'Not when you consider the circumstances, perhaps. When Kid Curry - that was his professional name, as your know - called on me at Oxton Hall five years ago, I knew all about him. But I didn't tell my wife - then my fiancee - or her family, who or what he was. Maybe you can understand why. Although my association with this man Curry was of the slightest, and entirely innocent, he wasn't the kind of acquaintance one boasts about. I was newly arrived from America in those days - perhaps I was foolish, but it seemed to me inadvisable for anyone to know, and perhaps draw wrong conclusions from the fact, that I was on nodding terms with a crook. Can you understand that?'
'Possibly.' Crawford was sceptical. `You're ready enough to admit it now - and you've deliberately chosen to do so in Mrs Franklin's presence.'
`We've been married five years, inspector - an engaged couple are perhaps more sensitive. But I'd gladly have spared her the knowledge now, if your own questioning hadn't alarmed her, and made it obvious that she'd have to find out anyway.'
'I see. And, knowing Curry for what he was five years ago, you didn't then think it your duty to advise the British police that a dangerous criminal was in their midst?'
'I knew he was a reputed criminal, yes - and also that he'd served his sentence, as I understood. No, I didn't conceive it my duty - also, I've given you reasons why I was reluctant to own acquaintance with him, even to the police. I haven't formed such a high opinion of their discretion today to make me think I was wrong to say nothing five years ago.'
Crawford sat back and surveyed him in some perplexity, and when he spoke it was in a tone of reproach. 'D'you know, Mr Franklin, you astonish me? I find your attitude high-handed, sir - even offensive. And yet you know that I am here to investigate a most serious matter.'
'A matter which happens to have nothing to do with me. However, I've answered your questions with the same candour and openness that you have used in putting them to me.' His tone was quiet and level. 'But I don't care for innuendo, or to have my wife alarmed. Perhaps I'm a little impatient, but if you have anything to say that really concerns me, I'd be obliged if you'd say it.'
'Very well, Mr Franklin.' There was a distinct flush on the inspector's cheek, and his nose twitched. 'Very well. I'll do that. And I'll be as frank with you as you've just been with me. Ye may not like it.'
Mr Franklin said nothing, and after a moment's bleak pause the inspector produced a notebook. 'You'll have gathered,' he said, 'that since the discovery of the body of Logan, or Curry, we have been in touch with police in the United States. A very lengthy exchange by telegraph, at considerable expense, but well worth it, I may say. The New York force referred us to Denver, Colorado, and we addressed a long ,series of questions to the Pinkerton office in that city. A remarkable organisation, the Pinkertons, for which we at the Yard have the highest regard - Pinkerton himself being a Glasgow man. However - ' the inspector recalled himself from the affectionate digression' we received in reply a long cable which answered all our questions. There are Pinkerton operatives with fine long memories - particularly a Mr J. P. McParland. Does the name mean anything to you, Mr Franklin?'
'James McParland. Yes, I've heard of him.'
'The recollection is mutual.' Crawford's flash of ill temper had left him; he was looking almost benevolent. 'However, first things first. He furnished us with a full dossier on Logan, alias Curry, and his associates, a gang of desperadoes calling themselves "The Wild Bunch", who terrorised the railroads and banks in several states round about the end of the last century. Their leader was one -' Crawford consulted his notebook ' - Robert Parker, alias Butch Cassidy, since reported dead. Various others of the group are also dead, or imprisoned, or have disappeared. Some of the names may be familiar to you - Kilpatrick, Lant, Longbaugh, Tracy, Linley . . .' He paused. 'Hanks,' he said, and looked inquiringly at Mr Franklin before reading on: 'Carver, Lee, Chancellor ... and many others which you may have forgotten.' He closed the book, and his sleepy eyes were serious, almost compassionate. 'But I hardly have to remind you that among the list of names of the Wild Bunch is that of Mark Franklin.'
Peggy gave a little cry, and Mr Franklin sat, down beside her and tightened his clasp on her hand.
'Don't worry, honey,' he said, `it's all right.' He tried to smile reassuringly into the white face, ghostly and beautiful under the ridiculous Marie Antoinette wig, her eyes wide, staring at him. 'You haven't heard it all yet. Wait till the inspector's finished. Go on, Mr Crawford - what did they tell you about Mark Franklin?'
