The Case of the Platinum Blonde by Christopher Bush

Author:Christopher Bush [Bush, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2018-07-02T04:00:00+00:00

We had best part of an hour in Porthaven. George was arranging for the dispatch of his letter, and I found a place to get coffee. At just before noon I rejoined him at police headquarters. A minute or two later we were in Chevalle’s room.

Chevalle was in uniform and a fine figure he looked. The two rows of ribbons looked impressive, and they weren’t coronation ones, either.

“Hope I haven’t kept you two waiting,” he said, as he shook hands with us. “Make yourselves comfortable, and then we’ll get down to it.”

Wharton went to the outer door, opened it and glanced along the passage.

“No chance of anything being overheard?” he asked as he closed the door again.

“Heavens, no!” Chevalle said, and looked a bit bewildered.

“All the same we’ll not talk too loudly,” Wharton told him, and was drawing his chair in closer to Chevalle’s desk. Then he began putting on his antiquated spectacles, and I knew something unusual was in the wind. Chevalle caught my eye and his eyebrows lifted. I gave a quick shake of the head.

“The time has come for some remarkably plain speaking,” Wharton began. “I thought it best to have Major Travers here as a trustworthy witness. We can both rely on his discretion, and that what’s said here goes no further.”

“Aren’t you being rather mysterious?” asked Chevalle, and his smile was a dry one.

“Just taking precautions,” Wharton told him evenly. “I always do that when I’m on mixed business. Part private, part not.”

Chevalle nodded.

“And a talk of that sort is agreeable to you?” Wharton asked him.

“Good God, sir, get on with it!” Chevalle told him with a grim impatience.

Wharton opened the attaché-case, made as if to take something out, then changed his mind and closed it again.

“You’ll have to take my word for everything,” he said. “Though it’s all here if you should want to see it.” Then he was peering over his spectacle tops. “The fact is, Chevalle, I want to question your wife.”

“My wife!” He shot an inquiring glance at me. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Well, I warned you that it was to be all cards on the table,” Wharton told him evenly. “I’m putting mine down right-away. My opinion is that you know perfectly well why I want to question your wife.”

“Oh?” Chevalle said, and his eyes narrowed.

“Look at it like this,” Wharton said placidly. “The first real murder case you’ve had since your appointment here. A first-class chance for you to show your metal and make a name for yourself. But what do you do? You scarcely touch the outside edges of the case and you throw your hand in.” His tone changed to the challenging. “If you’re anything, Chevalle, you’re a fighter. You’re a sticker. Yet you threw your hand in!” He shrugged his shoulders, and the tone changed again. “If it’s your wish not to talk, very well, we’ll not talk. In that case I shall have to proceed as I think fit.”

“Proceed with what?”

Wharton raised hands to heaven, then let them fall.

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