Death of an Englishman (8 page)

'Right! Standing still! Fire away!'

Jeffreys fired.

'Marvellous! Nice to have you in it, too,' whispered Miss White, patting Carabiniere Bacci's arm. 'You must tell your friend,' she added loudly, 'that he should leam a bit of English before it's too late—he looks quite a bit older than you.
You have to start young,'
she admonished Inspector Jeffreys, raising her voice helpfully. 'I bet you're thirty, thirty-three? Eh?'

'I'm thirty-two, Miss White.' The disorientated Inspector was trying so hard to sound English that his accent became quite distorted.

'Too old,' declared Miss White. 'If you want to learn a foreign language you've got to start young, the younger the better. This young man in uniform has the right idea—look at me, can't speak a word—had everything translated but it's not the same thing, wish I could speak like a native—one thing is,' she added comfortingly to Inspector Jeffreys,
'your own langauge is a very beautiful
one.
Sign the book!'

'Det. Inspector Ian Jeffreys, New Scotland Yard, London,' wrote Jeffreys, and Carabiniere Bacci left them.

'Can't offer you any tea,' announced Miss White. 'Can't stand the stuff, but I can give you a glass of wine or
grappa?'

'I'd like a glass of wine.'

They were settled in Miss White's private room which overlooked the courtyard, a tiny bedsitter which on other floors would probably be occupied by a servant.

'Don't give myself much room, do I?' she asked, noticing the Inspector's discreet glances. 'But people come here to see the museum, not to see me—well, some
do,
to be honest, people who come back year after year, send me postcards—I make lots of friends really, trouble is, they only come to Florence on visits, always live so far away. But they don't forget, as you can see. Marvellous people.'

The room was decked with over a hundred Christmas cards from people who didn't forget.

'Mostly from America, England and Australia—but, here you are, look, one from Japan, look at that, snowman with little slanty eyes, lady who translated some of the poems into Japanese—sent me a copy, too, but I don't know which way up to hold it—here's your wine. In a tumbler, don't believe in those wretched little wine glasses.
Well,
fancy him being murdered, not surprised, of course, but fancy.'

'Not surprised? Why not?'

'Well, he was a dreadful man. Shouldn't speak ill, of course, but there it is.'

'Dreadful in what way? Have his radio on a bit too loud or something like that?'

Miss White looked at him sharply: 'If that's another joke like pretending to be an Italian, I might as well tell you I don't follow.'

'No, I'm not joking—and I wasn't—'

'Probably too old. Fashions change in humour like they do in everything else. A lot of young people these days can't see the humour in Shakespeare, well—all I can say is, I'm not surprised—I invited him up, you know, invite all my neighbours, Italians too, and they
do
come. Judge came up, marvellous man, very cultured, and the nice young woman from next door, they're away, she's American, she came, and invited me to a cocktail-party once, very nice young woman—too much paint on her face, I'd say, but it's probably the fashion where she comes from and then there's Signor Cesarini, well, he's been a few times, naturally, and the Cipriani, they're always busy, two children, lots of visitors and so on, but very nice people, very polite, showed an interest and no doubt they'll be popping up here one of these days—little girl came up once to tell me about the electricity going off, they learn English at school, you see, while they had some repairs done, very considerate of them, I thought, very.'

'But Mr Langley-Smythe?' asked the Inspector persistently, reminding himself to pick her up on one of these remarks later. 'What about him?'

'Wouldn't even open his door, just enough to poke his head out and scowl at me—and so polite on the stairs, butter wouldn't melt, playing the gracious English gentleman, but when I knocked on his door—you'd have thought I was trying to rob him! No interest at all in the English poets, not a scrap, even said so, virtually slammed the door in my face. An out-and-out philistine, and such dreadful manners.'

