Castle Murders by John DeChancie

Author:John DeChancie [DeChancie, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-01-12T05:00:00+00:00

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“No, sir. It was anger, sir. The kind that drains the blood from the face and makes the lips waxen. That kind of anger, sir. Cold anger. She looked as though …”

“She looked as though what?”

“As though she were going to strike him back, sir. Only harder.”

“Did she make any attempt?”

“No, sir. None. She just sat there.”

“Did you hear or see anything else?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. That is all I have to tell.”

“You didn’t see Trent —?”

“Oh, please, sir. I saw nothing.” Ruford cast his eyes to the floor. “It is not my place to talk about the brother of the king.”

“In a court of law, you’d be obliged to,” Thaxton reminded him.

“Yes, sir. I would. But not until then, and not until his lordship the judge puts the question, and I am bound by law and principle to answer.”

“I see. Well, thank you, Ruford. That’s all for now.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir. I’ll see to the cot straightaway.”

When the door closed, Dalton said, “That was hard for him.”

“Well, servants, you know.”

“I do know that there’s more than one mystery to all this.”

“Eh? What’s that?”

“You.”

“Me? Whatever do you mean?”

Dalton sat on a hard-backed wooden chair. “I’ve never seen you like this. I can’t fathom this amazing transformation that’s come over you.”

“Just what amazing transformation is that, old man?”

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you … interested in something. You’re animated, you’re involved.

And you have the makings of becoming a damn fine amateur sleuth. Where on earth did you learn all that forensic medicine?”

Thaxton chuckled. “I’m faking it, old man. I don’t know all that much about forensic medicine or, for Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

that matter, anything else. What I do know was learned out of murder mysteries.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. Used to read three a week sometimes when I was married. Not much else to do. Sayers, Christie, Chesterton, Bentley, the lot. And I was raised on Conan Doyle. Most fiction leaves me cold, but I love a good mystery. Gets the blood racing.”

“Absolutely amazing.”

“Detection? Hardly. All it takes is having no qualms about asking indelicate questions.”

“No powers of deduction? No keen eye?”

“Overrated. I certainly can’t tell from a spot of clay on a man’s boots that he’s recently been in Lyme Regis or that his dog has beriberi or any of that Holmesian nonsense. But it doesn’t take much to deduce that someone killed the viscount and that it was probably somebody at the party, who either threw a knife or stabbed him in the back and dropped the knife.”

Dalton nodded. “And now we know it could have been Lady Rilma.”

“Yes, she now tops the list. And it makes much more sense than the knife-throwing business. If the knife was thrown and it stuck deeply in the viscount’s back, who pulled it out?”

Dalton tried reaching to the middle of his back. “I suppose he could have, though I can’t imagine anything harder or more painful than pulling a knife out of one’s own back.

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