“But you are afraid of something.”
He put the query gently. As he spoke, he became aware of a creaking sound above his head. It was so soft even his sharp ears could not be sure of it, but it was always as well to check up. He said slowly:
“Perhaps you don’t like being left alone in the house?”
She laughed.
“Oh, no. I assure you I am not the sort to imagine things. My husband is out a lot, but it would not worry me even if the neighbours did not live so close to us. I do not feel lonely, ever.”
Deliberately, Craig looked at her. He said blandly:
“I’m glad of that.”
Her mood changed again. She should have been an actress, he thought.
“But you’re right, Mr. Craig. I am afraid. Afraid that my husband might do something desperate.”
There was a pause. Then she started nervously as there came an unmistakable noise from overhead.
“One of the windows banging. I think I’ll just slip up and close it.”
She hurried from the room, and after a moment Craig crossed to the French windows and gazed out at the garden.
He lit a cigarette and blew the blue smoke out into the warm air. Everything was very still and dreamily lazy. A perfect afternoon, and there was a faint hum coming from somewhere which could have had a most soothing effect, if only he had had a deckchair, he reflected regretfully.
Craig stepped slowly through the windows and the humming grew in volume. He tilted his head and listened. It could almost be bees busy among the flowers. Only it wasn’t bees. A speculative look narrowed his eyes and then a voice behind him said.
“It was a window.”
He turned to face the ash-blonde. She was breathing a little quickly.
Craig grinned.
“Oh, those stairs,” he murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
He shook his head, still grinning. “It doesn’t matter.”
She looked at him curiously, then flicked at a cushion that had slipped down into the corner of the couch.
He realized that everything in the room from the curtains to the walls seemed to match Mrs. Moran. The dress and the shoes and the clasp she wore, and the colour scheme, certainly suited her blonde sophistication.
Craig told himself she was either out of her element or all dressed up for something, which wasn’t an afternoon alone. Or both.
He glanced at his watch again.
“You know, I think your husband must have forgotten me after all.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure he hasn’t really,” she protested, and he decided she rose to the occasion pretty well. Then she continued quickly: “But if you’d rather not wait, I will tell him you called, and I expect he will get in touch with you again.”
Craig nodded.
“I am a busy man.”
She flashed him a smile.
“I realize you must be,” she said, “I can’t apologize enough, but it just shows the state of my husband’s mind these days. I do hope it hasn’t inconvenienced you too much?”
He told her: “Think nothing of it.”
He followed her through the hall to the front door. In the porch he turned.
“Your husband has a car?”
She hesitated. “Yes.…” And her eyes flickered past him towards the gates at the end of the drive.
Craig said slowly:
“Maybe he’s gone farther afield than into the next road to see a friend? Shall we take a look-see at the garage?
She shook her head. “If Geoff had taken the car, I should have heard him leave. I’ll tell him you called.”
“You said that before. As for hearing him leave…I don’t think your hearing is as good as it could be.”
Her eyes flew back to his face.
“What do you mean?” she demanded jerkily.
A humourless smile crept across Craig’s mouth.
“I hear a buzz,” he said. “Don’t you?”
She looked at him, puzzlement in her eyes.
“I—” She broke off and tilted her head back. She seemed to be genuinely trying to catch the sound that he had noticed in the lounge.
“Yes—” she said at last. “Yes, I do hear something.”
“Shall we go along to the garage?” he said again.
Without a word she led the way along the gravel path at the side of the house. The humming noise grew louder as they walked. He heard her catch her breath in her throat and she turned quickly towards him.
“He must be in there,” she cried, indicating the garage ahead of them.
The doors were closed and Craig moved fast. One shake was enough to show that they were not only closed, but well and truly locked.
“The key?” he rapped.
She was frightened now. He could hear her breath coming in staccato gasps.
“There’s only one—behind the front door.” She gulped and stood staring at him as if the power to move had deserted her.
“Get it.”
She turned and ran then, while the hum persisted steadily behind those locked doors.
She was back in a few moments and Craig pushed her away as he threw open the doors and the choking smoke from the exhaust billowed out at them.
“My God!” choked Mrs. Moran.
Craig fixed a handkerchief rapidly over his face, ducked into the garage and reached the car. A figure was slumped over the steering wheel. Craig leant across and cut the engine.
“Geoff! Oh, Geoff!” The woman was sobbing, all her stolid calm gone to the four winds. “Is he dead?”
He rasped at her:
“No one could sit that out and live.”
Craig coughed as the deadly carbon-monoxide fumes caught at his throat and lungs.
The air in the garage was cleaning as he lugged the body out of the car and dragged it outside. Mrs. Moran clutched at the dead man’s coat hysterically.
“You can’t do anything,” Craig told her briefly.
Whimpering and crying his name, she helped him carry Geoffrey Moran into the house. They dumped him on the couch and Craig looked on bleakly while he watched her push the cushion under her husband’s head.
“It’s no use!” she moaned. “It isn’t any use!” And then she promptly collapsed on her knees beside the couch.
Craig regarded her for a brief moment. He said:
“Get a doctor. Not that he can do a thing. Then phone the police.”
“Police…?”
She raised her head from her arms and looked at him wide-eyed through a tangle of ash-blonde hair.
He nodded unperturbed.
“It’s murder. But, of course, you know that.”
His words seemed to slap her in the face, and she looked up at him as if he had been a ghost.
“What are you talking about?”
She