“Well, sir?” asked Jacobs, reentering the room a few minutes later. “Think it’s the goods?”
“It’s promising,” said Inspector Crome. “That is, if the facts are as the boy stated them. We’ve had no luck with the stocking manufacturers yet. It was time we got hold of something. By the way, give me that file of the Churston case.”
He spent some minutes looking for what he wanted.
“Ah, here it is. It’s amongst the statements made to the Torquay police. Young man of the name of Hill. Deposes he was leaving the Torquay Palladium after the film Not a Sparrow and noticed a man behaving queerly. He was talking to himself. Hill heard him say ‘That’s an idea.’ Not a Sparrow—that’s the film that was on at the Regal in Doncaster?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There may be something in that. Nothing to it at the time—but it’s possible that the idea of the modus operandi for his next crime occurred to our man then. We’ve got Hill’s name and address, I see. His description of the man is vague but it links up well enough with the descriptions of Mary Stroud and this Tom Hartigan….”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“We’re getting warm,” said Inspector Crome—rather inaccurately, for he himself was always slightly chilly.
“Any instructions, sir?”
“Put on a couple of men to watch this Camden Town address, but I don’t want our bird frightened. I must have a word with the AC. Then I think it would be as well if Cust was brought along here and asked if he’d like to make a statement. It sounds as though he’s quite ready to get rattled.”
Outside Tom Hartigan had rejoined Lily Marbury who was waiting for him on the Embankment.
“All right, Tom?”
Tom nodded.
“I saw Inspector Crome himself. The one who’s in charge of the case.”
“What’s he like?”
“A bit quiet and lah-di-dah—not my idea of a detective.”
“That’s Lord Trenchard’s new kind,” said Lily with respect. “Some of them are ever so grand. Well, what did he say?”
Tom gave her a brief résumé of the interview.
“So they think as it really was him?”
“They think it might be. Anyway, they’ll come along and ask him a question or two.”
“Poor Mr. Cust.”
“It’s no good saying poor Mr. Cust, my girl. If he’s A B C, he’s committed four terrible murders.”
Lily sighed and shook her head.
“It does seem awful,” she observed.
“Well, now you’re going to come and have a bite of lunch, my girl. Just you think that if we’re right I expect my name will be in the papers!”
“Oh, Tom, will it?”
“Rather. And yours, too. And your mother’s. And I dare say you’ll have your picture in it, too.”
“Oh, Tom.” Lily squeezed his arm in an ecstasy.
“And in the meantime what do you say to a bite at the Corner House?”
Lily squeezed tighter.