In the Frame - By Dick Francis Page 0,81

the Customs, though frankly, dear, in the same circumstances I’d probably do it again, because that tax makes me so mad, dear. But I’m ever so glad, dear, that they won’t come knocking on my door this time, or rather my sister Betty’s, because of course I’m staying with her again up here at the moment, as of course the Beach told you, until my house is ready.’

I blinked. ‘What house?’

‘Well, dear, I decided not to rebuild the house at Worthing because it wouldn’t be the same without the things Archie and I bought together, so I’m selling that plot of sea-side land for a fortune, dear, and I’ve chosen a nice place just down the road from Sandown Park racecourse.’

‘You’re not going to live in Australia?’

‘Oh no, dear, that would be too far away. From Archie, you see, dear.’

I saw. I liked Maisie very much.

‘I’m afraid I spent all your money,’ I said.

She smiled at me with her well-kept head on one side and absentmindedly stroked her crocodile handbag.

‘Never mind, dear. You can paint me two pictures. One of me, and one of my new house.’

I left after the third race, took the train along the main line to Shrewsbury, and from there travelled by bus to Inspector Frost’s official doorstep.

He was in an office, chin deep in papers. Also present, the unblinking Superintendent Wall, who had so unnerved Donald, and whom I’d not previously met. Both men shook hands in a cool and businesslike manner, Wall’s eyes traversing the anorak, jeans and desert boots, and remaining unimpressed. They offered me a chair, moulded plastic and armless.

Frost said, faintly smiling, ‘You sure kicked open an ant-hill.’

Wall frowned, disliking such frivolity. ‘It appears you stumbled on an organisation of some size.’

The gaze of both men swept the mountain of paper.

‘What about Donald?’ I asked.

Frost kept his eyes down. His mouth twitched.

Wall said, ‘We have informed Mr Stuart that we are satisfied the break-in at his house and the death of Mrs Stuart were the work of outside agencies, beyond his knowledge or control.’

Cold comfort words. ‘Did he understand what he was hearing?’

The Wall eyebrows rose. ‘I went to see him myself, this morning. He appeared to understand perfectly.’

‘And what about Regina?’

‘The body of Mrs Stuart,’ Wall said correctively.

‘Donald wants her buried,’ I said.

Frost looked up with an almost human look of compassion. ‘The difficulty is,’ he said, ‘that in a murder case, one has to preserve the victim’s body in case the defence wishes to call for its own post mortem. In this case, we have not been able to accuse anyone of her murder, let alone get as far as them arranging a defence.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We’ll release Mrs Stuart’s body for burial as soon as official requirements have been met.’

I looked at my fingers, interlacing them.

Frost said, ‘Your cousin already owes you a lot. You can’t be expected to do more.’

I smiled twistedly and stood up. ‘I’ll go and see him,’ I said.

Wall shook hands again, and Frost came with me through the hall and out into the street. The lights shone bright in the early winter evening.

‘Unofficially,’ he said, walking slowly with me along the pavement, ‘I’ll tell you that the Melbourne police found a list of names in the gallery which it turns out are of known housebreakers. Divided into countries, like the Overseas Customers. There were four names for England. I suppose I shouldn’t guess and I certainly ought not to be saying this to you, but there’s a good chance Mrs Stuart’s killer may be one of them.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. But don’t quote me.’ He looked worried.

‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘So the robberies were local labour?’

‘It seems to have been their normal method.’

Greene, I thought. With an ‘e’. Greene could have recruited them. And checked afterwards, in burnt houses, on work done.

I stopped walking. We were standing outside the flower shop where Regina had worked. Frost looked at the big bronze chrysanthemums in the brightly lit window, and then enquiringly at my face.

I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the six revolver shell cases. Gave them to Frost.

‘These came from the gun which the man called Greene fired at me,’ I said. ‘He dropped them when he was reloading. I told you about them on the telephone.’

He nodded.

‘I don’t imagine they’re of much practical use,’ I said. ‘But they might persuade you that Greene is capable of murder.’

‘Well… what of it?’

‘It’s only a feeling…’

‘Get on with it.’

‘Greene,’ I said, ‘was in