Petrella at 'Q' by Michael Gilbert Read Free Book Online Page A

have to make another one.”
    Petrella thanked Mr. Rapp and took himself off. On the way out he thought he saw a head of hair which he recognised, bent over one of half a dozen typewriters in the general office. The typist looked up, and the impression was confirmed. It was the red-headed young lady from the choir of St. Marks.
    Petrella walked back slowly to Patton Street. A picture was shaping itself in his mind. It was blurred and indistinct as yet, like a photograph taken out of focus. And it was not a pleasant picture.
    Sergeant Ambrose had his first report ready. It covered ten foolscap pages of careful handwriting, and divided and subdivided the anonymous letters into every possible category, and carefully analysed each. Petrella took it home with him that evening and read it over his supper. His wife observed the bleak look on his face and refrained from asking any questions.
    On the following afternoon, the report on the typewriters came in from the Yard. Six different machines, it said. Two newish Lexingtons. One older and one very old Remington, one Italian Pulchrion and one German Obermark. The report added, “None of the type-faces are perfect. If a sample could be obtained from a suspect machine, a positive identification would be available.”
    Petrella considered this, and gave Constable Owers certain instructions.
    The last members of the staff of Messrs. Mellors and Rapp were usually away by six, and for the next hour the offices were handed over to the cleaners. At a quarter to seven that evening Mrs. Burgess, who was dusting round young Mr. Mellors’s room, was disturbed by a loud ringing of the front doorbell. She hurried to the door and found two policemen on the step.
    The older one said, “I don’t wish to alarm you, ma’am, or the other young ladies, but we’ve had a report that a person was seen climbing into these premises by a back window.”
    Mrs. Burgess said, “Oh, lor, what will they get up to next?”
    “There’s no cause to be alarmed,” said Constable Owers. “If the intruder is still on the premises, we can deal with him. But I think you ought to take these two young ladies to a place of safety.”
    The two young ladies, who were Mrs. Burgess’s daughters, nodded vigorous agreement.
    “It won’t take us long to search the building. Suppose you walk across the street and have a nice cup of tea?”
    This proposal was accepted with gratitude.
    As soon as the ladies were clear, Owers said to his younger companion, Constable Brean, “Watch the door, Albert, and tell me if they show any signs of coming back.”
    He disappeared into the general office, selected six sheets of paper from the drawer of one of the desks and set to work. He was by no means an expert typist, and it took him nearly ten minutes to type out, in lower case and upper case, on each of six machines, “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog,” followed by, 12 x £3456-78 = 90% ? ! “. When he had finished he replaced all the covers carefully, and went out to reassure Mrs. Burgess and her daughters.
    That same evening Petrella called on Father Amberline, who knew more about the lives, characters and intentions of his flock than most parish priests, and told him what he suspected.
    He said, “You know the person concerned better than I do. Do you think they could have done it?”
    “Before answering that,” said Father Amberline, “I’d need to be convinced that it was done at all.”
    “I think I can convince you,” said Petrella.
    When he had finished, the priest said, “There are certain people of whom I could have said, with certainty, it is impossible. With this person I am far from sure. There is a streak of hardness. If the money was sufficient, they might do it.”
    On the Wednesday a coroner’s jury returned a verdict of “suicide whilst the balance of her mind was disturbed” on Mrs. Key and Ronald Blanshard was given authority to arrange for her cremation.
    On Thursday morning,