Free Waiting for Orders by Eric Ambler Page B

been handed to them at the same time. To their disgust, it had been badly distorted by its impact against the bones of the head. Any identification of rifling-marks had thus been rendered impossible. The bullet might have been fired from any .22 calibre weapon. Nevertheless, there had been a circumstantial case of manslaughter against Wilder to be considered. The Chief Constable of the County had decided to enlist the help of the ballistics experts of Scotland Yard.
    The coroner had sat with a jury at the inquest. Gregory had had no living relatives. His employer, Mr Wretford, had given woebegone evidence of identification. The ballistics expert, Sergeant Blundell, had later given evidence. The bullet had been fired some distance from the deceased and at a level slightly below that of his head. The witness had agreed that a shot, fired from a rifle held to the shoulder of a man six feet in height (Wilder’s height was six feet) standing in the meadow to the left of the road, at a bird in the tree on the opposite side of the road, could hit a passing cyclist in the head. The jury returned a verdict of ‘Accidental death caused by the criminal negligence of Thomas Wilder’. Young Wilder had been arrested.
    Mercer stirred his second cup of tea rather irritably. ‘Yes, yes. All quite straightforward, isn’t it? It’s Blundell’s show now. Send in your report in the usual way.’
    ‘Yes, Sir – that is to say …’ And then, to Mercer’s amazement, Denton began to blush. ‘It’s straightforward all right, Sir. But’ – he hesitated – ‘but all the same
    ‘All the same, what?’ demanded Mercer.
    Denton drew a deep breath. Then: ‘All the same, Sir, I don’t think Wilder’s guilty, Sir,’ he said.
    Mercer’s frown deepened. ‘You don’t, eh? Why? Come on, Denton, I haven’t got all day to waste.’
    Denton squirmed on his chair. ‘Well, Sir, it isn’t really my idea at all. It was that Czech refugee who was in the Prague police, that Dr Czissar.’
    ‘Who did you say?’ asked Mercer ominously.
    Denton recognized the tone of voice and blundered on hurriedly. ‘Dr Czissar, Sir. He was at the inquest. He spoke to me afterwards and, seeing that he was a friend of Sir Herbert at the Home Office, I thought I’d better humour him. He …’
    But Mercer was scarcely listening. He was seeing a vision: a vision of a plump, pale man with pebble glasses and cow-like brown eyes, of a man wearing a long grey raincoat and a soft hat too large for him, and carrying an unfurled umbrella; of this same man sitting on the chair now occupied by Denton and politely telling him, Mercer, how to do his job. Twice it had happened. Twice had Dr Czissar proved that he was right and that Scotland Yard was wrong. And now.…
    Mercer pulled himself together. ‘All right, Denton. I know Dr Czissar. Get on.’
    Denton drew another breath. ‘Well, Sir, he oozed up to me after the inquest and asked me to give you his compliments. Then he asked me what I thought about the verdict.’
    ‘And what did you think?’
    ‘I didn’t get a chance to say, Sir. He didn’t wait for an answer. He just said, “Attention, please!” in that way of his and said that Wilder was innocent. All very polite, you know, Sir, but pretty straight.’
    Mercer did know. Dr Czissar’s politeness set his teeth on edge. ‘I see. And did he tell you what the proof was, or did you discover it for yourself?’
    ‘Neither, Sir.’
    ‘But you said that you believe that Wilder is innocent.’
    ‘I do, Sir.’ Denton hesitated for a moment. ‘It’s that Dr Czissar, Sir. He gets under your skin. I don’t mind saying that, after he’d spoken to me, I took Blundell back with me to have another look at the place where Gregory was found; but Icouldn’t see anything wrong and neither could Blundell. The hedge varies in height, and there’s a bit of a dip in it just there. From the meadow you couldn’t see a man on a bike coming until he was right on top of