THE KING'S PRIZEMAN by Andrew Murray

Author:Andrew Murray [ComicRack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"Sergeant Brown's case?"

"Yes."

"I thought that that was just about over, guv'nor?"

Blake smiled.

"On the contrary; it has only just commenced," he said.

"You forget that we have an escaped prisoner on our hands, old chap. We have either got to clear him, or send him back to prison."

He handed Tinker his notebook, on which the various points of the case were written in Blake's neat, legible hand.

"You can run through that and let me have it back at lunch," the detective said. "I'm just going down to the Yard. I want to see if there is any move being made to find Paul Priestley. I will be back in time for lunch, and then we will start for Laxminster."

Tinker read the closely-written sheet, and a look of dismay crossed his alert face.

"H'm! The guv'nor was right," he said, as he closed the notebook. "The case has only just commenced; and what a rotten tangle it is, too!"

Some four hours later Blake and his companion found themselves engaging rooms in the Royal Hart, a small hotel opposite the station at Laxminster. They had a meal, and during it Blake asked a few questions from the smiling maid that served them.

She had lived in Laxminster all her life, and evidently knew most of the current events in the little town.

"You have Territorials here, I believe?" Blake said.

"Oh, yes, sir! Only one company, though. But they du say that Laxminster may have a rare surprise this year."

"What about?"

"The captain of the company, sir, a Mr. Sempner," the girl resumed, "is a fine shot. Always winning prizes, so they tell me. And they du say that he have a fine chance of winning this King's Prize."

Jack Priestley had mentioned this fact to the detective, but Blake pretended to be duly impressed.

"I suppose, then, that Captain Sempner will be very popular with all of you?"

The chattering maid pouted her red lip.

"Wouldn't like to say that 'xactly," she murmured. "There's some as likes him, and some as don't. Can't say as I like him, for one."

Tinker grinned at his plate with sudden relish. An enemy is always likely to impart much information—reliable or otherwise.

"Why don't you like him?" Blake asked; with a smile.

The girl did not reply for a moment to this pointed question.

"He be a big man in the town now, sir," she said at last, "but I remember that he was once eager enough to talk wi' ordinary folk. I was only nine or ten years old when I met him first, and he was manager o' the engineering works then. Now he owns most all of it, and there's some as wonders how he came to find the money so quick."

"Perhaps he worked hard?" Blake murmured.

The girl sniffed.

"He ain't one of the hard-working kind, ain't Mr. Sempner," she returned. "He was poor enough when he used to come round to our house o' an evening to see a lodger who used to live with us."

She flicked her napkin at a fly that tried to alight on the plate of butter.

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