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

out, I’m afraid. There’s only me in the house – I’ve just got in from an early shift. It’s non-stop, you know. I’ll be back there at midnight on fire-watching duty, and then I’ve got another early shift tomorrow. No time to sleep, even – sometimes it feels like I live in that place. Anyway, I shouldn’t keep you on the doorstep. Would you like to come in? She might be back soon, for all I know.’

‘We will come in for a moment, thank you. We can’t stay long, but you may be able to help us yourself.’

Marwell took them into the same room in which Audrey had previously entertained them.

‘Do sit down, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I always find it a little awkward having visitors, what with it being Audrey’s house. She’s kindly taken us in, but it’s not the same as having your own place, is it? I still feel somehow as if I’m trespassing. Elsie doesn’t, of course – this was her home before we were married. We did have our own little house until quite recently, but we were bombed out when the air raids started, and Audrey’s let us have a room here.’

‘Yes, your wife told us.’

‘Of course. It’s not ideal, but we’ve just got to put up with it. No houses are being built now, and they say it could be years before anything’s available. On the night we were bombed the ARP people took us to one of those rest centres, but it turns out they were only designed to shelter people for a few hours – just some chairs and blankets, a cup of cocoa and a sandwich, not a place to live. We’d lost everything – all we had was the clothes we stood up in – but the council seemed to have no idea what to do with us. Elsie was very angry about it. She feels these things, you know.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘Audrey’s been good to us. She’s not exactly flush with money, but she’s letting us have the room free, so we can save up for a deposit on another place. I thought we should move out and rent a flat, but Elsie said no. She wasn’t brought up renting and she wants us to have a house of our own.’

‘We were told that Elsie’s father had put a considerable amount of money away somewhere but that your mother-in-law hadn’t found it yet. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. I hope they find it, although I suspect there may be some mystery about how he came by it, if you know what I mean, so that might explain why it’s not been easy to trace. Elsie’s certainly very keen to find it, because then we could get our own home. Mind you, if she did find it I’m not sure she’d tell her mum – I think she’d want to take the lot and get out. Anyway, one way or another we could do with coming into some money out of the blue, like Vera and Greville did.’

‘You know Mr and Mrs Ballantyne well?’

‘Not terribly – I’ve met them when they’ve been here visiting Audrey. Ridiculous name, isn’t it? I can’t believe anyone could really be called Greville Ballantyne – he must’ve made it up for the stage. Talk about grand – I call him Burlington Bertie when he’s not around to hear. They were as poor as church mice when I first met them, but now they seem to be living in clover.’

‘Yes, they told me they’d come into some money a couple of years ago.’

‘That’s right – it was just after Elsie’s dad passed away. I sometimes wonder whether he’d lent them the money privately, and they just kept quiet when he died, hoping no one knew about it. He made his living out of lending at exorbitant rates, from what I’ve heard, but maybe he made some loans at more reasonable rates to friends and then conveniently popped his clogs. I don’t suppose there’d have been any paperwork to complicate things.’

‘I understood from Mr Ballantyne that it was a legacy.’

‘Really? Well, that shows how much I know, then. As I said, I don’t know them well. I’d just like to have some of their luck. Elsie’s convinced her dad salted his money away. She says he once told her he’d got a little nest egg hidden somewhere, and the bird sitting on it wouldn’t sing to the taxman, whatever that means. But please don’t tell her I said that, will you?’

‘While we’re talking about Mr Ballantyne, there’s something I’d like to ask you.’

‘Of course. What is it?’

‘It’s to do with Joan. We understand that she was taking singing lessons.’

‘Really? I didn’t know.’

‘And the person who was coaching her was Mr Ballantyne.’

‘Well, that makes sense, I suppose. I mean, he used to be a professional singer, so what better person to teach her?’

‘I’d like to know more about Joan’s relationship with him, and that’s what I came here to ask your mother-in-law, but I wonder whether you can shed any light on it for us yourself.’

‘Relationship? No, I’m afraid I can’t. I know he’s a friend of the family and a singer, but I don’t know any more than that.’

‘I understand you’re involved in amateur dramatics.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘And that’s related to the world of singing, isn’t it?’

‘Not really. We do plays, but there’s no singing in them, except perhaps the occasional song in a Shakespeare comedy. But you don’t have to be a good singer to do them.’

‘I just wondered whether you might’ve come across any information in the course of your dramatic activities that might be relevant to our enquiries.’

‘No, sorry.’

‘Are you sure?’

Marwell paused for a moment, his eyes closed in concentration, then abruptly opened them. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘there is just one small thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘It may be just gossip, but I’ve heard he used to be a bit of a ladies’ man, and I’ve also heard it suggested that perhaps he still chances his arm in that respect from