The Riddle of the River by Catherine Shaw Page A

Society.
    ‘That’s when he stepped back inside and closed the door rather firmly,’ grumbled Pat. ‘I can’t even say he was disagreeable – but he certainly wasn’t friendly. Well, you see how it was.’
    I couldn’t help laughing at his discomfiture, and even more at the style of his notes. But I was brought suddenly back to earth by his next words.
    ‘Vanessa, we’re going to have to take this to Fred. It’s too important to go on playing with. This Archer
must
know who the girl was, and the police will get it out of him if we can’t. I feel we don’t have the right to waste any more time.’
    ‘You are right,’ I said slowly. ‘I have begun arranging a possibility for myself to meet Mr Archer, but I am almost certainly going to run into the same difficulty as you, apart from the fact that it may take days if not weeks to organise. We can’t wait so long. You are right; we must go and see Inspector Doherty.’
    ‘And this very minute,’ said Pat. ‘I feel bad already about not going yesterday. As far as I know – and he promised to keep me abreast – he’s got nowhere as yet with the stuff from the Missing Persons Bureau. Come along, Vanessa, get your things on!’
    ‘Hm,’ I said, thinking how uncomfortable it was going to be to explain about the identification of the bracelet. ‘Do I have to come? Can’t you explain it all to him yourself?’
    ‘Nonsense. He’s sure to have questions to ask you,’ he said obliviously. ‘Come along, do – it won’t take much time. He’s not working tonight. We’ll find him at home.’
    I yielded, ran upstairs to explain my errand to Arthur, and left with Pat, buoyed up by a comfortable feeling of relief at the idea of delivering the whole puzzle over to the capable hands of the police. Yet when we reached Inspector Doherty’s little terraced house on George Street, I felt a little nervousagain. What if I was about to disturb an important policeman with nothing but a heap of nonsense? I wished I had been able to conclude the investigation with all its details by myself. But it was too late, and too urgent for that.
    ‘Vanessa’s found out who she is, Fred,’ announced Pat with his characteristic careless haste, as soon as the door opened, whilst poor Inspector Doherty was still peering half-blind into the darkness to make out who his visitors were.
    ‘No, I haven’t,’ I objected quickly.
    ‘Oh, Pat dear, how nice of you to come by,’ said a friendly voice from within, and a female version of Pat appeared in the hall behind him, complete with red hair, freckles and irrepressible gaiety.
    ‘My sister Molly,’ he told me, drawing me inside as though the house belonged to him, pushing freely past his brother- in-law , and kissing his sister warmly on the cheek. During this time, the inspector slipped quickly back into the dining room, where we found him seated at an imposing mahogany table which dwarfed the humble room, in front of the remains of what looked like a most appetising plate of ginger pudding.
    ‘Don’t mind him,’ said Molly Doherty. ‘He’s just finishing. Here, Fred, run along to the sitting room and talk. I’ll take the things out to the kitchen.’
    ‘I’m not done yet,’ he protested, hastily scooping up the last morsel as she swept his dish out nearly from under his fork. ‘Oh all right, Pat. I see you’re just bursting with the discovery, and I’ll admit that, pudding or no pudding, I’m longing to know what you’ve found out.’ He rose, and leading us to the little adjoining parlour, he looked at us expectantly.
    ‘Vanessa had better tell it,’ said Pat.
    ‘I really wish I had more to tell,’ I began. ‘Unfortunately, itisn’t true that I know who the girl is. But I believe I have found someone who must know.’
    ‘All right,’ he said, ‘that sounds like a good start. Who is it, and how did you find the person?’
    I hemmed for a moment, wishing but not seeing how to avoid mentioning the