'I see. But you said you weren't surprised to hear he'd been murdered; what I mean is, his lack of interest in your museum, his bad manners, that wouldn't make him likely to be murdered …'

'But he
was,'
said Miss White incontrovertibly. 'So I'm right. You can't treat people like that. Anyway … I don't know if you like gossip—shouldn't speak ill of the dead so I oughtn't to tell you but I'll have to now I've said that, won't I? Well, I won't say much but I
will
say that if he'd changed his clothes as often as he changed his furniture it would have been a good thing. Now then, I've said it.'

Jeffreys took a sip of wine while cautiously juggling the components of this remark into an order that would mean something. Then he remembered the fingerprints.

'Change his furniture often, did he?'

'Once a month, I should think, on average—but that suit he's had on since he came here five years ago, I'm sure of it, stains all down the front, sort of thing that gives the English abroad a bad name.'

'Leaving aside his clothes for a minute,' pursued Jeffreys, 'it's odd that nobody else noticed this new furniture—as far as I know none of the other tenants mentioned his often bringing furniture in.'

'Well, they wouldn't notice, would they, since he always did it at three in the morning? Lot of people do, of course, they have to because of the narrow streets, against the law to block them during the day, can't be helped, delivering central heating oil, for instance, that has to be done during the night, street cleaning has to be done during the night and that's noisy but there it is. What I say is, a man who changes his furniture every month is probably a crook. Have a drop more, there's plenty.'

'Thanks. Now, wait a minute,' began Jeffreys cautiously. 'How do you know all this?'

'Seen him.'

'At three o'clock in the morning?'

'That's right. I said so—no point in my telling you things if you don't listen—there's my doorbell. Help yourself to the wine; I'll show them in and be right back.'

He heard her calling enthusiastic instructions down the housephone, heard the great doors boom closed below, then a rapid volley of excited remarks echoing in the large rooms, the swift padding of sports shoes coming back towards the bedsitter.

'Now, where were we? Sorry to rush off in the middle of a sentence but these are my opening hours, four to seven, I say opening hours but I let anybody in at any time, nice to see them, only I
say
these are my opening hours, sounds more proper, more efficient, don't you think so? Hopelessly disorganized, if the truth were known, but people welcome any time, I say, now you'll have to tell me what you last asked me, I've forgotten. It's the wine, I go quite ga-ga.'

'Oh dear …"

'That's all right! I enjoy it! Going to have a drop more. Go on.'

'You were telling me how you knew—'

'Ah! That's right. Look out the window. Come on! Come and look out and what do you see? Light's going but you can still see. There!'

The wintry afternoon light was already fading and the shutters were closed at most of the windows in the building, except one where a light was showing behind a muslin curtain.

'Little girls' bedroom. See the young one bouncing about? Tomboy. Look down below.' They looked down on to the top of a palm tree, plants in huge terracotta pots, and, directly under the child's bedroom, in the gloom at ground-floor level, a rectangle of weak yellow light on the stone flags. Inside Langley-Smythe's flat they could see the Captain and the Chief Inspector deep in conversation. The Chief Inspector had his head down and was rubbing his hand across his face. They couldn't hear anything but presently the Captain moved in front of the Chief Inspector and stood looking out into the courtyard.

'Notice he doesn't look up. You can see your friend now, behind. Such a good-looking boy, uniform suits him. Nobody thinks of looking up; people come to their windows and they look across or they look down, funny thing, often noticed it. But noise, now, that comes up, and the higher up you are over these courtyards the worse it is. Same with the narrow streets— I stayed in a
pensione
once when I first came out here, only came for a holiday and here I still am,
dreadful
for noise, it rebounds from wall to wall and gets louder as it gets higher—that's why anybody with any money lives on the first floor.'

'Not the ground floor?'

'No, no, no, nobody lives on the ground floor, that's for shops, garages, storage, not for living in—anyway, I'm a light sleeper so they always wake me. Got up once or twice when I've heard them banging and clattering and I've seen them at it as plain as I see those three down there now.' Both the Chief and the Captain were at the window now and the Chief was lighting his pipe.

'And what did you see exactly?'

