Find the Innocent by Roy Vickers Page B

engraved.”
    â€œWhat’s the inscription?”
    â€œI didn’t stop off to read it.”
    â€œQuite so!” said Curwen. “We’re satisfied, Mr. Canvey.”
    The silence that followed was embarrassing to Jill. Canvey had stultified himself with that wretched wedding ring story! Something which appeared to be happening but was not happening!
    Starting out of his abstraction Canvey looked at her and smiled.
    â€œYou win, Portia!”
    On the way to the door he stopped by Veronica’s chair.
    â€œI shall probably be arrested now—and possibly convicted.” When Veronica made no acknowledgement he added: “You are fond of money, aren’t you!”
    Jill flinched as the door was shut behind Canvey. Somehow, an opportunity, undefined, had been missed. That Inspector looked like a well-fed cat.
    â€œHadn’t we better have the other man in while we’re about it?” said Veronica, petulantly.
    â€œEddis is taking care of the lock,” answered Curwen. “And we haven’t quite finished with Canvey. Have you any idea, Mrs. Brengast, how he got to know that your ring is engraved?”
    â€œNone,” answered Veronica. “But I often take it off and leave it about—it doesn’t fit me very well—and he might have got the information from my maid.”
    â€œHe’s hardly that kind of man!” protested Jill.
    â€œHe couldn’t have used your maid, because he didn’t know your name,” objected Curwen.
    â€œHe said he didn’t!”
    â€œIf you’ve never met before, how would he know who you were?”
    â€œStrangers often recognise me. My photo appears fairly regularly in the fashion papers.” Veronica failed to avoid a suggestion of superiority. “There’s a full page one in The Prattler this week.”
    â€œQuite right!” approved Curwen. “As a matter o’ fact we found a copy of The Prattler in the lockhouse. Only it hadn’t got your photo.”
    â€œIt was probably last week’s,” said Veronica.
    â€œYour photo had been torn out.”
    Jill scented trouble. In vain, she signalled Veronica to keep her mouth shut.
    â€œI suppose I ought to feel flattered—”
    â€œNot this time, Mrs. Brengast! Your photo had been destroyed. Not burnt. Not thrown in the waste basket. It had been torn in small pieces. By a gloved hand. And the gloved hand had stuffed the pieces into the folds of the sofa—just as though someone had wanted to get rid of that photo quickly and quietly without someone else seeing it.”
    â€œCat-and-mouse, Inspector!” cried Jill. “Can we have it straight, please?”
    â€œTry this, Miss Aspland. We know that in that lockhouse last night there was one man, one woman and a photo of Mrs. Brengast. We are told that the two called each other fancy names—perhaps because the woman did not want the man to know her real name. Tell me as straight as you like who tore up that photo of Mrs. Brengast.”
    â€œMrs. Brengast!” cried Veronica.
    Jill froze. Curwen looked like a man who intends to count his change.
    â€œIt proves conclusively that I was alone in that lockhouse with Stranack!” Veronica had raised her voice. “Also alone with Canvey! And we mustn’t forget Eddis! And I hereby confess that all three threw my wedding ring into the lock! This wedding ring!”
    â€œWell done, Mrs. Brengast!” Curwen laughed, but it was a stage laugh and a poor one, to Jill’s ear. “Very funny, as you put it! Three men, each of ’em claiming to have been alone with you at that lockhouse, you said!” He stood up. “But, you see—only two of those three are telling lies about where they were and what they were doing last night. The third is telling the truth.”
    At the door, he added:
    â€œTalk it over with Miss Aspland.”
    When Curwen had gone Veronica sighed