he heard the door of his study open and, glancing over his shoulder, saw Linda enter the room.
‘… Could Modom come for a final fitting tomorrow afternoon?’ came the unhappy voice at the end of the wire. ‘Perhaps three o’clock would be convenient for Modom?’
‘Certainly,’ Mike said hastily. ‘I’ll tell her.’
As he hung up Linda sat down in the leather-upholstered chair opposite his desk and gave him a searching glance.
‘What’s the matter, Mike?’ she said. ‘You’re looking frustrated.’
‘Nothing, darling. Just trying to earn a little honest bread and butter at my typewriter, in between answering calls from your hairdressers, dressmakers and such-like all over Town. Conway and Racy’s want you for a fitting at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Darling, that’s my new suit! The one I’m going away in … with you, remember? On holiday, the day after tomorrow. You no doubt recall the arrangements?’
‘Yes, dear, I recall.’
Something in his tone make her look up. ‘Darling, we are going to the South of France as planned, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Just look me square in the eyes and give me your solemn promise—’
‘If I am granted just a few hours’ undiluted concentration on this laggard opus of mine, we may just about make it.’
Linda stood up, leant forward, and kissed him lightly on the forehead. ‘Sorry, darling. I won’t disturb you any more. I’ve a thousand things to do if we’re to be ready on time.’
As she turned to go there was a tap on the door, and Mrs Potter, the housekeeper, came in.
‘Excuse me, Mr Baxter, but there’s a gentleman outside wants to see you.’
Mike groaned. ‘Now I know why Dickens never finished Edwin Drood. Who is it, Mrs Potter?’
For answer Mrs Potter handed him a small visiting-card.
‘Hector Staines, Assistant Sales Director, Keane Brothers,’ Mike read out. ‘Aren’t they the refrigerator people? Tell him we’ve already got two, Mrs Potter.’
‘If you were to ask me, sir, I don’t think he wants to sell you anything. Doesn’t talk like a salesman. Seems all het up, says he’s got to see you – said something about it being a matter of life and death.’
Mike’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Did he now? What’s he look like?’
‘Oh, quite the gent. Tall, grey-haired, frozen-faced type. Walks with a stick. Shouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t got a gammy leg.’
Mike exchanged glances with his wife, sighed, and pushed the portable typewriter to one side. ‘This obviously is not my morning. You’d better show him in, Mrs Potter.’
‘Want me to stay, darling?’ Linda asked.
‘Maybe you’d better, just in case he starts using his stick when I refuse to buy a fridge.’
Mrs Potter’s description of the man who entered the room was, as usual, lacking in respect but remarkably accurate. Obviously public school, Mike found himself thinking as they shook hands, not at all like a refrigerator salesman. And obviously, as Mrs Potter had put it, ‘all het up’.
‘You’ll have to excuse my butting in on you like this,’ Staines began, bowing stiffly towards Linda, ‘but this is a matter of great urgency.’
‘What can I do for you, Mr Staines?’ Mike asked politely, glancing at his watch.
‘I’ll come straight to the point, for I’m sure you’re a busy man.’
‘He is,’ said Linda meaningly.
Mike frowned at her and gestured his visitor to a chair. The elderly man shook his head and began pacing the room nervously. The limp was not very noticeable, but it was there.
‘I don’t know if you’ve been following the papers in the past few weeks, Mr Baxter?’
‘Not enough to lose any sleep over the international situation. It’ll soon blow over.’
‘I wasn’t referring to politics. I’m talking about the Weldon case. They are going to hang an innocent man.’
‘Whom did you say?’
‘Harold Weldon.’
Mike glanced at the card in his hand. ‘Wait a moment … Are you connected with Weldon in some way?’
‘Yes. Lucy Staines was my only daughter,’ said the visitor quietly.
There was silence in the room for several seconds. Then Mike said: ‘From what I remember of the case you were one of the principal witnesses against Weldon. Your evidence helped convict him, didn’t it?’
‘I am aware of the paradox,’ the elderly man answered shortly. ‘That’s what makes it all so damnedly … difficult. I have no very great sympathy for the young man, but I don’t think he killed my daughter. Not any more.’
‘Just one moment, Mr Staines, before we go any farther. I think I should tell you, whatever you may have heard to the contrary, that I’m not connected with Scotland Yard in any official capacity. If you have any fresh evidence which makes you think Weldon is innocent, then it’s your duty to go to the police without a moment’s delay.’
‘That’s just it,’ Staines answered, his stiff features crumpling into an expression of unhappy despair. ‘I don’t have any fresh evidence, at least not to speak of.’
‘Then what exactly brings you here?’
‘Simply that I don’t believe any more that he was the murderer.’
‘He was given a fair trial before Judge and Jury, wasn’t he? The verdict appears to be clear enough.’
‘Juries can make a mistake. It has been known to happen. Mostly they find out when it’s already too late.’
Mike nodded thoughtfully. ‘True enough. But I fear the Home Secretary would hardly find this intuition of yours sufficient grounds for reopening the case. Will you be a bit more explicit? You must have something to go on or you wouldn’t have bothered to come and see me.’
Staines broke off his pacing up and down and sank into a chair, his head sunk low on his chest, the stick at his side. He had obviously been bred in the strict school where to show one’s emotions is a crime of the worst possible taste. His rather high voice was strained and impersonal and he did not look up as he spoke.
‘I suppose it’s partly my conscience that is driving me. When you lose your only daughter, Mr Baxter, the world collapses like a shattered building around you. The shock is quite indescribable.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Linda sympathetically.
‘When the shock recedes, there is a terrible reaction, an urge to lash out, a burning desire for revenge. A voice cries out inside you – “Someone must be made to pay for this!”’
There was another tense silence, which Mike broke, speaking quietly but clearly. ‘Are you trying to tell me you gave false evidence against your proposed son-in-law, Mr Staines?’
‘Good God, no! I told the truth, as I had sworn to do, in answer to all the questions put to me.’
‘The truth as you saw it at that time?’
‘Since then, since the verdict, I’ve lain awake at nights, worrying about that unfortunate young man sitting in the death cell, waiting for the hangman’s steps. And my conscience torments me – was it my evidence that put him there? My daughter is gone, nothing can bring her back to me … but have I the right to