The Stratford Murder by Mike Hollow (best thriller novels of all time .TXT) 📗

expecting us to give him an update on the break-in, and we might profitably put one or two questions to him too. Interesting fellow, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, and very ambitious,’ said Cradock. ‘So’s that Elsie, I think. I wonder if they’ve ever met – they’d probably get on well together if she wasn’t already married.’

‘From what we’ve heard about him so far, I’d say he might not regard that as too great an obstacle.’

‘True. He’s certainly what they call a go-getter. That reminds me – when we were talking to Vera Ballantyne about horoscopes and all that, she said Hitler was ambitious, didn’t she? She said a man with that kind of ambition’s going to think the world’s there for the taking.’

‘And?’

‘Well, that sounded just like what Conway said the first time we spoke to him at the cinema, didn’t it? He said he had big plans, and the world was out there for the taking.’

‘Are you suggesting Mr Conway’s another Hitler? Is he going to march into the Forest Gate Odeon and annex it?’

‘No, it’s just that it struck me. I suppose it made me think about whether ambition’s always a good thing. It can be a bit unpleasant, can’t it?’

‘Well, it certainly is in Mr Hitler’s case. I think it depends on the person – some people handle it better than others. I suspect there’s something of the dreamer in Conway.’

‘Same as in Joan? That’s what Elsie said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Jago, pulling out into the traffic again. ‘I think Joan had her dreams. Or maybe “hopes” would be a better word. But I don’t get the impression she was the sort to scheme and plot to get what she wanted. That’s the difference between someone like her and the Conways of this world. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of ambition, but the trouble is it can make you selfish – you end up seeing other people just as stepping stones to what you want, so you tread on them on your way.’

‘You reckon that’s Conway’s problem?’

‘I do. But what I’m wondering is whether it was hope that cost Joan her life.’

Cradock was still pondering this new thought when they arrived at the Regal cinema.

Conway met them in the foyer. Striding across the richly carpeted floor, he threw open the door to his office with what Jago thought was a rather grand gesture and swept in behind them.

‘Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you’ve come with good news. Have you found my envelope yet?’

‘The envelope from your safe?’ said Jago.

‘That’s right, the sealed one.’

‘Not yet, I’m afraid, but we’ll let you know as soon as we recover it, if we manage to. And the money?’

‘What?’

‘You haven’t asked whether we’ve found the cinema takings that were stolen from the safe in your office.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. The money. Is there any news?’

‘Not yet. Forgive me for asking, but I get the impression you’re possibly more anxious about your missing envelope than you are about your employers’ money. Is that correct?’

‘Of course not – what a ridiculous idea. I’ve told you, there’s nothing in that envelope except a few silly old photos. It’s just that the deadline for submissions to the competition is coming up, and I’m very keen to have them back before that.’

‘Silly old photos, you say. That’s a very modest way for a man to speak about his own art. We’ve been discussing your pastime with someone who claims to know something about your photographic work. That person described them as “saucy snaps”. What do you say to that?’

‘What? Who said that? I’ll, I’ll … Who told you that?’

‘I can’t tell you at the moment, Mr Conway.’

‘Well, whoever it was, he’s a fool and a Philistine who knows nothing about art. Saucy snaps? I’ll give him saucy snaps. My work is art, and my photographs are artistic images, quite possibly soon to be judged as works of outstanding artistic merit. If, that is, you manage to get them back in time from whoever stole them – something you don’t seem to be having much success at, as far as I can see.’

‘We’re doing our best, Mr Conway.’

Conway did not reply immediately, as if he had heard the sudden burst of petulance in his own voice and was regretting it.

‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he said, composing himself. ‘I’m sorry for speaking sharply. It’s just that I’m anxious about the competition. Please excuse me.’

‘That’s all right, Mr Conway. But I must ask you another personal question.’

‘Yes?’ said Conway warily. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s been suggested to me that you were involved in a relationship with one of your staff. A personal relationship, if you know what I mean. Is that correct?’

‘I’m not sure I do know what you mean. Which member of staff am I supposed to have had this relationship with?’

‘With your secretary, Miss Carlton.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘It was Miss Carlton herself, actually.’

This answer seemed to knock the stuffing out of Conway. He moved to his desk and sat down behind it. There was an unfamiliar look of uncertainty in his eyes.

‘I see,’ he replied slowly. ‘Well, in that case yes, it’s true. But I don’t see what business that is of yours. It’s got nothing to do with your investigation.’

‘Perhaps so. But what interests me is that she claims you ended that relationship. Is that true?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Why did you end it?’

Conway thought for a moment, then pursed his lips and looked up at Jago. ‘If you must know, it’s because I grew tired of her. She has a superficial charm, but it became clear to me that behind that she is shallow. No depth. No mystery. I assume you won’t need to tell her this, Inspector, but between you and me I look for something more in a woman. I want a woman with character, who’s been through the fire, as it were, who’s been tested and has overcome. A woman who deserves to stand beside me in the future. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’

Jago thumbed silently