Murderer's Mistake by E. C. R. Lorac

Author:E. C. R. Lorac [Mistake, Murderer's]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Treasure Editions
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Macdonald sat over the fire and pondered. He had been very much interested in Giles Hoggett’s imaginary narrative. Admittedly it was not detection, but various points were suggestive to Macdonald’s mind, and indicated different lines of research to be followed. He sat in the silent cottage, meditating that it was probable that Gordon Ginner had sat just where he was sitting now, listening, perhaps, for the footsteps of an unexpected visitor. Even as he pondered over this, Macdonald also was aware of footsteps outside: two men were approaching the cottage. One was Hoggett, the second a shorter man who took more footsteps to cover the same ground. Macdonald sat and waited until Hoggett opened the door.

“There’s a visitor for you,” he announced. “Kate sent him along and I met him just as I left George.”

“Reeves!” exclaimed Macdonald. “It’s good to see you. Have you brought me some news?”

“That’s it, Chief. The A.C. sent me along with his compliments, hoping I’d be useful.”

“Good for him,” said Macdonald. “First I’ll introduce you to my friend Mr. Giles Hoggett, who is our host here. Hoggett this is Detective-Inspector Peter Reeves, a hundred per cent Londoner, and one of the best arguments in favor of London ever produced there.”

“Good evening, Mr. Reeves. I’m very glad to see you here, and I’m much impressed by the chief inspector’s testimonial. Have you just come from London?”

“Yes, sir. I reached Lancaster at nine o’clock and got a a lift from a farmer named Troutbeck. There are some goodhearted folk hereabouts. I expected to have to foot it.”

“You must be hungry,” said Giles Hoggett promptly. “I’m afraid we’ve eaten all the trout, but I’ve got a lot of eggs if they’ll help.”

“Eggs in the plural? Glory! I haven’t met eggs in the plural for years. Doesn’t sound real these days.”

Reeves stood by the fire, a trim well-balanced figure, always on his toes; he was six inches shorter than Hoggett, and looked like a schoolboy with his neat dark head, slim figure, and cheerful grin.

“Do you like your eggs boiled, fried, or scrambled?” inquired Mr. Hoggett. “There are plenty of tomatoes and some soup.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Reeves. “If you’ll trust me with the frying pan I shall enjoy doing the cooking.”

“Right. I’ll get the eggs and tomatoes and leave you to it, while I see about some coffee.”

Once again Macdonald thought how adaptable Mr. Hoggett was. Reeves was a Cockney; his quick speech and mobile face made him as unlike Hoggett as a monkey is unlike a mastiff; but the two men cooked over the same fire in perfect amity, not getting in each other’s way, and obviously enjoying one another’s odd ways and speech.

When Reeves sat back with a cup of coffee, after putting away his own notion of scrambled eggs plus tomatoes and fried onions, Macdonald said:

“What’s the news from the Metropolis, Reeves?”

“I’ve got a line on Ginner, Chief. I’ve been running round in circles after him, like a kitten chasing its own tail.

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