A Quiet Life in the Country by T E Kinsey

Author:T E Kinsey [Kinsey, T E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical
ISBN: 9781503938267
Amazon: B01ER14CRY
Barnesnoble: B01ER14CRY
Goodreads: 30333107
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2014-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

We entered the dining room to find a bewildered Captain Summers looking forlornly at the empty sideboard.

‘What ho,’ he said breezily. ‘I seem to be a bit late for breakfast, what?’

‘A little, sir,’ said the inspector. ‘It’s very nearly lunchtime. And you are . . .?’

‘I might ask you the same question, sir,’ said Summers pompously, disdainfully eyeing the inspector’s neat but unfashionable suit.

‘I do beg your pardon,’ said the inspector. ‘Inspector Sunderland of the Bristol CID.’

‘CID, eh? Detective, eh? What are you detectin’?’

‘There’s been a murder, Mister—’

‘Captain. Captain Summers.’ His face had whitened. ‘A murder?’

‘Yes, sir, last evening at the party. Are you quite well, sir? Do you think you ought to sit down?’

‘I . . . er . . . yes. Do you mind, my lady?’ He looked over towards Lady Hardcastle. ‘I feel a little queer.’ He sat on one of the dining chairs, still looking very pale. ‘Funny how a chap can spend his life fighting for king and country – queen and country, too, come to that – seeing death and carnage all around, and then be knocked for six by a death in the house. It was in the house, Inspector?’

‘It was, sir, yes.’

‘Good lord, not in here?’

‘No, sir, in the library.’

‘I see, I see.’ He looked around, still somewhat befuddled. ‘Who was it?’

‘One of the musicians, sir,’ said the inspector. ‘Mr Wallace Holloway, the trumpeter with the band.’

‘Good lord. Music wallah, eh? They were good. I mean, that’s what everyone kept telling me. Not entirely my cup of char, if I’m completely honest with you, but . . . I mean . . . a chap doesn’t deserve to die for playing American music.’

‘I don’t think he was killed by a music critic, sir. We’re almost certain it was a robbery.’

‘A robbery? Good lord. Good lord. What would a trumpeter have worth stealing?’

‘That’s precisely what we’re currently wondering, sir. Did you see anything last evening? Anything that might help us piece together what happened?’

‘“Us”?’ he said, looking around at Lady Hardcastle and me.

‘I meant the police force, sir. Lady Hardcastle and Miss Armstrong are . . . observing.’

Captain Summers looked blankly at us. ‘Observing?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I see. I see. Jolly good.’

‘Would you mind telling us about last evening, Captain? Did you see or hear anything unusual, for instance?’

‘Not a thing, Inspector, no.’

‘Perhaps you could take us through the evening as you remember it?’

‘Of course, of course. I’d been staying at The Grange for a couple of days, d’you see. Friend of Sir Hector. So I was one of the first at the party. Bit early for my taste, but I tried not to fuss. So many things have changed here since I’ve been away.’

‘Here, sir? You’ve been to The Grange before?’

‘No, I mean, yes, I have, but I meant Blighty. Gone to the dogs if you ask me. France, too. Stopped in Paris on my way here, see an old friend, what? Shabby place now. But there I was, best bib and tucker—’

‘Military dress, sir?’

‘What? No, mess jacket still in India.

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