Part 38 (1/2)
”Gone. It isn't anything. It's nothing.”
Leaving Syd sitting in his chair, Brotherhood ran up the narrow stairs two at a time. The bathroom was ahead of him. He looked inside then stepped to the main bedroom left. A frilly pink divan filled most of the room. He looked under it, felt beneath the pillows, looked under them. He pulled open the wardrobe and swept aside rows of camel-hair coats and costly women's dresses. Nothing. A second bedroom lay across the landing but it contained no piece of heavy furniture two feet by two, just heaps of very beautiful white hide suitcases. Returning to the ground floor he inspected the dining-room and kitchen and, from the rear window, the tiny garden leading to the embankment. There was no hut, no garage. He returned to the parlour. Another train was pa.s.sing. He waited for the sound of it to fade before he spoke. Syd was sitting hard forward in his chair. His hands were clasped over the handle of his blackthorn, his chin rested pa.s.sively upon them.
”And the tyre marks in your drive,” said Brotherhood. ”Did the fairies make them too?”
Then Syd spoke. His lips were tight and the words seemed to hurt him. ”Do you swear to me, Scout's honour, copper, that this is for his country?”
”Yes.”
”Is what he done, which I don't believe and don't want to know, unpatriotic or could be?”
”It could be. The most important thing for all of us is to find him.”
”And may you rot if you're lying to me?”
”And may I rot.”
”You will, copper. Because I love that boy but I never did wrong by my country. He come here to con me, that's true. He wanted the filing cabinet. Old green filing cabinet Rick gave me to look after when he went off on his travels. 'Now Rick's dead, you can release his papers. It's all right,' he says. It's legal. They're mine. I'm his heir, aren't I?'”
”What papers?”
”His dad's life. All his debts. His secrets, you might say. Rickie always kept them in this special cabinet. What he owed us all. One day he was going to see everybody right, we'd never want for anything again. I said no at first. I'd always said no when Rickie was alive, and I didn't see nothing had changed it. 'He's dead,' I said. 'Let him have his peace. n.o.body never had a better pal than your old dad and you know it, so just you stop asking questions and get on with your own life,' I says. There's some bad things in that cabinet. Wentworth was one of them. I don't know the other names you said. Maybe they're in there too.”
”Maybe they are.”
”He argued around and so finally I said 'Take it.' If Meg had been here, he'd never have had it off me, legal heir or not, but she's gone. I couldn't refuse him, that's the truth. I never could, no more than what I could his dad. He was going to write a book. I didn't like that either. 'Your dad never held with books, t.i.tch,' I said. 'You know that. He was educated in the university of the world.' He didn't listen. He never would when he wanted something. 'All right,' I said. 'Take it. And maybe that'll get him off your back. Shove it in the car and p.i.s.s off,' I said, 'I'll get the big Mick from next door to help you lift it.' He wouldn't. 'The car's not right for it,' he says. 'It's not going where the cabinet's going.' 'All right,' I says, 'then leave it here and shut up.'”
”Did he leave anything else here?”
”No.”
”Was he carrying a briefcase?”
”A black airy-fairy job with the Queen's badge on it and two keyholes.”
”How long did he stay?”
”Long enough to con me. An hour, half an hour, what do I know? Wouldn't even sit down. Couldn't. He walked back and forth all the time in his black tie, smiling. Kept looking out of the window. 'Here,' I said, 'which bank have you robbed, then? I'll go and take my money out.' He used to laugh at jokes like that. He didn't, but he was smiling all the time. Well, funerals, they take you in a lot of ways, don't they? I could have done without his smiling all the same.”
”So then he left. With the cabinet?”
”Course he didn't. He sent the lorry, didn't he?”
”Of course he did,” said Brotherhood, cursing himself for his stupidity.
He was seated close to Syd and he had put his whisky beside Syd's on the beaten-bra.s.s Indian table that Syd kept polished till it shone like the Eastern sun. Syd was speaking very reluctantly, and his voice had almost died.
”How many?”
”Two blokes.”
”Did you give them a cup of tea?”
”Course I did.”
”See their lorry?”
”Course I did. I was looking out for them, wasn't I? That's a major entertainment, that is, round here, a lorry.”
”What was the firm?”
”I don't know. It wasn't written, was it? It was a plain lorry. More like a hired one.”
”Colour?”
”Green.”
”Hired from who?”
”How should I know?”
”Did you sign anything?”
”Me? You're daft. They had a tea, loaded up, and b.u.g.g.e.red off.”
”Where were they taking it?”
”The depot, weren't they?”
”Where's the depot?”
”Canterbury.”
”You sure?”
”Course I'm sure. Canterbury. Package for Canterbury. Then they complained about the weight. They always do that, they think it gets them more dropsy.”
”Did they say package for Pym?”
”Canterbury. I told you.”
”Did they have a name at all?”
”Lemon. Call at Lemon's, get the package for Canterbury. I'm Lemon. The answer is a Lemon.”
”Did you see the number of the lorry?”
”Oh yes. Wrote it down. I mean that's my hobby, lorry numbers.”
Brotherhood managed a smile. ”Well, can you at least remember what make of lorry it might have been?” he asked. ”Distinguis.h.i.+ng marks and whatnot?”