Read Online The Lodger by Mary Jane Staples - Free Book Online Page B

Wilson did tell us you were here, asking about a room she has to let. Would you mind answering a few questions?’
    â€˜I get you, sergeant,’ said Mr Bates cheerfully, ‘so go ahead. I wouldn’t want Mrs Wilson to think I’d got something to hide.’
    Maggie already thought nothing of the kind. She already thought Mr Bates was quite genuine.
    Nicholas was quizzing the man. Handsome devil. Fine build. Hearty. Healthy. Frank eyes. Friendly smile. All the same, there were men whose smile was like that on the face of a tiger before it sprang.
    â€˜Your name, sir?’
    â€˜Jerry Bates.’
    â€˜May I ask why you’re looking for lodgings, Mr Bates?’
    â€˜Because I’m a travellin’ bloke, a minin’ engineer, just up from Australia.’
    â€˜You’ve just arrived?’ enquired Nicholas.
    â€˜No, I’ve been back in the Old Country a few days, stayin’ with a friend in his lodgings in Dartford.’
    â€˜Could you tell me where you were on Friday night, sir?’
    â€˜Same place, sergeant. Dartford.’ Mr Bates smiled. ‘I’m takin’ no offence, I’m appreciative you’ve got yer duty to do. Ask anything you like.’
    â€˜You were in Dartford all Friday night?’
    â€˜I was. I left there about six on Saturday evening. You can confirm that with me friend, name of Rodney Foster. Twenty-one Essex Road, Dartford.’
    â€˜I see.’ Nicholas mused. Chapman gloomed. Waste of time. ‘Mr Bates, did you call on any other prospective landlady before you knocked on Mrs Wilson’s door?’ asked Nicholas.
    â€˜Didn’t need to,’ said Mr Bates. ‘I know Walworth. I looked in a newsagent’s window and saw Mrs Wilson’s card advertisin’ a room.’
    â€˜Well, the fact is, sir,’ said Nicholas, ‘a man answering your description did apply for a room at the house of one of Mrs Wilson’s neighbours.’
    â€˜Well, you bring that neighbour here, sergeant. A lady, was it?’ Mr Bates raised an eyebrow, and Nicholas nodded. ‘She’ll tell you it wasn’t me. I came straight here yesterday evenin’, here to Mrs Wilson’s.’
    It’s a nothing, thought Nicholas. He saw that Chapman thought so too. And Mrs Wilson was fidgeting, a sign that she no longer liked the questioning. Well, it had had to be done.
    â€˜Many thanks, Mr Bates,’ he said.
    â€˜I appreciate the process,’ said Mr Bates, good humour undiminished.
    â€˜What process?’ asked Nicholas.
    â€˜Elimination, yer know.’ Mr Bates laughed. ‘Except, of course, you could also say elimination’s a hanging job.’ He laughed again.
    â€˜Oh, Mr Bates,’ protested Maggie, feeling uncomfortable about everything.
    â€˜Apologies, Mrs Wilson. Sometimes me sense of humour gets the better of me.’
    â€˜Sorry to have bothered you,’ said Nicholas.
    â€˜Don’t mention it, sergeant,’ said Mr Bates. ‘Murder’s very nasty, and you’ve got to do your job. I’m still not takin’ offence.’
    â€˜Sorry we interrupted your Sunday morning, Mrs Wilson,’ said Nicholas.
    â€˜It’s all right, Mr Bates and me both understand,’ said Maggie, and saw them out. On the doorstep, she whispered, ‘He’s just not the one, is he?’
    â€˜I can’t fault him,’ said Nicholas. He noted the colour of Maggie’s hair. Light brown, not golden, like the murdered woman’s or Mrs Carter’s. He shook himself. He was getting obsessive about women’s hair.
    â€˜Look,’ said Maggie, ‘I’m sorry we wasted your time, but Trary an’ me both thought . . . well, we thought it was right to tell you about ’im.’
    â€˜It was absolutely right,’ said Nicholas, ‘and it can’t count as wasted time. Thanks for everything. Goodbye, Mrs Wilson.’
    â€˜Goodbye,’ said