The Cornish Coast Murder by John Bude

Author:John Bude [Bude, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The British Library Publishing Division
Published: 2014-02-18T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII

THE OPEN WINDOW

WHEN the Inspector re-entered Greylings he found Mrs. Cowper clearing away the tea-things in the kitchen. The Constable had his feet up before the range and, in his unbuttoned tunic, was enjoying a pipe. On seeing his superior in the doorway, he jumped to his feet and hastily started to rebutton his tunic. But the Inspector waved him back into the Windsor arm-chair.

“It's all right, Fenner. It's not you I'm after. You can finish your pipe.” He turned to Mrs. Cowper. “Your husband is about, Mrs. Cowper?”

The housekeeper nodded toward a second door which led into a large scullery.

“He's through there, sir. Sawing logs in the woodhouse. He finds it good for his liver when there's not much to be done in the garden. Keeps him out of mischief, too.”

The Inspector grinned affably.

“Mischief, eh?”

“Yes, sir. Horse-racing. Always slipping off to study what he calls ‘form’ and such. If I didn't keep a tight hand on his wages we'd be a good deal poorer than we are. And that's saying a lot!”

Bigswell appeared interested.

“You mean he likes to have his little bit on—is that it?”

“Yes—and it would be more than a little bit if he had his way. He's got it into his head, has Cowper, that horse-racing means easy money. And so it does, sir ... for the bookmakers.”

The Inspector agreed heartily. He realised, at once, from Mrs. Cowper's manner that she was riding one of her favourite hobby-horses. It was obvious that her husband's predilection for gambling was a thorn in her side. This voluntary information about Cowper's hobby might prove a useful factor in building up a theory later on.

“I wonder if you could spare me a moment, Mrs. Cowper,” he went on. “Perhaps we could go into the dining-room.”

A little worried and disturbed by this sudden request, Mrs. Cowper followed the Inspector across the hall. She wondered, uneasily, if she had opened her mouth too wide about her husband's weakness. She was not certain how the law stood toward betting on race-horses. She was immensely relieved, therefore, when the Inspector, without further mention of her husband, returned to her own movements on the night of the murder.

“Now I want you to try to remember exactly what you did, Mrs. Cowper, when Mr. Tregarthan finished his dinner. According to your previous statement you took in his coffee at a quarter to nine. Now, previous to that, what did you do?”

Mrs. Cowper pondered for a moment, as if desirous of marshalling her recollections, before setting them out in front of the Inspector.

What had she done? Well she and Cowper had cleared the dinner-table and taken the dirty crockery into the butler's pantry. Yes—they always washed-up in the pantry. Whilst her husband was stacking logs into the trudge, she had made the coffee and taken it in to Mr. Tregarthan. Before retiring from the sitting-room she drew the curtains across the french windows. She then arranged with Cowper that he was to do the washing-up, after he had taken in the logs, as she wanted to sort out the soiled linen.

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