Free An Air That Kills by Andrew Taylor Page B

did. Otherwise the cold would have killed me. And that would have been murder, wouldn’t it? He would have hung.’
    â€˜Was Mr Masterman gagged?’
    Kirby shook his head. ‘No need. The shop next door is empty and the people who live on the other side are away. Besides, it’s a good solid cellar. You could have a dance band down there without anyone noticing.’
    â€˜I might have starved to death,’ the old man said. ‘Worse than a bloody savage, he was. I’m surprised the shock didn’t kill me.’
    â€˜When Mr Masterman regained consciousness, he worked out where he was. He got up the steps to the cellar door, then waited for eight o’clock. There’s a woman who comes in to cook his breakfast every day. Mrs Crisp – she’s still here. As soon as he heard her in the hall, he started banging on the door.’
    â€˜In my day a burglar would have thought twice about attacking an old man.’ The voice sank lower and slipped into a whining monotone. ‘I’ll be seventy next year. I blame the war. No one has any standards. It’s the war that did it. And then the bloody Socialists. Something for nothing – that’s all they want.’
    â€˜Do we know what’s taken yet?’ Thornhill glanced round the room. ‘The man seems to have had enough time to do a thorough job.’
    â€˜The great booby.’ Masterman cackled disconcertingly. The false teeth moved independently of his jaws, giving the impression that his mouth was inhabited by a small alien organism. ‘I fooled him. I fooled him proper, I did.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    The old man sat up in his chair; his triumph had given him a shot of energy. ‘He was looking in the wrong place, wasn’t he? Thought himself so clever.’
    â€˜What Mr Masterman means,’ Sergeant Kirby said, ‘is that the safe is actually in the cellar. That’s where he keeps anything worth stealing. He used to have a strongbox up here.’ Kirby waved towards the nearer of the two windows. ‘In the window seat there. Nothing fancy – just an iron-bound box with a lock. But Mr Masterman bought a proper safe a few years back, and he was advised to have it installed in the cellar. It’s actually cemented into the masonry.’
    â€˜And he didn’t even know.’ Masterman’s eyes sparkled. ‘It’s at floor level. I’ve got an old chest in front of it.’
    â€˜So do you know if anything’s actually missing?’
    â€˜Canteen of silver cutlery.’ Masterman said promptly. ‘Beautiful workmanship. A couple of rings that belonged to the wife. They were kept in the window seat.’
    Suddenly exhausted, he rested his head against the back of his chair. His eyes closed. Thornhill crossed the room and lifted the window seat. The iron box was Victorian, if not earlier. It was solid enough. There was no sign that the two locks had been tampered with.
    â€˜Keys?’ Thornhill said.
    â€˜The thief took Mr Masterman’s set from his bedroom. They included the two for the strongbox.’
    â€˜What happened to them?’
    â€˜He left them in the back door when he went.’
    â€˜Thoughtful of him. Was there a key for the safe on the ring?’
    â€˜Combination lock,’ Masterman said. ‘No expense spared.’
    â€˜What else is gone?’ Thornhill asked.
    â€˜There may be one or two ornaments,’ Kirby said. ‘It’s early days. No one’s really sure what might have been taken.’
    There was a knock at the door. At a nod from Thornhill, Porter opened it. A grey-haired woman in a sagging apron stood outside. She looked furtive, but Thornhill knew that the proximity of the police often had that effect on people.
    â€˜Mrs Crisp,’ Kirby said to Thornhill in an undertone.
    â€˜I just wanted to find out about his dinner,’ she said. ‘Will you be wanting your chop,