“Oh,” said Doctor Baker, “yes, yes, I suppose I have. Some inquest or other, wasn’t it? My wife was reading all about it.”
“The jury brought in a verdict of suicide,” said Favell coming forward, “which I say is absolutely out of the question. Mrs. de Winter was my cousin, I knew her intimately. She would never have done such a thing, and what’s more she had no motive. What we want to know is what the devil she came to see you about the very day she died?”
“You had better leave this to Julyan and myself,” said Maxim quietly. “Doctor Baker has not the faintest idea what you are driving at.”
He turned to the doctor who was standing between them with a line between his brows, and his first polite smile frozen on his lips. “My late wife’s cousin is not satisfied with the verdict,” said Maxim, “and we’ve driven up to see you today because we found your name, and the telephone number of your old consulting-rooms, in my wife’s engagement diary. She seems to have made an appointment with you, and kept it, at two o’clock on the last day she ever spent in London. Could you possibly verify this for us?”
Doctor Baker was listening with great interest, but when Maxim had finished he shook his head. “I’m most awfully sorry,” he said, “but I think you’ve made a mistake. I should have remembered the name de Winter. I’ve never attended a Mrs. de Winter in my life.”
Colonel Julyan brought out his note case and gave him the page he had torn from the engagement diary. “Here it is, written down,” he said, “Baker, two o’clock. And a big cross beside it, to show that the appointment was kept. And here is the telephone address. Museum 0488.”
Doctor Baker stared at the piece of paper. “That’s very odd, very odd indeed. Yes, the number is quite correct as you say.”
“Could she have come to see you and given a false name?” said Colonel Julyan.
“Why, yes, that’s possible. She may have done that. It’s rather unusual of course. I’ve never encouraged that sort of thing. It doesn’t do us any good in the profession if people think they can treat us like that.”
“Would you have any record of the visit in your files?” said Colonel Julyan. “I know it’s not etiquette to ask, but the circumstances are very unusual. We do feel her appointment with you must have some bearing on the case and her subsequent—suicide.”
“Murder,” said Favell.
Doctor Baker raised his eyebrows, and looked inquiringly at Maxim. “I’d no idea there was any question of that,” he said quietly. “Of course I understand, and I’ll do anything in my power to help you. If you will excuse me a few minutes I will go and look up my files. There should be a record of every appointment booked throughout the year, and a description of the case. Please help yourself to cigarettes. It’s too early to offer you sherry, I suppose?”
Colonel Julyan and Maxim shook their heads. I thought Favell was going to say something but Doctor Baker had left the room before he had a chance.
“Seems a decent sort of fellow,” said Colonel Julyan.
“Why didn’t he offer us whiskey and soda?” said Favell. “Keeps it locked up, I suppose. I didn’t think much of him. I don’t believe he’s going to help us now.”
Maxim did not say anything. I could hear the sound of the tennis balls from the court. The Scotch terrier was barking. A woman’s voice shouted to him to be quiet. The summer holidays. Baker playing with his boys. We had interrupted their routine. A high-pitched, gold clock in a glass case ticked very fast on the mantelpiece. There was a postcard of the Lake of Geneva leaning against it. The Bakers had friends in Switzerland.
Doctor Baker came back into the room with a large book and a file-case in his hands. He carried them over to the table. “I’ve brought the collection for last year,” he said. “I haven’t been through them yet since we moved. I only gave up practice six months ago you know.” He opened the book and began turning the pages. I watched him fascinated. He would find it of course. It was only a question of moments now, of seconds. “The seventh, eighth, tenth,” he murmured, “nothing here. The twelfth did you say? At two o’clock? Ah!”
We none of us moved. We all watched his face.
“I saw a Mrs. Danvers on the twelfth at two o’clock,” he said.
“Danny? What on earth…” began Favell, but Maxim cut him short.
“She gave a wrong name, of course,” he said. “That was obvious from the first. Do you remember the visit now, Doctor Baker?”