'Furniture removal. Pictures and statues, too, and you won't believe me when I tell you that I could
swear
one of the men who comes is my greengrocer—I bet you think I'm dotty.'

'I don't think you're dotty at all, Miss White,' said Jeffreys, who had thought so up to now but was rapidly revising his opinion.

'Most people
do
think old women are dotty, English people, anyway, and I'm seventy-two, that's why I wear these shoes, keep me going, but I'm sure that man's my greengrocer, good mind to ask him. Couldn't, of course, can't speak a word but the shopkeepers round here know what I want better than I do myself. Excuse me.' She shot away suddenly, her accustomed ear having caught the sound of visitors ready to leave. Jeffreys stood still by the window, looking down thoughtfully. Despite himself he was intrigued by this whole story, and rather taken by Miss White.

'Here we are! Back again. Have to keep popping in and out, can't help it during opening hours. Now, where were we up to this time, I suppose you know?'

'You were telling me about your greengrocer.'

'That's right, and another man, carrying stuff in and out, don't know the other one.'

'Anyone else? Anyone who looked as though he might be organizing the thing with Langley-Smythe? Or just the removal men?'

'Well …' For the first time Miss White hesitated.

'Yes?'

'Well, I don't know what to say. There
is
somebody else. There
was
I suppose I should say, but I never saw him properly, just once from behind …' She looked down at the rectangle of light, frowning.

'But you think you recognized him?'

'I did think so but I have to be honest; I never saw him except once from behind and I could be wrong so I can't say. Be a terrible slander if I was to be wrong and it was only a glimpse. No, I can't say
truly
that I recognized him so I'd better keep quiet—be a terrible slander and I'm not sure, it was just a momentary thought, no.'

She was not to be moved. They came to the night of the crime.

'Yes, usual time. Woke me up—well, I suppose it must have been the shot that woke me up this time—but I didn't get up. I mean to say, after more than four years I'm used to it, never thought.'

'Four years? And did you never think of telling the police?'

'I couldn't do that. Imagine me trying to explain that I'd seen my greengrocer going in and out in the middle of the night carrying furniture — and all in Italian—I wouldn't have known where to start. I should think they'd have locked me up, if anything. Dotty old dear, they'd have said—and don't tell me you wouldn't have said the same, you needn't blush, I've seen you giving my shoes funny looks but when you get to my age it's either be comfortable and keep going or be dignified and sit in a chair all day and I know which suits me. Anyway, there might have been a perfectly sensible reason behind it all. Kept an eye open, though, just in case. Always do keep an eye open. National pastime here, you know, watching what goes on. I don't need a television, I spend many a happy hour in the little bar on the corner with a coffee, watching the world go by, and I have a terrace at the front overlooking the piazza. No need at all for a television.'

'Obviously not. Now, what about the shot? You said you heard it?'

'Couldn't say yes, couldn't say no. I said I thought that's what woke me up but by the time I was awake, of course, whatever it was had stopped. Thought to myself: There goes my crooked greengrocer and that shocker downstairs, and went back to sleep. Pity, isn't it? I mean, the one night I
should
have got up and had a good nosey, but there it is.'

When she showed him out she remarked: 'I just wonder why those two Carabinieri didn't mention this when they were here yesterday. Can't keep a thing like that a secret in Florence. Could have told them all about it if they'd said … not in Italian, of course, but even so …'

The Chiefs in for a little surprise, thought Jeffreys as he ran down the stairs, and he isn't going to like it, not one bit.

The guard saluted and opened the door for him, but Jeffreys paused on the threshold, staring. No one was speaking at the moment he entered but there was an almost palpable tension in the air, a tension that Jeffreys recognized. The three men had rearranged themselves so that the Chief had his back to the door. He was leaning back in his chair and was wreathed in blue smoke like a genie. Suddenly he heaved himself round and presented an excited, slightly flushed face: 'Jeffreys! Come in, come in and tell us all! D'you know,' he said turning back to the Italians, 'this is the most interesting case I've known for years!'