“I made some rather unwise investments,” he explained.
“As a result my income has diminished. If anything were to happen to me, my wife would be left very badly off. This insurance will put things right.”
“She didn’t object to the idea?” inquired Evans casually.
“Some ladies do, you know. Feel it’s unlucky – that sort of thing.”
“Oh, Margaret is very practical,” said Merrowdene, smiling. “Not at all superstitious. In fact, I believe it was her idea originally. She didn’t like my being so worried.”
Evans had got the information he wanted. He left the other shortly afterwards, and his lips were set in a grim line. The late Mr Anthony had insured his life in his wife’s favour a few weeks before his death.
Accustomed to rely on his instincts, he was perfectly sure in his own mind. But how to act was another matter. He wanted, not to arrest a criminal red-handed, but to Prevent a crime being committed, and that was a very different and a very much more difficult thing.
All day he was very thoughtful. There was a Primrose League Fête that afternoon held in the grounds of the local squire, and he went to it, indulging in the penny dip, guessing the weight of a pig, and shying at coconuts all with the same look of abstracted concentration on his face. He even indulged in half a crown’s worth of Zara, the Crystal Gazer, smiling a little to himself as he did so, remembering his own activities against fortune-tellers in his official days.
He did not pay very much heed to her sing-song droning voice – till the end of a sentence held his attention.
“… And you will very shortly – very shortly indeed — be engaged on a matter oflife or death…. Life or death to one person.”
“Eh – what’s that?” he asked abruptly.
“A decision – you have a decision to make. You must be very careful – very, very careful…. If you were to make a mistake – the smallest mistake —”
“Yes?”
The fortune-teller shivered. Inspector Evans knew it was all nonsense, but he was nevertheless impressed.
“I warn you – you must not make a mistake. If you do, I see the result clearly – a death….”
Odd, damned odd. A death. Fancy her lighting upon that!
“If I make a mistake a death will result? Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“In that case,” said Evans, rising to his feet and handing over half a crown, “I mustn’t make a mistake, eh?”
He spoke lightly enough, but as he went out of the tent, his jaw set determinedly. Easy to say – not so easy to be sure of doing. He mustn’t make a slip. A life, a valuable human life depended on it.
And there was no one to help him. He looked across at the figure of his friend Haydock in the distance. No help there.
“Leave things alone,” was Haydock’s motto. And that wouldn’t do here.
Haydock was talking to a woman. She moved away from him and came towards Evans and the inspector recognized her. It was Mrs Merrowdene. On an impulse he put himself deliberately in her path.
Mrs Merrowdene was rather a fine-looking woman. She had a broad serene brow, very beautiful brown eyes, and a placid expression. She had the look of an Italian madonna which she heightened by parting her hair in the middle and looping it over her ears. She had a deep rather sleepy voice. She smiled up at Evans, a contented welcoming smile.
“I thought it was you, Mrs Anthony – I mean Mrs Merrowdene,” he said glibly.
He made the slip deliberately, watching her without seeming to do so. He saw her eyes widen, heard the quick intake of her breath. But her eyes did not falter. She gazed at him steadily and proudly.
“I was looking for my husband,” she said quietly. “Have you seen him anywhere about?”
“He was over in that direction when I last saw him.” They went side by side in the direction indicated, chatting quietly and pleasantly. The inspector felt his admiration mounting. What a woman! What self-command. What wonderful poise. A remarkable woman – and a very dangerous one. He felt sure – a very dangerous one.