'Just that; what I've told you. That he was a member of this gang of hold-up men.'
'Nothing more? Didn't you ask for full particulars - knowing as you did that there was an American named Mark Franklin living at Castle Lancing.'
'I did.'
'And did nobody,' asked Mr Franklin quietly, 'offer to prove anything? You say McParland, or the Pinkertons, told you Mark Franklin was a member of the Wild Bunch. What's their evidence? What charges have they against him? What crimes do they allege he committed? What records have they got on him? You must have asked them all of that, surely?'
Crawford hesitated, but only for a second. 'They have never brought charges, nor did they furnish evidence of specific crimes. No. But they have information based on common knowledge that Franklin was a member of the gang.'
'Information based on common knowledge?' Mr Franklin asked mildly. 'And if McParland told you that Teddy Roosevelt was a member of the Wild Bunch, you'd believe that, would you? Did they tell you what this Franklin looked like? Have they even seen him? Have they anyone to swear to him?'
'No, Mr Franklin, they have not,' said Crawford soberly. 'Nor is it necessary that they should. I have no interest whatsoever in what can or cannot be proved against this man Franklin on American soil. But I am entitled to be interested in the common report that a Mark Franklin was a member of this gang, and consorted with Kid Curry, and in the fact that a Mark Franklin, formerly of Colorado and Wyoming, now lives in a Norfolk village within a mile of the hidden grave where Kid Curry's murdered body has been found. I am further entitled, in the course of my duties, to question this Mark Franklin of Castle Lancing, and put to him certain facts. You would concede me that?'
Mr Franklin glanced at Peggy. She was still pale, but her face was composed, and although her hand was trembling she had not taken it from his. He nodded to Crawford. 'If you've anything that isn't rumour or supposition, I'll listen to it.'
'Thank you,' said Crawford. 'There is, in fact, only one categoric entry for Mark Franklin in the Pinkerton files - and it does not specify a crime. Or not, at least, what passes for a crime under the criminal code of the state of Wyoming.' His tone suggested that in his opinion the criminal code of the state of Wyoming was in need of drastic revision. 'It is of a hearing before a justice of the peace in the town of ...' He had opened his notebook again, and was frowning at the page. ' . . . in the town of... Chay-enny - '
'Cheyenne,' said Mr Franklin helpfully.
'I thank you. The entry is from a newspaper cutting, describing the arraignment - which seems to have been remarkably brief - of one Mark Franklin for the manslaughter of Camilla Hanks, alias O. C. Hanks, alias Charles Jones, alias Deaf Charley. According to the evidence then given, Franklin shot Hanks dead, but was immediately acquitted on the testimony of eye-witnesses that he acted in self-defence, the man Hanks having fired first.' Crawford closed his notebook, and looked solemnly at Mr Franklin. 'There is a description of the acquitted person which I am in a position to say tallies closely with that of Mr Mark Franklin of Castle Lancing. And the acquitted man is also reported - I emphasise the word reported - to have been a former member of the so-called Wild Bunch. No witnesses may be available to testify to that, but I understand that there are still many people in Cheyenne who could, at need, come forward to identify the man who killed Camilla Hanks.'
Mr Franklin sat quite still for a moment, and then he let go of Peggy's hand and stood up slowly. He paced to the window and stood looking out i
nto the sunshine of Wilton Crescent.
'That won't be necessary,' he said. 'I killed Deaf Charley Hanks. And, as you say, I was acquitted on the ground of self-defence. I don't have any regrets about it, either, inspector, because he was a mean fellow, and he had it coming to him. And if I hadn't killed him, he'd have killed me.' He was addressing Peggy rather than Crawford, but now he turned from the window and looked directly at the inspector.
'But that's all you know about me - except what you may find in Nevada newspapers about the great silver strike at Tonopah, and how an old man called Davis and I struck the big vein. For the rest, you'll have to look at the English society papers over the past few years. But as to these stories about the Wild Bunch - ' he shook his head contemptuously ' - they're neither here nor there. Rumour and gossip, and neither you nor any soul on earth can prove otherwise. And if you try I'll hit you with the biggest action for slander you ever saw.' He came back to stand beside Peggy's chair, and laid a hand on her shoulder. 'So there it is, inspector, so far as I'm concerned.'
