‘In spite of the years that have elapsed, you were able to identify your husband quite easily.’ 

Mrs Rival moved with some slight uneasiness.

‘He hadn’t aged much,’ she said, ‘always took care of himself, Harry did.’

‘And you were able to give us some additional identification. You wrote to me, I think, about a scar.’

‘That’s right. Behind his left ear it was. Here,’ Mrs Rival raised a hand and pointed to the place.

‘Behind hisleft ear?’ Hardcastle stressed the word.

‘Well-’ she looked momentarily doubtful, ‘yes. Well, I think so. Yes I’m sure it was. Of course one never does know one’s left from one’s right in a hurry, does one? But, yes, it was the left side of his neck. Here.’ She placed her hand on the same spot again.

‘And he did it shaving, you say?’

‘That’s right. The dog jumped up on him. A very bouncy dog we had at the time. He kept rushing in-affectionate dog. He jumped up on Harry and he’d got the razor in his hand, and it went in deep. It bled a lot. It healed up but he never lost the mark.’ She was speaking now with more assurance.

‘That’s a very valuable point, Mrs Rival. After all, one man sometimes looks very like another man, especially when a good many years have passed. But to find a man closely resembling your husband who has a scar in the identical place-well that makes the identification very nice and safe, doesn’t it? It seems that we really have something to go on.’ 

‘I’m glad you’re pleased,’ said Mrs Rival.

‘And this accident with the razor happened-when?’

Mrs Rival considered a moment.

‘It must have been about-oh, about six months after we were married. Yes, that was it. We got the dog that summer, I remember.’

‘So it took place about October or November, 1948. Is that right?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And after your husband left you in 1951…’

‘He didn’t so much leave me as I turned him out,’ said Mrs Rival with dignity.

‘Quite so. Whichever way you like to put it. Anyway, after you turned your husband out in 1951 you never saw him again until you saw his picture in the paper?’

‘Yes. That’s what I told you.’

‘And you’re quite sure about that, Mrs Rival?’

‘Of course I’m sure. I never set eyes on Harry Castleton since that day until I saw him dead.’

‘That’s odd, you know,’ said Inspector Hardcastle, ‘that’s very odd.’

‘Why-what do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s a very curious thing, scar tissue. Of course, it wouldn’t mean much to you or me. A scar’sa scar. But doctors can tell a lot from it. They can tell roughly, you know, how long a man hashad a scar.’

‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’ 

‘Well, simply this, Mrs Rival. According to our police surgeon and to another doctor whom we consulted, that scar tissue behind your husband’s ear shows very clearly that the wound in question could not be older than about five to six years ago.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Rival. ‘I don’t believe it. I-nobody can tell. Anyway that wasn’t when…’

‘So you see,’ proceeded Hardcastle in a smooth voice, ‘if that wound made a scar only five or six years ago, it means that if the manwas your husband he had no scar at the time when he left you in 1951.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t. But anyway it was Harry.’

‘But you’ve never seen him since, Mrs Rival. So if you’ve never seen him since, how would you know that he had acquired a scar five or six years ago?’

‘You mix me up,’ said Mrs Rival, ‘you mix me up badly. Perhaps it wasn’t as long ago as 1948-You can’t remember all these things. Anyway, Harry had that scar and I know it.’

‘I see,’ said Inspector Hardcastle and he rose to his feet. ‘I think you’d better think over that statement of yours very carefully, Mrs Rival. You don’t want to get into trouble, you know.’

‘How do you mean, get into trouble?’

‘Well,’ Inspector Hardcastle spoke almost apologetically, ‘perjury.’

‘Perjury. Me!’ 

‘Yes. It’s quite a serious offence in law, you know. You could get into trouble, even go to prison. Of course, you’ve not been on oath in a coroner’s court, but you may have to swear to this evidence of yours in a proper court sometime. Then-well, I’d like you to think it over very carefully, Mrs Rival. It may be that somebody-suggested to you that you should tell us this story about the scar?’

Mrs Rival got up. She drew herself to her full height, her eyes flashed. She was at that moment almost magnificent.

‘I never heard such nonsense in my life,’ she said. ‘Absolute nonsense. I try and do my duty. I come and help you, I tell you all I can remember. If I’ve made a mistake I’m sure it’s natural enough. After all I meet a good many-well, gentlemen friends, and one may get things a little wrong sometimes. But I don’t think Idid make a mistake. That man was Harry and Harry had a scar behind his left ear, I’m quite sure of it. And now, perhaps, Inspector Hardcastle, you’ll go away instead of coming here and insinuating that I’ve been telling lies.’

Inspector Hardcastle got up promptly.

‘Good night, Mrs Rival,’ he said. ‘Just think it over. That’s all.’

Mrs Rival tossed her head. Hardcastle went out of the door. With his departure, Mrs Rival’s attitude altered immediately. The fine defiance of her attitude collapsed. She looked frightened and worried.

‘Getting me into this,’ she murmured, ‘getting me into this. I’ll-I’ll not go on with it. I’ll-I’ll-I’m not going to get into trouble for anybody. Telling me things, lying to me, deceiving me. It’s monstrous. Quite monstrous. I shall say so.’

She walked up and down unsteadily, then finally making up her mind, she took an umbrella from the corner and went out again. She walked along to the end of the street, hesitated at a call-box, then went on to a post office. She went in there, asked for change and went into one of the call-boxes. She dialled Directory and asked for a number. She stood there waiting till the call came through.

‘Go ahead please. Your party is on the line.’

She spoke.

‘Hallo…oh, it’s you. Flo here. No, I know you told me not to but I’ve had to. You’ve not been straight with me. You never told me what I was getting into. You just said it would be awkward for you if this man was identified. I didn’t dream for a moment that I would get mixed up in a murder…Well, of course you’d say that, but at any rate it wasn’t what you told me…Yes, I do. I think youare mixed up in it in some way…Well, I’m not going to stand for it, I tell you…There’s something about being an-ac-well, you know the word I mean-accessory, something like that. Though I always thought that was costume jewellery. Anyway, it’s something like being a something after the fact, and I’m frightened, I tell you…telling me to write and tell them that bit about a scar. Now it seems he’d only got that scar a year or two ago and here’s me swearing he had it when he left me years ago…And that’s perjury and I might go to prison for it. Well, it’s no good your trying to talk me round…No…Obliging someone is one thing…Well I know…I know you paid me for it. And not very much either…Well, all right, I’ll listen to you, but I’m not going to…All right, all right, I’ll keep quiet…What did you say?…How much?…That’s a lot of money. How do I know that you’ve got it even…Well, yes, of course it would make a difference. You swear you didn’t have anything to do with it?-I mean with killing anyone…No, well I’m sure you wouldn’t. Of course, I see that…Sometimes you get mixed up with a crowd of people-and they go further than you would and it’s not your fault…You always make things sound so plausible…You always did…Well, all right, I’ll think it over but it’s got to be soon…Tomorrow? What time?…Yes…yes, I’ll come but no cheque. It might bounce…I don’t know really that I ought to go on getting myself mixed up in things even…all right. Well, if you say so…Well, I didn’t mean to be nasty about it…All right then.’