Free The Case of Naomi Clynes by Basil Thomson Page A

a charwoman comes in to clean it, and there is no fixed hour for this. But I can’t think that anybody could have got in.”
    â€œEvery member of your committee knows, I suppose, that he must not ask your secretary for the loan of her key?”
    â€œYes, every member. If I knew that the rule had been broken it would go hardly with the member and the secretary. Is it suggested that it was a murder and not a suicide?”
    â€œWe shall know that after the inquest, Mr. Hartmann. The doctors will give evidence of the cause of death. The case is an interesting one, and the verdict of the jury is sure to be published in the Press. Now I must take up no more of your time.”
    â€œOne thing before you go, sir. You seemed just now to think it possible that the rule about that latch-key might have been broken. If you find any evidence that it was, I hope that you will not fail to let me know.”
    â€œCertainly, if I get the permission of my chiefs to do so.”
    There was nothing new to be learned from the other members of the committee. All four were elderly Jewish shopkeepers with unblemished records, and had been engaged in charitable work among their poorer co-religionists for several years.
    At the end of the last interview Richardson told Williams to return to the Central Office and write a precis of the statements made to them by members of the Jewish Committee. He himself sought out Sergeant Hills, a colleague whose home lay in Fulham, and made him a proposal.
    â€œIt’s a fine evening, George. Why shouldn’t you walk home with me?”
    â€œWhat are you getting at? You don’t live in my direction.”
    â€œNo, I don’t, but I want you to help me in a little job of observation. We can start as soon as you like.”
    â€œYoung man, if you think that I’m going to give up any of my free time to keep observation in one of your cases…”
    â€œIt’s not an ordinary case of observation, and it won’t take you more than ten minutes.”
    â€œA funny kind of observation!”
    â€œYes, it doesn’t follow any of the rules we learned in the class. It is what I call open observation. You know that Jew-boy’s curiosity shop at No. 173 Fulham Road? You must have passed it every morning ever since you married.”
    â€œI’ve passed it, but I’ve never been into it.”
    â€œWell, I want to give the owner a turn. He’s a persistent kind of liar, and he’s inclined to be uppish, but when he sees two detectives posted outside his shop when he pulls down the shutters, and one of them following him home, he’ll pass a sleepless night and come running down here to see me to-morrow morning—that is, if he’s the kind of worm I take him for.”
    â€œAll right, I’ll come, but remember I’m booked to take my missus and kiddy to the pictures this evening, and if I’m late I shall get it in the neck. We’d better start right away.”
    Lest it be thought that in their free hours men of the C.I.D discuss their cases with one another, or read detective fiction, let me hasten to assure the reader that they leave the cares of office behind them when they go off duty, and that their nearest approach to violence is watching a boxing-contest between police officers of the A Division. As these two walked westward at a brisk pace, Hills asked his companion whether he went to the pictures.
    â€œNo,” said Richardson, “when I go to shows at all I like the stage, and you see one gets a few complimentaries during the year.”
    â€œI used to be like you,” said his companion; “I’d no use for the pictures, but it’s different when one’s married. My missus is wild about them, and gradually she’s roped me in.”
    â€œCertainly there’s this about the pictures—that they can show you things that you can never see on the stage.”
    They were nearing their