命案目睹记42
时间：2025-10-20 07:29:47
（单词翻译:单击）
Nineteen
I
“Not what you’d call conclusive,” said Sergeant Wetherall with his usual
gloom.
Craddock was reading through the report on Harold Crackenthorpe’s
alibi for 20th December.
He had been noticed at Sotheby’s about three-thirty, but was thought to
have left shortly after that. His photograph had not been recognized at
Russell’s tea shop, but as they did a busy trade there at teatime, and he
was not an habitué, that was hardly surprising. His manservant confirmed
that he had returned to Cardigan Gardens to dress for his dinner-party at
a quarter to seven—rather late, since the dinner was at seven-thirty, and
Mr. Crackenthorpe had been somewhat irritable in consequence. Did not
remember hearing him come in that evening, but, as it was some time ago,
could not remember accurately and, in any case, he frequently did not
hear Mr. Crackenthorpe come in. He and his wife liked to retire early
whenever they could. The garage in the mews where Harold kept his car
was a private lockup that he rented and there was no one to notice who
came and went or any reason to remember one evening in particular.
“All negative,” said Craddock, with a sigh.
“He was at the Caterers’ Dinner all right, but left rather early before the
end of the speeches.”
“What about the railway stations?”
But there was nothing there, either at Brackhampton or at Paddington.
It was nearly four weeks ago, and it was highly unlikely that anything
would have been remembered.
Craddock sighed, and stretched out his hand for the data on Cedric. That
again was negative, though a taxi-driver had made a doubtful recognition
of having taken a fare to Paddington that day some time in the afternoon
“what looked something like that bloke. Dirty trousers and a shock of hair.
Cussed and swore a bit because fares had gone up since he was last in Eng-
land.” He identified the day because a horse called Crawler had won the
two-thirty and he’d had a tidy bit on. Just after dropping the gent, he’d
heard it on the radio in his cab and had gone home forthwith to celebrate.
“Thank God for racing!” said Craddock, and put the report aside.
“And here’s Alfred,” said Sergeant Wetherall.
Some nuance in his voice made Craddock look up sharply. Wetherall
had the pleased appearance of a man who has kept a titbit until the end.
In the main the check was unsatisfactory. Alfred lived alone in his flat
and came and went at unspecified times. His neighbours were not the in-
quisitive kind and were in any case office workers who were out all day.
But towards the end of the report, Wetherall’s large finger indicated the fi-
nal paragraph.
Sergeant Leakie, assigned to a case of thefts from lorries, had been at
the Load of Bricks, a lorry pull- up on the Waddington- Brackhampton
Road, keeping certain lorry drivers under observation. He had noticed at
an adjoining table, Chick Evans, one of the Dicky Rogers mob. With him
had been Alfred Crackenthorpe whom he knew by sight, having seen him
give evidence in the Dicky Rogers case. He’d wondered what they were
cooking up together. Time, 9:30 p.m., Friday, 20th December. Alfred Crack-
enthorpe had boarded a bus a few minutes later, going in the direction of
Brackhampton. William Baker, ticket collector at Brackhampton station,
had clipped ticket of gentleman whom he recognized by sight as one of
Miss Crackenthorpe’s brothers, just before departure of eleven-fifty-five
train for Paddington. Remembers day as there had been story of some
batty old lady who swore she had seen somebody murdered in a train that
afternoon.
“Alfred?” said Craddock as he laid the report down. “Alfred? I wonder.”
“Puts him right on the spot, there,” Wetherall pointed out.
Craddock nodded. Yes, Alfred could have travelled down by the 4:33 to
Brackhampton committing murder on the way. Then he could have gone
out by bus to the Load of Bricks. He could have left there at nine-thirty
and would have had plenty of time to go to Rutherford Hall, move the
body from the embankment to the sarcophagus, and get into Brackhamp-
ton in time to catch the 11:55 back to London. One of the Dicky Rogers
gang might even have helped move the body, though Craddock doubted
this. An unpleasant lot, but not killers.
“Alfred?” he repeated speculatively.
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