Murder in the Family: Stories of Crime & Detection Volume 2 (James Ronald Stories of Crime & Detection) by Ronald James

Author:Ronald, James [Ronald, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Moonstone Press
Published: 2023-12-14T00:00:00+00:00

*

The next he knew was when he awoke at noon the following day with a blinding headache. He was lying in his underwear on a frowsty bed in an unfamiliar room. His clothes were jumbled together on a chair beside the bed. He sat up with a groan and stared about him wildly.

The door opened and Simon came in. “Well, young man, how are you this morning?”

“Where am I?” Feathers demanded.

“In my spare bedroom. Don’t you remember? I brought you home with me last night.”

Feathers groaned again and buried his head in his hands. “Drink this,” said Simon, holding under his nose a glass containing a reddish fluid in which floated a raw egg. The soul-shaken young police officer pushed it away, but Simon insisted. After he had drunk it he felt considerably better.

When he dressed, he found that his notebook, which contained a summary of all his investigations into the Osborne Murder Case, was in a different pocket to that in which he habitually kept it. He took it out and looked suspiciously at Simon.

“It’s a funny thing,” said Simon pleasantly, “but I can never get to sleep without reading in bed for a while. Last night I was very nearly stumped. There wasn’t a thing to read in the house—except your notebook. And very interesting reading it made, too. I had no idea there was so much in the Osborne Murder Case that hadn’t found its way into the papers. And I’d never before known that Mrs. Glott’s first name is Cissy. Cissy! My boy, I ask you!”

“You—you—”

Simon sat on the bed and eyed Feathers benignly. “By the way, what did she tell you? You haven’t yet entered it in the book and I’d rather like to know.”

“She said you didn’t return to London until Monday,” exploded Feathers.

“Her error,” smiled Simon. “I didn’t come home until Monday, but I was in London on Saturday evening.”

“You did not leave Gay Ladies by train or bus.”

“True. You see, my boy, I left Gay Ladies in a state of pecuniary embarrassment. Bluntly, I had not got the fare. I could not touch my cousin, for he had just lost his job. But for a kindly motorist who gave me a lift to Brancaster and another who carried me on to London, I should have been forced to walk, a thought that makes me shudder.”

“Where did you spend Saturday and Sunday nights?”

“That’s rather a delicate question, my boy. If you press me, I must admit that it—it affects the honour of a lady. A very charming lady. You had the pleasure of meeting her last night.”

“You mean— You don’t mean that henna-haired—”

“The same, my boy, the same. In any other circumstances, wild horses would not have dragged the admission from me, but when the law insists— You need not take my word for it. You can ask the lady herself, although the question, I admit, would be an awkward one to put. Still, I have no doubt she would be delighted to meet you again.

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