Gently Instrumental by Alan Hunter Page B

drooped. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I realize you don’t find this satisfactory. But I can give you no other account. It must stand without corroboration.’
    Gently studied him over his fingers. ‘And yesterday,’ he said. ‘Yesterday morning?’
    ‘I went to consult Dr Capel. Isn’t that what you’d expect me to do?’
    ‘You went without an appointment and stayed for an hour.’
    ‘I happen to be a friend and a private patient.’
    ‘But . . . for an hour?’
    ‘It wasn’t for an hour! We may have briefly discussed what happened that evening.’
    ‘It was so important that Capel held up surgery?’
    ‘There were . . . things that had to be decided. We’d lost our soloist. Walt was upset. Something had to be done to save the performance.’
    ‘Still . . . for an hour?’
    Meares’s hands twisted. ‘Naturally we wanted to go over it again! It had been a shock, we wanted to understand it, how it had come to blow up like that.’
    ‘You wanted to explain to him your part in it.’
    ‘Mine . . . ?’
    ‘The doctor would be curious, surely. When the man who previously had been so friendly towards Virtue turned against him and provoked a crisis.’
    Meares stared, his colour changing. ‘But that’s . . . a travesty of the facts!’
    ‘Wasn’t it you who first took exception to Virtue’s antics? Who brought up the idea of an understudy?’
    ‘I – I deny that!’
    ‘But we’ve chapter and verse for it. You weren’t being Virtue’s friend that night. Something had changed. When the moment came, it was you who were first into the attack.’
    ‘I categorically deny that!’
    Gently grunted. ‘And what you’d have to explain to the doctor was this: when Virtue outfaced you with threats and shut you up, what could the substance of those threats have been?’
    For the second time Meares took refuge in silence and allowed the fan to come into its own. His mouth slightly parted, his handsome cheeks pale, he sat slumped and gazing, his breathing unsteady. Was he beginning to guess that these were opening shots only in a campaign that might stretch to days, and that every position he had seemingly defended would come under attack again and again? The policewoman knew. She was making use of the interval to give her hand a gentle massage. And Leyston knew, squatting on his chair, staring at the buff lino and nothing. A slow destruction . . . with chummie’s lies getting thinner every time he was made to repeat them. And the heat for a bonus: now his face had a nervous glimmer of sweat.
    ‘Let’s look at it another way.’
    Meares started slightly, his moist fingers seeking a fresh grip.
    ‘Virtue had had enough of being Hozeley’s protégé. He’d decided to opt for independence.’
    ‘That was only my . . . impression.’
    ‘He was sick of Hozeley’s jealousy, of being chaperoned day and night, and an attempt to get money out of Hozeley failed. Hozeley was infatuated but he wasn’t stupid.’
    ‘I – I didn’t know about that.’
    ‘Didn’t know that Virtue was a blackmailer?’
    Gently’s stare was encouragingly mild, but Meares’s gaze faltered, dropped to the desk.
    ‘No . . .’
    ‘Oh yes. Virtue had tried these tricks before. But he must have found Hozeley an unsatisfactory mark, with his jealous vigilance and tight purse-strings. So Virtue decided to cut his losses and on Tuesday he gave Hozeley the push. But before he could do that he would need to have found a fresh mark, one who didn’t have Hozeley’s disadvantages. Wouldn’t you say that followed?’
    ‘I suppose it’s . . . possible.’
    ‘Knowing Virtue, I’d say it was certain! He’d have a man lined up who couldn’t keep such a check on him, and from whom it would be easier to extort ready cash.’
    ‘If he was indeed a blackmailer . . .’
    ‘So who would he pick?’
    ‘I – I’m not sure I understand . . .’
    ‘Think about it,’ Gently said. ‘It isn’t difficult. You only have to see it from