nothing but its grey-white surface. Kneeling, Jim took out a knife from his pocket and began to scrape the ice; and now his companion saw what had attracted his attention: a piece of paper. It was an envelope which had been crushed into the mud. When he got the frozen object into the light it was frozen to the shape of the heel that had trodden upon it. Gently he scraped away the mud and ice until two lines were legible. The first was at the top left-hand corner and was heavily underlined.
‘By hand. Urgent.’
Only one line of the address was legible, but the word ‘Harlow’ was very distinct.
They carried their find back to the superintendent’s office and before his fire thawed it out. When the letter had become a limp and steaming thing, Jim stripped the flap of the envelope and carefully withdrew its contents.
‘DEAR MR HARLOW,
‘I am afraid I must disappoint you. I am in such a position, being an ex-convict, that I cannot afford to take the slightest risk. I will tell you frankly that what I have in my mind, is that this may be a frame-up organised by my friends the police, and I think that it would be, to say the least, foolish on my part to go any farther until I know your requirements, or at least have written proof that you have approached me.
‘Yours sincerely,
‘ARTHUR INGLE.’
The two men looked at one another.
‘That beats the band,’ said Elk. ‘What do you make of it, Carlton?’
Jim stood with his back to the fire, the letter in his hand, his brow wrinkled in a frown.
‘I don’t know…let me try now…Harlow asked Ingle to meet him: I knew that already. Ingle promised to go, changed his mind and wrote this letter, which has obviously never been opened by Harlow, and as obviously could not have been delivered to him before the interview, because, as I know - and I had a cold in the head to prove it - these two fellows met opposite the Horse Guards Parade and went joy-riding round the park for the greater part of an hour.
Supposing Harlow is concerned with the slaying of this wretched woman - and why he should kill her heaven knows! - would he carry about this unopened letter and leave it for the first flat-footed policeman to find?’
He sat down in a chair and held his head in his hands, and presently: ‘I’ve got it!’ he said, his eyes blazing with excitement. At least, if I haven’t got the whole story, I know at least one thing - poor Mrs Gibbins was very much in love with William Smith the platelayer!’
Elk stared at him.
‘You’re talking foolish,’ he said.
CHAPTER 11
AILEEN RIVERS had made one attempt to see her relative. She called up her uncle on the telephone and asked if she might call.
‘Why?’ was the uncompromising question.
Only a very pressing cause would have induced the girl to make the attempt - a fact which she conveyed to Ingle in the next sentence.
‘I’ve had a big bill sent to me for the redecoration of your flat. You remember that you wished this done. The decorators hold me responsible - ’
‘Send the bill to me; I’ll settle it,’ he interrupted.
‘I’m not sure that all the items are exact,’ she began.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he broke in again. ‘Send the bill: I’ll settle it. Good morning.’
She hung up with a little smile, relieved of the necessity for another interview.
There were times when Aileen Rivers was extremely grateful that no drop of Arthur Ingle’s blood ran in her veins.
He had married her mother’s first cousin, and the avuncular relationship was largely a complimentary one. She felt the need of emphasizing this fact upon Jim Carlton when he called that night - a very welcome visit, though he made it clear to her that the pleasure of seeing her again was not his sole object.
He had come to make inquiries which were a little inconsequent, she thought, about Mrs Gibbins. He seemed particularly anxious to know something about her nature, her qualities as a worker, and her willingness to undertake
‘By hand. Urgent.’
Only one line of the address was legible, but the word ‘Harlow’ was very distinct.
They carried their find back to the superintendent’s office and before his fire thawed it out. When the letter had become a limp and steaming thing, Jim stripped the flap of the envelope and carefully withdrew its contents.
‘DEAR MR HARLOW,
‘I am afraid I must disappoint you. I am in such a position, being an ex-convict, that I cannot afford to take the slightest risk. I will tell you frankly that what I have in my mind, is that this may be a frame-up organised by my friends the police, and I think that it would be, to say the least, foolish on my part to go any farther until I know your requirements, or at least have written proof that you have approached me.
‘Yours sincerely,
‘ARTHUR INGLE.’
The two men looked at one another.
‘That beats the band,’ said Elk. ‘What do you make of it, Carlton?’
Jim stood with his back to the fire, the letter in his hand, his brow wrinkled in a frown.
‘I don’t know…let me try now…Harlow asked Ingle to meet him: I knew that already. Ingle promised to go, changed his mind and wrote this letter, which has obviously never been opened by Harlow, and as obviously could not have been delivered to him before the interview, because, as I know - and I had a cold in the head to prove it - these two fellows met opposite the Horse Guards Parade and went joy-riding round the park for the greater part of an hour.
Supposing Harlow is concerned with the slaying of this wretched woman - and why he should kill her heaven knows! - would he carry about this unopened letter and leave it for the first flat-footed policeman to find?’
He sat down in a chair and held his head in his hands, and presently: ‘I’ve got it!’ he said, his eyes blazing with excitement. At least, if I haven’t got the whole story, I know at least one thing - poor Mrs Gibbins was very much in love with William Smith the platelayer!’
Elk stared at him.
‘You’re talking foolish,’ he said.
CHAPTER 11
AILEEN RIVERS had made one attempt to see her relative. She called up her uncle on the telephone and asked if she might call.
‘Why?’ was the uncompromising question.
Only a very pressing cause would have induced the girl to make the attempt - a fact which she conveyed to Ingle in the next sentence.
‘I’ve had a big bill sent to me for the redecoration of your flat. You remember that you wished this done. The decorators hold me responsible - ’
‘Send the bill to me; I’ll settle it,’ he interrupted.
‘I’m not sure that all the items are exact,’ she began.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he broke in again. ‘Send the bill: I’ll settle it. Good morning.’
She hung up with a little smile, relieved of the necessity for another interview.
There were times when Aileen Rivers was extremely grateful that no drop of Arthur Ingle’s blood ran in her veins.
He had married her mother’s first cousin, and the avuncular relationship was largely a complimentary one. She felt the need of emphasizing this fact upon Jim Carlton when he called that night - a very welcome visit, though he made it clear to her that the pleasure of seeing her again was not his sole object.
He had come to make inquiries which were a little inconsequent, she thought, about Mrs Gibbins. He seemed particularly anxious to know something about her nature, her qualities as a worker, and her willingness to undertake
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