The Case of the Careless Thief by Christopher Bush

Author:Christopher Bush
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2022-03-13T00:00:00+00:00

SUDDEN ILLNESS OF CHARLES DOVELL

Mr. Charles Dovell of Laneford Hall suffered a cerebral haemorrhage during the night. His condition is said to be serious and at the time of going to press he had not recovered consciousness. A specialist is in attendance.

It was so sudden, so startling that it hit me like a blow. I looked at the words again but I don’t think I really saw them. I leaned back in the chair and the thoughts were still confused. It was Dovell himself that I kept seeing: a frail old man, a gentleman, as the easily embracing term has it, who’d treated me with a quiet courtesy. But he was nothing more. What was I to Hecuba or Hecuba to me? Just nothing, except that Dovell had a wife. That was the question: just what would happen at Laneford Hall if Dovell were to die?

I went upstairs. Hallows would soon be meeting French, and he was having a wash at the bedroom basin. I waited till he’d hung up the towel before I showed him that news. He read it, gave me a quick look and read it again.

“Looks bad,” he said. “If it’s as bad as it reads, I wonder what’ll happen there now.”

“She can’t possibly withdraw her claim,” I said. “That’d be an absolutely damning admission, no matter how much she might come in for.”

Hallows smiled wryly. “You never know. I’ve known women do some queer things.”

“But what about tonight? Any point in going there now?”

He thought for a moment. “Far as that’s concerned it might be all to the good. What we’re after is what she may have done, not what she’s going to do. Besides, it’ll be all the talk at the pub. Won’t seem odd to Woods if I ask him some questions.”

He was right. It was good to have one level head in the firm. I gave him the newspaper and we went down for a quick cup of tea. From the railway station, I said, he could drive French round by way of Wellbrook Gardens. As soon as he was settled in at the hotel, it might be a good idea to take him to the Regency for a quick look at Shirley Blayde.

Hallows left. I stoked my pipe and went upstairs to do some more thinking. After stagnation, the investigation was beginning to stir. Cases are often like a log jam. There’s a pile-up but once there’s a sign of movement it’s folly to sit back and hope. Keep the jam moving. Set off, if necessary, a few more sticks of dynamite.

That’s what I was trying to find; something I could get busy with, some immediate contribution I could make. I couldn’t help thinking how different everything might have been if Quarley were still alive, and it was that that gave me an idea. Whoever had written that leader in the Evening Gazette would surely have been on Quarley’s side. And now Quarley had gone, what we needed was someone with sources of information that we’d never even suspect.

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