The Lake District Murder (British Library Crime Classics) by John Bude Page B

ever met the man before. He hadn’t. But there was no gainsaying those thin, clean-shaven features, the weak eyes enormously magnified by the thick lenses of a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. Even if Meredith had doubted the evidence of his eyes, the moment the man opened his mouth he knew that he had not been deceived in his belief. That slight stutter offered conclusive proof. The man who confronted him was the man whom Mrs. Swinley had, on two occasions, seen at the garage cottage!
    “Well,” demanded the man, with a rather truculent air, “what can I do for you?”
    “Can I speak to the manager of the depot?” asked Meredith with emphasized politeness. “It’s a personal matter.”
    “You’re speaking to him,” replied the man shortly. “My name’s Rose. What’s the trouble?”
    Again Meredith suffered a sudden surprise. So this was the man with whom Mark Higgins had made that appointment on Sunday morning! It looked as if Mr. William Rose had a pretty close connection with the partners of the Derwent.
    “I won’t keep you a moment. May I come in?”
    Meredith grew more affable every minute.
    “All right,” said the manager, kicking an office stool in his direction. “Sit down, won’t you?”
    “Thanks,” said Meredith. “First let me introduce myself, Mr. Rose. My name’s Johnson and I’ve just rented a place for the winter at Braithwaite. Well, two days ago I was driving round a sharp bend in the middle of Portinscale when I was nearly run down by one of your lorries. I shouted to the driver to stop but I’m sorry to say, Mr. Rose, he ignored my summons and drove on. If I hadn’t had my wits about me I don’t mind telling you that I shouldn’t be here now talking to you.”
    “Well?” demanded Rose acidly. “What do you want me to do about it?”
    “My first idea,” went on the Inspector in an unruffled voice, “was to take up the matter with the police. But on thinking things over I decided to come over here and see you first. After all, I don’t want your man to lose his job or have his licence suspended. My idea was that you might give the fellow a straight talking-to and leave the matter at that.”
    “I see.” Mr. Rose seemed to contemplate the facts for a moment, then: “You’re quite certain it was one of our lorries, I suppose?” he asked.
    “Of course.”
    “What time did this happen?”
    The Inspector smiled to himself. It was rather a novelty being cross-examined for a change; besides, the fertility of his invention amused him highly.
    “Let’s see—about seven-thirty in the evening.”
    A look of sneering triumph came over the manager’s sunken features.
    “Then I’ve got you! Our lorries aren’t on the road after six o’clock. They’re scheduled to garage here at six when I check in their returns. You’ve made a mistake, Mr... . Mr... .”
    “Johnson,” smiled the Inspector pleasantly. “But I assure you that... .”
    “Impossible,” snapped the manager. “If you doubt my word, you can darn well stay here till six o’clock and see ‘em come in. They’re all out to-day. Six lorries. So you can stand in that gateway and count ‘em. That’s fair enough, eh?”
    “Well, really... .” Meredith’s confusion was admirably genuine. “I don’t quite know what to say, Mr. Rose. It looks as if I must have been mistaken. I apologize, of course. Can’t imagine how I could have made an error like that. Your lorries are green aren’t they? Green with yellow lettering?”
    “That’s settled it! You have made a mistake. Blue and red—that’s us !”
    Meredith’s apologies grew profuse. He couldn’t imagine how he could have been so stupid. Now he came to think of it, the Nonock lorries had blue tanks with red lettering, hadn’t they? He’d noticed them about quite a lot in the district.
    “I expect you’ve got a pretty flourishing connection in these parts? Interesting work, eh?”
    “So-so,” said the manager in surly tones.
    “Oh, well,”