with curious insistence.
Frankie laughed.
‘Of course. I only meant goodbye till this evening.’ ‘Don’t have any more accidents.’ ‘I’ll let Hawkins drive if you like.’ She sprang in beside Bobby, who touched his cap. The car moved off down the drive, Roger still standing on the step looking after it.
‘Bobby,’ said Frankie, ‘do you think it possible that Roger might fall for me?’ ‘Has he?’ inquired Bobby.
‘Well, I just wondered.’ ‘I expect you know the symptoms pretty well,’ said Bobby.
But he spoke absently. Frankie shot him a quick glance.
‘Has anything – happened?’ she asked.
‘Yes, it has. Frankie, I’ve found the original of the photograph!’ ‘You mean – the one – the one you talked so much about the one that was in the dead man’s pocket?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Bobby! I’ve got a few things to tell you, but nothing to this.
Where did you find her?’ Bobby jerked his head back over his shoulder.
‘In Dr Nicholson’s nursing home.’ ‘Tell me.’ Carefully and meticulously Bobby described the events of the previous night. Frankie listened breathlessly.
“Then we are on the right track,’ she said. ‘And Dr Nicholson is mixed up in all this! I’m afraid of that man.’ ‘What is he like?’ ‘Oh! big and forceful – and he watches you. Very intently behind glasses. And you feel he knows all about you.’ ‘When did you meet him?’ ‘He came to dinner.’ She described the dinner party and Dr Nicholson’s insistent dwelling on the details of her ‘accident’.
‘I felt he was suspicious,’ she ended up.
‘It’s certainly queer his going into details like that,’ said Bobby. ‘What do you think is at the bottom of all this business, Frankie?’ ‘Well, I’m beginning to think that your suggestion of a dope gang, which I was so haughty about at the time, isn’t such a bad guess after all.’ ‘With Dr Nicholson at the head of the gang?’ ‘Yes. This nursing home business would be a very good cloak for that sort of thing. He’d have a certain supply of drugs on the premises quite legitimately. While pretending to cure drug cases, he might really be supplying them with the stuff.’ ‘That seems plausible enough,’ agreed Bobby.
‘I haven’t told you yet about Henry Bassingtonffrench.’ Bobby listened attentively to her description of her host’s idiosyncracies.
‘His wife doesn’t suspect?’ ‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’ ‘What is she like? Intelligent?’ ‘I never thought exactly. No, I suppose she isn’t very. And yet in some ways she seems quite shrewd. A frank, pleasant woman.’ ‘And our Bassingtonffrench?’ ‘There I’m puzzled,’ said Frankie slowly. ‘Do you think, Bobby, that just possibly we might be all wrong about him?’ ‘Nonsense,’ said Bobby. ‘We worked it all out and decided that he must be the villain of the piece.’ ‘Because of the photograph?’ ‘Because of the photograph. No one else could have changed that photograph for the other.’ ‘I know,’ said Frankie. ‘But that one incident is all that we have against him.’ ‘It’s quite enough.’ ‘I suppose so. And yet ‘ ‘Well?’ ‘I don’t know, but I have a queer sort of feeling that he’s innocent – that he’s not concerned in the matter at all.’ Bobby looked at her coldly.
‘Did you say that he had fallen for you or that you had fallen for him?’ he inquired politely.
Frankie flushed.
‘Don’t be so absurd, Bobby. I just wondered if there couldn’t be some innocent explanation, that’s all.’ ‘I don’t see that there can be. Especially now that we’ve actually found the girl in the neighbourhood. That seems to clinch matters. If we only had some inkling as to who the dead man was ‘ ‘Oh, but I have. I told you so in my letter. I’m nearly sure that the murdered man was somebody called Alan Carstairs.’ Once more she plunged into narrative.