Blackthorn House by John Rhode

Author:John Rhode
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2021-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

It was all very well for the Professor to talk like that, Jimmy thought, as he sat in his room at Scotland Yard next morning. Facts were all very well, but a certain amount of conjecture must be employed in fitting them together. And before propounding any fresh theory, the obvious course was to test those already formed.

Bastwick’s first. This depended upon Yewdale having gone to Blackthorn House after his arrival in London, which he denied. His story was that he had spent his time between Florden Gardens and the Fakenham Gallery. His friends at Florden Gardens might be able to confirm that. It being Sunday, they would probably be at home. Jimmy decided to call and pick up any information he could.

He made his way to Florden Gardens and rang the bell of Number 7. The door was opened by a girl in her twenties, red-haired and freckled. Not bad-looking, in fact rather attractive, was Jimmy’s first impression. She seemed surprised to see this total stranger standing on the doorstep, but when Jimmy told her who he was she nodded comprehendingly. “Come in,” she replied crisply. “I’ll take you to the studio. My brother’s there.”

She led him through the house to a studio built out at the back. This was littered with the objects usually to be found in such places. Sitting sideways in a chair, with his legs over one arm of it, was a man a few years older than the girl. He was reading a newspaper, but threw it aside as Jimmy came in. “Hullo!” he exclaimed, in a drawling but not unpleasant voice. “Who have we here?”

“This is Superintendent Waghorn,” his sister replied. “You know.”

“Rather!” he exclaimed, glancing at the crumpled newspaper. “I was reading your name at the very moment you rang the bell, Superintendent. Make yourself comfortable, and tell us what you want.”

“I want to talk about Mr. Yewdale,” Jimmy replied. “You are his friend, Mr. Langrish, I take it?”

The man in the chair nodded. “That’s right. Do sit down. I am Charles Langrish, and this is my sister Almayne.”

Jimmy sat down carefully upon the only vacant seat, which happened to be an alarmingly fragile-looking settee. “Did you know Mr. Winslow?” he asked, approaching the subject indirectly.

“I can’t say that I knew him well,” Langrish replied. “He’s been here, once or twice to see Noel, that’s all.”

“It more frequently happened that Mr. Yewdale went to see him at Blackthorn House?” Jimmy suggested.

Langrish smiled. “Not so often, within the last few years. Not since Noel’s cousin, Patricia Crowland, has been living there. The two of them don’t get on together. Noel finds Patricia a bit too straitlaced.”

“Mr. Yewdale came here on Monday, August 30th, I believe,” said Jimmy. “You were expecting him?”

“Of course we were expecting him,” Langrish replied. “This is Noel’s house as much as ours, you know. He had a show on last week, and he came back here for a few days to fix it up. He wrote and told us he’d be here on Monday.

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