Five Pink Ladies by Anna Elliott & Charles Veley

Author:Anna Elliott & Charles Veley
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Wilton Press
Published: 2020-05-29T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8: LUCY

Henrik van Rensburg made his home in Eaton Square, a vast white stucco mansion in the classical style, with white pillars flanking an upper-level balcony.

Even seen from our cab it was an impressive edifice, but as Holmes and I came closer, our attention was drawn to the two police wagons waiting outside the entry, and the two blue-uniformed constables guarding the front door.

I looked at Holmes. “Do you think—”

“That we are too late? I very much fear that we are. Come, though, we will see what can be learned.”

The figure that met us as we approached the house was a familiar one: slim and narrow-featured, with sharp, close-set eyes that registered surprise at the sight of us.

“Ah, Inspector Lestrade,” Holmes greeted him. “I take it that there has been a crime committed on the premises.”

“You’re right about that. Murder. Nasty business.” Lestrade looked up at the house. “Someone broke in last night and cut Mr. van Rensburg’s throat while he was asleep in bed. His valet found him an hour ago. He wasn’t an early riser and it wasn’t unusual for him to sleep in past noon, but when it was getting on for three o’clock, the servants got worried and went into the bedroom. Found him lying dead in his own blood.”

“Have you any leads?” Holmes asked.

“Not as yet, but it’s early days. If it was robbery, though, they didn’t take anything. Servants can’t find anything missing.” Lestrade’s eyes narrowed as he studied Holmes. “Mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“First, do you permit us to come in and look at the scene of the crime?” Holmes asked.

Lestrade’s narrow features reflected an inner struggle. He and Holmes had a long association that occasionally tiptoed—gingerly and a little unwillingly—towards the neighbourhood of friendship.

But that didn’t mean that Lestrade wouldn’t vastly prefer to solve crimes himself without Holmes’s assistance.

“If you know anything about the murder, it is your duty to report it,” he began.

“And I shall do so. But unless we examine the crime scene, I cannot tell whether or not Mr. van Rensburg’s death has any bearing on the case that occupies our attention.”

Lestrade’s jaw worked, but then he gave in, flinging up his hands. “All right, have it your way. You’d best come inside.”

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