Passing Strange by Catherine Aird Page A

starting an interview on neutral ground. Sloan would be the first to agree with that.
    â€œMake jeans compulsory,” he agreed, “and nobody would wear them.”
    â€œWe had tunics,” she said. “Can you believe it?”
    Sloan looked up. “You went to school in England, miss, did you?” he said, though there was that in her voice that made him almost certain.
    He was rewarded with an appraising stare.
    â€œFor a time,” said Miss Mellows noncommittally. “Daddy had to do something with me when my mother died. It didn’t last.”
    â€œI see.” There was a teasing lilt in her speech not entirely English too.
    â€œI didn’t like it,” she said. “They didn’t like it.” She waved a hand. “And Daddy didn’t like them so he took me back to South America with him.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œIt isn’t any help though, Inspector.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œMr Terlingham has gone into all that.”
    â€œHas he now?” Sloan would be having a word with Mr Stephen Terlingham of Messrs Terlingham, Terlingham and Owlet as soon as he could, although Saturday evening was not the most propitious time to invoke the help of that branch of the legal profession. Law enforcement went on all round the clock. Advice and advocacy on the other hand ‘kept no late lamps.’
    â€œThe school,” Miss Mellows informed him, “hadn’t kept any of my exercise books.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not really surprising, is it?”
    â€œExercise books, miss?”
    â€œA set of fingerprints would have been a help.” She peered at him. “You are a policeman, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes, miss. I’m a policeman all right.” It was taking the oath of allegiance that made an ordinary citizen into a policeman. That, Sloan had decided years ago, was the dividing line. That and nothing else. The moment when a man or woman put forward their right hand and began, “I do solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that I will well and truly serve our Sovereign Lady the Queen in the office of Constable, without favour or affection, malice or ill will …”
    It was as bad as the Book of Common Prayer for saying everything twice over. On the other hand there was no ambiguity about it at all.
    â€œâ€¦ and that I will, to the best of my power cause the peace to be kept and preserved, and prevent all offences against the persons and properties of Her Majesty’s subjects and that while I continue to hold the said office I will, to the best of my skill and knowledge, discharge all the duties thereof faithfully according to law.”
    As undertakings went, it was pretty comprehensive.
    â€œFingerprints, did you say, miss?” It was a long time ago that a young and rather self-conscious Christopher Dennis Sloan had made his declaration of intent. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me …”
    â€œMr Terlingham doesn’t believe I’m me,” she said coolly.
    â€œWhy doesn’t he?”
    â€œBecause of a letter,” she said.
    â€œYes?” said Sloan encouragingly.
    â€œMy father’s uncle’s wife …”
    â€œThat would be Mrs Agatha Mellows, I take it, miss?”
    â€œIt would.” She looked straight at Sloan. “Just after I was born she wrote to someone saying I was brown-eyed.” She turned her face slightly. A pair of bright blue eyes regarded him steadily. “That letter has turned up. Fingerprints,” she repeated, “might have proved I was me.”
    Sloan considered the figure before him. “So …”
    â€œOr handwriting,” she said. “They can do a lot with handwriting these days, can’t they?”
    â€œSometimes,” said Sloan cautiously. Of all experts, handwriting ones went down least well in the witness-box. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because there was still