Free The Case of Naomi Clynes by Basil Thomson

get protection, as you call it, is to tell the truth about your visit to the house at night, and what you went there for. You know very well that you had no right to borrow that key. When your chairman comes to know about it, he’ll have something to say.”
    â€œI tell you I never used the key,” he said doggedly.
    â€œVery well, Mr. Stammer. If you think better of your denial you know where to find me. Good day.”
    When they were clear of the shop Williams remarked, “I hoped you were going to press him further, Inspector. He was getting frightened.”
    â€œI know he was, but I would always rather have a voluntary admission than a confession wrung from a man by fear.”
    â€œBut do you think that he’ll make a voluntary admission?”
    â€œI rather fancy that he will before we’ve done with him. I’m going to try the method of open observation this evening, but he’s seen you, and I’d like him to find a new face on the job. I’m going to call in Sergeant Hills for a few minutes this evening. Mean-while we’ve got the other members of the committee to see. We’ll tackle the chairman first.”
    Ernest Hartmann, the chairman of the Jewish committee, lived at 8 Jubilee Road, Fulham. It proved to be a furniture shop, and they found its proprietor in a little glazed office at the back of the shop. He was a very different kind of man from the blustering Stammer—an old man with a grey beard and a kindly look in his eyes which inspired confidence.
    â€œCan I have a word with you in private, Mr. Hartmann? I am Inspector Richardson from New Scotland Yard. Here is my card.”
    â€œCertainly, sir. We shall be quieter in the back shop, I think. I’ll show you the way.”
    He led them into a store-room for spare furniture, pulled out three chairs and dusted them, inviting his visitors to sit down.
    â€œYou are chairman of a philanthropic society with an office in 37 A Seymour Street, I am told.”
    â€œYes, sir, I was the founder of the committee and am now its chairman and treasurer.”
    â€œWhat are its objects, may I ask?”
    â€œTo help the poorest of our co-religionists in this part of London. We collect funds from the more wealthy Jews and distribute them in the form of help in kind, not money, because to give them money is like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it. I started the work single-handed, but I soon found that it was too much for one man, and I formed a committee, sending the names to the subscribers for approval. We do not interview applicants for relief in our office, but each member of the committee makes himself responsible for visiting a certain number of the cases in their homes, and, in deserving cases, helping them.”
    â€œNo doubt you have heard of the tragedy in the flat below your office on Tuesday night.”
    â€œNo, sir. I haven’t been to the office these last few days. What was it?”
    â€œThe occupant of the flat below your office was found gassed.”
    â€œYou don’t say so. Was it an accidental death?”
    â€œNo. The doctor who examined the body thinks that it was a suicide. There is to be an inquest.”
    â€œI passed that lady on the stairs once. She seemed very cheerful and polite.”
    â€œSo everybody says. I have seen Miss McDougall, your secretary, and she can throw no light on the matter. I understand from her that she is the only person entrusted with a latchkey.”
    â€œYes, and she has strict orders not to lend it to anybody—not even to a member of the committee. I do not think that she would dare to disobey that rule.”
    â€œMy reason for asking is that it has been suggested that the dead woman had a visitor that evening, and I thought it possible that someone might have gained access to your office and hidden himself there. I understand that the door of your office is not kept locked.”
    â€œThat is because occasionally