Father drew a deep breath.
"No," he said. "No, I suppose nobody would ask you. It's assimple as that."
He relapsed into silence again.
"You think something has happened to him, don't you?" asked Miss Marple.
"It's over a week now,"said Father. "He didn't have a stroke and fall down in the street. He'snot in a hospital as a result of an accident. So where is he? His disappearance has beenreported in the Press, but nobody's come forward with anyinformation yet."
"They may not have seen it. I didn't."
"It looks – it reallylooks" – Father was following out his own line of thought –"as though he meant to disappear. Leaving this place like that in themiddle of the night. You're quite sure about it, aren't you?" he demanded sharply. "You didn't dream it?"
"I am absolutely sure," said Miss Marple with finality.
Father heaved himself to his feet.
"I'd better go and seethat chambermaid," he said.
Father found Rose Sheldon on duty and ran anapproving eye over her pleasant person.
"I'm sorry to botheryou," he said. "I know you've seen our sergeant already. But it's about thatmissing gentleman, Canon Pennyfather."
"Oh yes, sir, a very nice gentleman. He oftenstays here."
"Absent-minded," saidFather.
Rose Sheldon permitted a discreet smile to appear onher respectful mask of a face.
"Now let me see." Fatherpretended to consult some notes. "The last time you saw CanonPennyfather – was – 」
"On the Thursday morning, sir. Thursday the 19th.He told me that he would not be back that night and possibly not the next either. He wasgoing, I think, to Geneva. Somewhere in Switzerland, anyway. He gave me two shirts hewanted washed and I said they would be ready for him on the morning of the following day."
"And that's the lastyou saw of him, eh?"
"Yes, sir. You see, I'mnot on duty in the afternoons. I come back again at 6 o'clock.By then he must have left, or at any rate he was downstairs. Not in his room. He had lefttwo suitcases behind."
"That's right,"said Father. The contents of the suitcases had been examined, but hadgiven no useful lead. He went on: "Did you call him the nextmorning?"
"Call him? No, sir, he was away."
"What did you do ordinarily – take him early tea? Breakfast?"
"Early tea, sir. He breakfasted downstairs always."
"So you didn't go intohis room at all the next day?"
"Oh yes, sir." Rosesounded shocked. "I went into his room as usual. I took hisshirts in for one thing. And of course I dusted the room. We dust all the rooms everyday."
"Had the bed been slept in?"
She stared at him. "Thebed, sir? Oh no."
"Was it rumpled – creasedin any way?"
She shook her head.
"What about the bathroom?"
"There was a damp hand towel, sir, that had beenused, I presume that would be the evening before. He may have washed his hands last thingbefore going off."
"And there was nothing to show that he had comeback into the room – perhaps quite late – after midnight?"
She stared at him with an air of bewilderment.Father opened his mouth, then shut it again. Either she knew nothing about the Canon's return or she was a highly accomplished actress.
"What about his clothes – suits. Were they packed up in his suitcases?"
"No, sir, they were hanging up in the cupboards.He was keeping his room on, you see, sir."
"Who did pack them up?"
"Miss Gorringe gave orders, sir. When the room waswanted for the new lady coming in."
A straightforward coherent account. But if that oldlady was correct in stating that she saw Canon Pennyfather leaving his room at 3 a.m. onFriday morning, then he must have come back to that room sometime. Nobody had seen himenter the hotel. Had he, for some reason, deliberately avoided being seen? He had left notraces in the room. He hadn't even lain down on the bed. HadMiss Marple dreamed the whole thing? At her age it was possible enough. An idea struckhim.
"What about his airport bag?"
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"A small bag, dark blue – a B.E.A. or B.O.A.C. bag – you must have seen it?"
"Oh that – yes, sir.But of course he'd take that with him abroad."
"But he didn't goabroad. He never went to Switzerland after all. So he must have left it behind. Or else hecame back and left it here with his other luggage."
"Yes – yes – I think – I'm notquite sure – I believe he did."
Quite unsolicited, the thought raced into Father's mind: They didn't brief you on that, did they?
Rose Sheldon had been calm and competent up tillnow. But that question had rattled her. She hadn't known theright answer to it. But she ought to have known.
The Canon had taken his back to the airport, hadbeen turned away from the airport. If he had come back to Bertram's, the bag would have been with him. But Miss Marple had made no mention ofit when she had described the Canon leaving his room and going down the stairs.
Presumably it was left in the bedroom, but it hadnot been put in the baggage room with the suitcases. Why not? Because the Canon wassupposed to have gone to Switzerland?
He thanked Rose genially and went downstairs again.
Canon Pennyfather! Something of an enigma, CanonPennyfather. Talked a lot about going to Switzerland, muddled up things so that he didn't go to Switzerland, came back to his hotel so secretly that nobody saw him,left it again in the early hours of the morning. (To go where? To do what?)
Could absent-mindedness account for all this?
If not, then what was Canon Pennyfather up to? Andmore important, where was he?
From the staircase, Father cast a jaundiced eye overthe occupants of the lounge, and wondered whether anyone was what they seemed to be. Hehad got to that stage! Elderly people, middle-aged people (nobody very young) niceold-fashioned people, nearly all well-to-do, all highly respectable. Service people,lawyers, clergymen; American husband and wife near the door, a French family near thefireplace. Nobody flashy, nobody out of place; most of them enjoying an old-fashionedEnglish afternoon tea. Could there really be anything seriously wrong with a place thatserved old-fashioned afternoon tea?
The Frenchman made a remark to his wife that fittedin appositively enough.
"Le Five-o'-clock,"he was saying. "C'est bien Anglais ca, n'est ce pas?" He looked round him with approval.
"Le-Five-o'-clock,"thought Davy as he passed through the swing doors to the street. Thatchap doesn't know that 'le Five-o'-clock' is as dead as the Dodo!
Outside, various vast American wardrobe cases andsuitcases were being loaded on to a taxi. It seemed that Mr. and Mrs. Elmer Cabot were ontheir way to the Hotel Vendome, Paris.
Beside him on the kerb, Mrs. Elmer Cabot wasexpressing her views to her husband.
"The Pendleburys were quite right about thisplace, Elmer. It just is old England. So beautifully Edwardian. I just feel Edward theSeventh could walk right in any moment and sit down there for his afternoon tea. I mean tocome back here next year – I really do."
"If we've got amillion dollars or so to spare," said her husband dryly.
"Now, Elmer, it wasn'tas bad as all that."
The baggage was loaded, the tall commissionairehelped them in, murmuring "Thank you, sir" as Mr. Cabot made the expected gesture. The taxi drove off. Thecommissionaire transferred his attention to Father.
"Taxi, sir?"
Father looked up at him.
Over six feet. Good-looking chap. A bit run to seed.Ex-Army. Lot of medals – genuine, probably. A bit shifty?Drinks too much.
Aloud he said: "Ex-Armyman?"
"Yes, sir. Irish Guards."
"Military Medal, I see. Where did you get that?"
"Burma."
"What's your name?"
"Michael Gorman. Sergeant."
"Good job here?"
"It's a peaceful spot."
"Wouldn't you preferthe Hilton?"
"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.
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