Crawford regarded him gravely. 'No doubt, Mr Franklin. But there remains the matter of the murder of Harvey Logan, alias Kid Curry, which is what concerns me - '
'But it doesn't concern me, inspector,' said Mr Franklin. 'The last time I saw that man alive was when he walked out the front door of Oxton Hall on Christmas Eve, 1909. Where he went, I don't know. How he got in the ground at Lye Cottage, I don't know. Who shot him - if he was shot, as you say - I don't know. I don't even know if the body in that grave is Kid Curry - and neither do you.' Crawford's head came up sharply. 'All you know is he was wearing Harvey Logan's watch, and was about the same build, and had American heel-plates on his boots. But you don't know that he was Kid Curry - in fact, I'd say there's a considerable body of opinion to swear he wasn't. They'll tell you Kid Curry died more than ten years back, somewhere in Colorado - '
'How did you know that?' The sleepy eyes were narrow.
'I was in or around Colorado at that time, remember. Maybe they'll change their minds, after your discovery, but I wouldn't bank on it. They're mighty jealous about their dead outlaws in those parts.'
There was a long silence, and then Crawford said patiently:
'Mr Franklin, you have admitted to me that you knew the man Logan, or Curry, and that you met and talked with him in England in 1909. You have further admitted to me that you are a practised hand with a revolver, and that you have killed a man in public fight. Curry's body is found, within a few hundred yards of your house in Norfolk, dead of revolver shot wounds. There is suggestion - we'll call it no more than that, even - that you were at one time his companion in crime. Would you not say, in the face of that great body of evidence, that you have much to explain?'
'No, I wouldn't,' said Mr Franklin. 'It's circumstantial evidence, if that, and you know it. I don't have to explain anything.'
'I think you do,' said Crawford. 'Circumstantial or not, a jury may well agree with me. Come now, Mr Franklin - you're not so simple as to ask me to believe that all this evidence is pure coincidence?'
'I'm not asking you to believe anything. Believe whatever you like. It's what you can prove that matters.'
'So it is - and among other things I can prove that you've consistently evaded my questions and concealed information, that - '
'There isn't a single direct question on a specific subject that you've asked today that I haven't answered,' Mr Franklin interrupted. 'If you doubt it, ask your sergeant to check his notes. Vague inquiries about "anything helpful I might recollect" don't mean a thing.' He became curt. 'You're wasting your time. If you think you've got a case, bring it.'
Crawford's lips came together in a tight line; the flush was back on his cheeks, and his eyes were no longer sleepy as he got to his feet.
'I put it to you that you willfully shot and murdered Harvey Logan, alias Kid Curry, and that you made away with his body and buried- '
'Prove it,' said Mr Franklin.
'Do you deny it?'
'Of course I deny it. And if you try to show otherwise I'll have half of Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn tearing your case to pieces before you can even get it written out.'
'Ye think so?'
'I know so. But if you think different, go ahead and arrest me - and take the consequences.'
For a moment he thought Crawford would do it, as they faced each other in the quiet morning-room, with Green looming at his superior's elbow, and Peggy tense and white-faced in her chair beside Mr Franklin. For a full ten seconds the inspector stared at him, and then he said with quiet deliberation:
'In my opinion, there is a case to answer - '
'If that was your opinion,' said Mr Franklin, 'you'd have come here with a warrant in your pocket.'
The inspector held his gaze, and then thoughtfully stroked his long nose.
'Aye, well,' he said, `we'll see. But we both know what we both know - do we not, Mr Franklin? And there's an old saying with which ye may be familiar. "Murder will out".'
'I doubt if that's evidence, either,' said Mr Franklin.
Crawford turned to pick up his ulster. 'You'll be hearing from us presently,' he said. 'In the meantime, you'll kindly inform us if you have any intention of leaving London - '
'I won't inform you of anything at all, inspector,' said Mr Franklin quietly. 'I don't have to.'
Crawford put his coat over his arm, and made a brief inclination of his head to Peggy.
'I regret any inconvenience we may have caused you, Mrs Franklin,' he said. 'Good morning.' And without another glance at Mr Franklin he left, in reasonably good order, followed by the stolid sergeant. They heard the front door close behind them, and then they were alone in the morning room, Marie Antoinette and Deadwood Dick.
