Crossword Mystery by E R Punshon

Author:E R Punshon [Punshon, E R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910570333
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2015-04-23T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Certain Evidence

It was a long time before Miss Raby emerged from the study, and when she did her bearing showed very plainly how trying she had found the ordeal. She said to Bobby as she passed him:

“It’s not fair to talk about Miles. I’m sure he doesn’t even know yet. Why should he?” She added: “There’s a crossword puzzle I ought to send the Daily Announcer to-night, and I can’t even think. Shall I send them poor Mr. Winterton’s instead? That one he was working on, you know.”

Bobby saw that in the reaction of her relief at escaping from the close questioning to which she had been subjected, she was on the point of breaking down and becoming hysterical. He took her into the drawing-room, which was fortunately unoccupied, and made her lie down on the sofa, and then sent Mrs. Cooper to her with a cup of strong tea.

“I wonder if this Miles Winterton can be the murderer,” he thought. “Anyhow, if she doesn’t think so herself, it’s pretty clear she is afraid we may.”

It was, in fact, a little strange that the young man had not yet made his appearance at Fairview, since by now the news of the murder had probably been published in every evening paper in the country. In fact, Bobby was now called to the front door, where an altercation was taking place with two enterprising reporters who had managed to evade the police cordon outside, and, having got hold of Bobby’s name in the village, had asked for him on the pretext of being friends. It was a claim Bobby had to repudiate, as politely as he could, which, however, did not prevent an “Exclusive Interview with Murdered Man’s Guest” appearing next day in one of the London papers.

After that there was another long delay, during which Bobby – who was always learning afresh and with difficulty that patience is a virtue great, and that detectives, like little boys, must learn to wait, and often to wait almost as if for evermore – had nothing to do but sit and muse in the lounge hall. He did, however, manage to obtain from Mrs. Cooper, going to and fro, busy with her household duties, a copy of a photograph of Miles Winterton she extracted for him from a collection of family photos.

“The poor lamb in there,” Mrs. Cooper told him, nodding towards the drawing-room, as she gave him the photograph, “has dropped off to sleep, bless her heart. I call it a shame to worry her with a lot of questions. She can’t know anything when she wasn’t here. And Mr. Miles is a real gentleman, and hasn’t been near the place for weeks, so what can he know, either?”

“I suppose they’ve got to question everybody,” Bobby observed, a little surprised by Mrs. Cooper’s use of the phrase “poor lamb,” for it was not like her to use such expressions, and they came a little oddly from her, who had more aloofness and reserve than tenderness in her general manner.

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