London, I should say,â Penfold commented, in parentheses, and continued: âAt least, most of âem are cracked on the pictures, want to be film stars, and like as many boys in tow as they can get. Miss Mears never brought her boys to the flat, and Miss Perry only knows the names of one or two â the photographer, Beattie, and Leslie Irwin. Miss Perry let me lock the door of Miss Mearsâs room so it can be examined later. She took it fairly calmly when I told her what had happened. I think she regards it as a natural judgment on a flighty girl, but is quite anxious to see judgment done on the murderer, too. She seems one of those people whose religion chiefly consists in expecting a judgment on others.â
âDoes she know this Leslie Irwin?â Mitchell asked.
âNo. She approves of his father though. Mr Irwin led the local opposition to the Sunday opening of cinemas, and Miss Perry always approves of people who disapprove of what other people want â if you see what I mean,â he added doubtfully.
âDo you know anything yourself about Mr Irwin â the father, I mean, of course.â
âHe is a lawyer, but he doesnât practise privately. He is secretary and solicitor to the Brush Hill Building Society. Itâs a big concern â very flourishing now. There were rumours about it at one time, but itâs made big progress ever since the war, thanks to Mr. Irwin. Heâs made it. Mr Irwinâs father was one of the founders back in the last century and the general idea is that Leslie Irwin is to follow his father and grandfather. Heâs an articled clerk to a City firm at present, but acts as his fatherâs secretary, too â in training for the old manâs job.â
âKnow anything about him?â Mitchell asked.
âNo, except that heâs honorary secretary to the Brush Hill Amateur Dramatic Society, and they say had a big row with his father over taking it on. But he managed it rather well. He joined the Brush Hill Literary Institute to study German â which his father did approve of. Then he joined one or two more classes, added the Literary Institute dramatic class, and worked on to the A.D.S. before the old man quite knew what was happening. In the blood apparently â the grandfather was a friend of Irvingâs and Tooleâs, and used sometimes to take a share in dramatic productions.â
âInteresting family,â observed Mitchell thoughtfully. âThere was a hat in the room where the girl was murdered,â he went on. âIt seems it may belong to Mr Paul Irwin.â Penfold looked very surprised and bewildered.
âThatâs very funny,â he said. He got up and went across to look at the hat towards which Mitchell had pointed. âMr Irwin usually wears a hat like that,â he admitted cautiously.
âI suppose he will be on the phoneââ Mitchell began, and then paused. âNo, I think you had better go yourself. Take my car, itâll be waiting. Ask Mr Irwin and the boy to come round here â oh, and, Penfold, the murderer can hardly have avoided getting covered with blood. But the funny thing is thereâs no sign or trace of any bloodstains outside the room itself, and no one, apparently, has been noticed with anything of the sort on his person or clothing â except the photographer who discovered the poor girl. Thereâs the chance that the murderer covered himself up with a raincoat, or something like that â itâs drizzling a little, so a raincoat would seem natural. But just keep your eyes open for anything to suggest that either of the Irwins â father or son â has changed his clothing or washed his face or hands recently.â
âVery good, sir,â Penfold answered. âFerris asked me to tell you he canât get track of Miss Mearsâs handbag. They are quite positive at the hospital it was never there. No one here seems