Peggy was motionless in her chair, staring in front of her. Mr Franklin closed the door to the hall and stood until she turned to look at him. She was still pale, but she no longer looked frightened.
'So now you know,' he said quietly.
'Was it true?'
'About the Wild Bunch? About the desperado Mark Franklin who raided banks and blew up trains? Yes, it's true. And a good deal more that Jim McParland never got to hear about, much less Inspector Crawford.' His voice was flat and tired. 'You married a badman, Peggy. A reformed badman, if you like, but still a badman. I guess it's easy to reform when you've hit the big bonanza - although I'd gone straight before that. And I thought it was all over and done with, and neither you nor anyone else would ever know. I wouldn't have married you otherwise.'
'Was it true - about Logan?'
He hesitated for only a moment. 'Yes, that's true, too.'
She did not flinch. 'You murdered him?'
'No. I killed him, but it wasn't murder, whatever the law calls it. I killed him just as I killed Deaf Charley Hanks that the inspector told you about. In self-defence. That night at Oxton, Curry put it to me straight: he wanted half a million dollars - or my life. There was no point going to the police. For one thing, all the Wild Bunch stuff would probably have come out - anyway, I knew the Kid, and police or not, it was going to be one or other of us. So ...'
'But where did it happen? When - '
'It doesn't matter. The less you know about it, the better. But you can take my word for it - if you think my word's worth taking any more - that it happened as I said. He tried to kill me, but I got him first. It may seem a vain, unimportant point to you, but I'd like you to believe that it was fair.'
'Of course I believe you.' She sounded almost surprised. 'I'd always believe you.'
'Even - after all this?'
'Why not? It was a dreadful shock - I didn't know what that awful man was driving at ... and then when you showed him your pistol. ..' Her voice began to shudder violently, and then suddenly she was on her feet and flying round the table to throw herself against him, clinging to him in a frenzy, sobbing against his chest. 'Oh, Mark! Oh, Mark! I was so frightened! So frightened!' She began to cry passionately, while he held her, and then
the fit passed, and she began to take deep breaths, and after a moment she pushed gently away from him, mopping at her eyes and blinking. Her trembling subsided, and then she said: 'God, I'm an awful fool! I'm ... sorry . . . I don't usually get hysterical, do I? But for a moment there, when it came like a thunderbolt ... when he seemed to be accusing you of murder ... I was so terrified.' She-shook her head. 'I'm all right now.'
'You didn't act terrified. First thing you did was to stand alongside me. That was when I thought - what the hell, let him say what he's got to say. I didn't even know how much he knew about me - but I knew you were going to have to know it all, whether he did or not. I'm glad you did - I don't know why, but I am.'
'Can he prove anything?' The powder on her cheeks was streaked, and her eyes were still moist, but she was composed again. 'He seemed to think he had a good case.'
'He hasn't got a case at all. Oh, he knows I did it, all right. As surely as if I'd handed him a signed confession. But short of a signed confession he hasn't a hope, and he knows it. He'll keep trying for a while, but he won't find any evidence, because there isn't any to find. I'll be a marked man for the rest of my time in England - but I've always been that, anyway.'
'The rest of your time in England?' Her eyes opened wide. 'What d'you mean?'
'I don't really know, Peggy. I don't really know.' He sighed and rubbed his fingers wearily up and down his brow. `It's all ... I don't know. But I don't see how it can - go on, do you? Twelve hours ago - I don't say it was all ... peaches and cream, but it was getting by, somehow. Now - all of a sudden, you find you're married to a criminal and a killer - and I . . .' He looked away, and then back again, 'I find out I've been sharing you with Lacy, and . . .' He shook his head hopelessly. 'Quite a Fourth of July, one way and another. The night of the Savoy Ball in aid of the blind. Something appropriate about that.'
Peggy waited for a moment and then said: 'Does it matter so very much?'
'Matter?' He was incredulous. 'You keep saying, does it matter, and that you don't mind! How can't it matter? For five years you think you've been living with a decent, honest, ordinary man - and in a moment you discover he's a crook and a gunslick and God knows what else, and Scotland Yard are after him for murder! Are you saying that doesn't matter?'