CHAPTER 15-3

　　"I would not. I like it here. Nice people comehere, and quite a lot of racing gentlemen – for Ascot andNewbury I‘ve had good tips from them now and again."

　　"Ah, so you’re anIrishman and gambler, is that it?"

　　"Och! Now, what would life be without a gamble?"

　　"Peaceful and dull," saidChief-Inspector Davy, "Like mine."

　　"Indeed, sir?"

　　"Can you guess what my profession is?" asked Father.

　　The Irishman grinned.

　　"No offence to you, sir, but if I may guess I‘d say you were a cop."

　　"Right first time," saidChief-Inspector Davy. "You remember Canon Pennyfather?"

　　"Canon Pennyfather now, I don’t seem to mind the name –”

　　"Elderly clergyman."

　　Michael Gorman laughed.

　　"Ah now, clergymen are as thick as peas in a podin there."

　　"This one disappeared from here."

　　"Oh, that one!" Thecommissionaire seemed slightly taken aback.

　　"Did you know him?"

　　"I wouldn‘t rememberhim if it hadn’t been for people asking me questions abouthim. All I know is, I put him into a taxi and he went to the Athenaeum Club. That‘s the last I saw of him. Somebody told me he’dgone to Switzerland, but I hear he never got there. Lost himself, it seems."

　　"You didn‘t see himlater that day?"

　　"Later – No, indeed."

　　"What time do you go off duty?"

　　"Eleven-thirty."

　　Chief-Inspector Davy nodded, refused a taxi andmoved slowly away along Pond Street. A car roared past him close to the kerb, and pulledup outside Bertram’s Hotel, with a scream of brakes. Chief-Inspector Davy turned his headsoberly and noted the number plate. FAN 2266. There was something reminiscent about thatnumber, though he couldn‘t for the moment place it.

　　Slowly he retraced his steps. He had barely reachedthe entrance before the driver of the car, who had gone through the doors a moment or twobefore, came out again. He and the car matched each other. It was a racing model, whitewith long gleaming lines. The young man had the same eager greyhound look with a handsomeface and a body with not a superfluous inch of flesh on it.

　　The commissionaire held the car door open, the youngman jumped in, tossed a coin to the commissionaire and drove off with a burst of powerfulengine.

　　"You know who he is?" saidMichael Gorman to Father.

　　"Ladislaus Malinowski. Won the Grand Prix twoyears ago – world champion he was. Had a bad smash last year.They say he’s all right again now."

　　"Don‘t tell me he’s staying at Bertram‘s. highly unsuitable."

　　Michael Gorman grinned.

　　"He’s not stayinghere, no. but a friend of his is –” He winked.

　　A porter in a striped apron came out with moreAmerican luxury travel equipment.

　　Father stood absent-mindedly watching them beingensconced in a Daimler Hire Car whilst he tried to remember what he knew about LadislausMalinowski. A reckless fellow – said to be tied up with somewell known woman – what was her name now? Still staring at asmart wardrobe case, he was just turning away when he changed his mind and re-entered thehotel again.

　　He went to the desk and asked Miss Gorringe for thehotel register. Miss Gorringe was busy with departing Americans, and pushed the book alongthe counter towards him. He turned the pages. Lady Selina Hazy, Little Cottage,Merryfield, Hants. Mr. and Mr. Hennessey King, Elderberries, Essex. Sir John Woodstock, 5Beaumont Crescent, Cheltenham. Lady Sedgwick, Hurstings House, Northumberland. Mr. andMrs. Elmer Cabot, Connecticut. General Radley, 14, The Green, Chichester. Mr. and Mrs.Woolmer Pickington, Marble Head, Connecticut. La Comtesse de Beauville, Les Sapins, St.Germain en Laye. Miss Jane Marple, St Mary Stead, Much Benham. Colonel Luscombe, LittleGreen, Suffolk. Mrs. Carpenter, The Hon. Elvira Blake. Canon Pennyfather, The Close,Chadminster. Mrs. Holding, Miss Holding, Miss Audrey Holding, The Manor House, Carmanton.Mr. and Mrs. Ryesville, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. The Duke of Barnstable, Doone Castle,N. Devon…. A cross section of the kind of people who stayed atBertram‘s Hotel. They formed, he thought, a kind of pattern…

　　As he shut the book, a name on an earlier pagecaught his eye. Sir William Ludgrove.

　　Mr. Justice Ludgrove who had been recognised by aprobation officer near the scene of a bank robbery. Mr. Justice Ludgrove – Canon Pennyfather – both patrons of Bertram’sHotel…

　　"I hope you enjoyed your tea, sir?" It was Henry, standing at his elbow. He spoke courteously, and with theslight anxiety of the perfect host.

　　"The best tea I‘ve hadfor years," said Chief-Inspector Davy.

　　He remembered he hadn’tpaid for it. he attempted to do so; but Henry raised a deprecating hand.

　　"Oh no, sir. I was given to understand that yourtea was on the house. Mr. Humfries‘ orders."

　　Henry moved away. Father was left uncertain whetherhe ought to have offered Henry a tip or not. It was galling to think that Henry knew theanswer to that social problem much better than he did!

　　As he moved away along the street, he stoppedsuddenly. He took out his note-book and put down a name and an address – no time to lose. He went into a telephone box. He was going to stick out hisneck. Come hell or high water, he was going all out on a hunch.