Nothing but the Truth by John Rhode

Author:John Rhode [Rhode, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780451202857
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Penguin Group (USA)
Published: 1999-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII

THE name of Dr. Lancelot Priestley was familiar to scientists all over the world. He was learned, sceptical, and a confirmed iconoclast. His delight was to throw a monkey-wrench, in the form of a paper in one of the scientific periodicals, into the delicate machinery of some new and insufficiently substantiated theory. But few, outside the immediate circle of his friends, knew that his hobby was criminology, to which subject he was always ready to apply the cold and remorseless logic of his mind.

It had long been an established custom for Dr. Priestley to hold, on Saturday evenings, a small and select dinner-party at his house in Westbourne Terrace. To this gathering three people had open invitations, although, on occasions, others might be specially asked to add to the number. The regular guests were Dr. Oldland, a friend of long standing, who, although nominally practising as a physician in Kensington, had by now practically retired, ex-Superintendent Hanslet, late of Scotland Yard, and now living contentedly in rooms in Hampstead, and Jimmy, whenever his duties permitted. Harold Merefield, Dr. Priestley’s long-suffering secretary, who lived with him, was nearly always in attendance. As may be imagined, the topic of conversation in Dr. Priestley’s study after dinner was invariably crime.

It was there that in the evening of Saturday, April 20th, the five men were assembled. Expectantly, for by now the newspapers had splashed what they were pleased to term the A.A. box mystery. The inquest had been fully reported, with the usual journalistic trimmings. And it bad become known that Scotland Yard, in the person of Superintendent Waghorn, had been called in.

Oldland seated before the fire with a glass of whisky beside him, started the ball rolling. “Well, Jimmy, we’re all hoping that you’ve something interesting to tell us,” he said. “I, for one, hardly expected to see you here this evening. I thought you would be roaming the Midlands, hard on the heels of the slaughterer of your respected manufacturer.”

Jimmy smiled. “I’m on the trail, all right. I’ve followed it to London, and I considered that I was entitled to an evening off.” He glanced at Dr. Priestley, who was seated as usual in the chair behind his massive desk. “Would you care to hear about the case of Mr. Watlington, sir? It’s a long and so far rather unsatisfactory story, I’m afraid.”

“I shall be pleased to hear anything you may care to tell us,” Dr. Priestley replied. “The length of the story need not deter you. Whether it is satisfactory or not, we shall be better able to judge when we have heard it.”

Thus encouraged, Jimmy embarked upon a detailed account of his investigations, from his arrival at Midhampton up to the time of his departure from Burleyford on Friday afternoon. Knowing Dr. Priestley’s appreciation of facts, and mistrust of conjecture, he was careful to differentiate between what had been definitely established, and what was only a matter of hearsay or assumption. His audience listened in silence until he had at last come to an end.

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