Frequent Hearses by Edmund Crispin Page A

other women when you’re with me?’ and there was a cab coming along and she hailed it and ran and got into it without saying good night or anything, and just drove off leaving me standing there.”
    “It doesn’t sound to me,” said Medesco, “as if she was in a very well-balanced state of mind. And my own recollection is that you’d reached such an advanced stage of alcoholic stupor that you wouldn’t have noticed if she’d stopped in her tracks and stripped herself naked.”
    “I’ve already admitted,” said George with an attempt at dignity which his size, and the ravaged condition of his clothes, somewhat nullified, “that I was a bit under the weather.” He paused. “Come to think of it, though, she was rather silent. I seemed to be doing most of the talking.” He scratched his head. “I wish I could remember more about it—I’m afraid I’m not being a very good witness.”
    “None of this is helpful,” said Humbleby with candour. “Mr. Crane, was there any opportunity for Miss Scott to talk to anyone, or make a ‘phone call or read a letter, between the time she left you and the time she joined the group on the pavement?”
    Fen had been watching Nicholas, and had been interested to observe in him, as Evan George’s narrative proceeded, an appearance of growing relief. By now he appeared to be positively light-hearted.
    “None whatever, Inspector,” he said. “I took her down to the door myself and saw her join the others before I closed it.”
    Humbleby flicked his fingers in uncontrollable irritation; the evidence was nebulous to a degree, and an explanation of the motive for Gloria Scott’s suicide apparently as far off as ever. Something had startled her—no one knew what. And something, at some stage in the proceedings, had been said to her which had caused her to brood and brood more and more dementedly, until on Waterloo Bridge the thread of reason had snapped and an insane impulse had scourged her with horrible pain into eternity… But why? And as Humbleby, recalling the question he had been told to press, glanced at Fen, he saw that Fen was very slightly shaking his head. It was likely, the gesture said, that Nicholas Crane could not be induced to change his story, and any effort expended in that direction would certainly be effort wasted. Humbleby went on, accordingly, to the last questions which he had to ask.
    “Just who,” he demanded, “was responsible for giving Miss Scott the part of Martha Blount in The Unfortunate Lady? Mr. Stafford, was it?”
    Nicholas looked surprised. “The final decision was his, of course. He’s producing.”
    “And did he select the girl on his own initiative?”
    “No,” said Nicholas. “I put him up to it.”
    “You did?” It was Humbleby’s turn to be surprised. “Not your brother Maurice?”
    “Not my brother Maurice,” said Nicholas gravely.
    “May I be told your reasons?”
    “Certainly. She wasn’t at all a bad actress—she had a cameo part in Visa for Heaven, which I directed, so I knew what she could do—and in appearance and physique she fitted the part. And besides that, I liked her, and wanted to give her a leg-up. Fortunately, the casting of Martha Blount was one of the few things in the film that Mr. Leiper didn’t have preconceived ideas about, and Jocelyn had an open mind on the subject, so he accepted my recommendation quite readily.”
    “And you, Miss Crane,” said Humbleby with deceptive mildness. “Did you think it was a good selection?”
    Without thinking, she burst out: “I thought it was a—” But then, as she became conscious of Stuart North’s regard, her tone altered. “Why, yes, of course. Gloria needed training and experience, but one day she was going to be a very, very good actress: I was looking forward to working with her.”
    “Were you, dear?” Caroline Cecil spoke with tempered malice. “I did get the impression that you were a little bit doubtful about it.”
    “Oh no,