Free Gently Down the Stream by Alan Hunter Page A

flush ebbed away into pallor. Paul’s lips trembled and moved without words, and he began to sway again in his chair.
    ‘And of course,’ added Gently thoughtfully, ‘the same problem would arise again in two years’ time, wouldn’t it? Only this time there wouldn’t be Cambridge to run to.’
    ‘It’s a lie … a downright lie!’
    The lips articulated at last.
    ‘You’re making something up and trying to pin it on me … there isn’t a word of truth, you can’t prove there is!’
    ‘You mean that your father is dead and that your mother will support you?’
    ‘You’re trying to give me a motive … it’s ridiculous! Nobody would listen!’
    ‘It’s a possible motive … for a young man of your temperament. And you had the opportunity. What were you doing down here – in this particular week? ’
    ‘I told you – I was sick!’
    ‘With what?’
    ‘My heart was giving trouble—’
    ‘What doctor did you see?’
    ‘I haven’t seen one – I have to rest, that’s all!’
    ‘By making trips on your motorcycle?’
    ‘That was Friday, I was feeling better—’
    ‘And your mother raised no objection.’
    ‘Why should she – she knew I was feeling better!’
    Gently paused like a stalking tiger.
    ‘The name “Beretta” – what does that mean to you?’
    ‘“Beretta” …! I never heard of it!’
    Gently plunged once more into his capacious pockets and threw something heavy and metallic clattering on to the table. It was a small automatic pistol with a slightly projecting barrel and a hook-shaped catch at the base of the grip.
    ‘There – that’s a Beretta – a Beretta.22. Are you sure you’ve never seen one – here – in this house?’
    Trembling till his teeth almost chattered, Paul leaned forward and with an effort picked up the gun.
    ‘It’s – it’s my father’s gun … of course I knew he had it!’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘It was a year or more ago … there’d been some burglaries. The police gave him a licence. I’ve seen him clean it in the garage.’
    ‘And you knew where he kept it?’
    ‘No! God help me … never, never!’
    ‘Do you know why it’s important?’
    ‘Why should I – nobody’s been shot!’
    ‘Oh yes they have, Mr Lammas – your father was shot through the head.’
    The pistol dropped with a thud on to the carpet. The young man slithered down his chair and had to seize the sides to prevent himself from falling off.
    ‘I didn’t do it!’
    His voice was a whisper.
    ‘I didn’t – I just didn’t do it !’
    Gently signed to Hansom, who was sitting completely enthralled with the proceedings. Hansom picked up the gun impatiently and shored Paul up in his chair again. Gently arranged the gun neatly in front of him and waited.
    ‘I tell you I didn’t …’
    ‘We heard you the first time, Mr Lammas.’
    ‘But you’re trying to frame me with it!’
    ‘No.’ Gently shook his head.
    ‘Then what’s it all about?’
    ‘It’s about the truth you haven’t told us.’
    Paul bit his small, shapely lips and stared unseeingly at the gun on the table. Then his eyes rose slowly and fastened themselves on Gently. And there they rested, dark, frightened, but entirely determined.
    ‘Very well,’ murmured Gently, ‘that’s all there is to it … tell your mother to come in, will you? I expect she isn’t far away.’
    The young man pulled himself to his feet. He left without another word.
    ‘I like that boy!’ exclaimed Hansom joyously. ‘Yes – I like that boy!’ He flipped a half-crown into the air and then held it out to Gently. ‘What do you say – little Paul against the field? What are you going to give me?’
    Gently grinned and pushed the half-crown away.
    ‘I only once bet on a case and that time I won … which is why I never collected.’
    ‘Hell!’ exclaimed Hansom. ‘When did I start being a suspect?’

CHAPTER SEVEN
    M RS LAMMAS DIDN’T appear immediately, which suggested certain things to the sagacious Inspector Hansom.