The Royal Flush Murders (Robert Budd Mystery Book 9) by Gerald Verner

Author:Gerald Verner [Verner, Gerald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-10-18T04:00:00+00:00

PART FOUR

THE KING OF DIAMONDS

1

Mr. Budd stared into the lighted room in utter stupefaction; too astonished for a second or two to do anything but stare. . . .

“Cor blimey, ’ow did it ’appen?” whispered the horrified Tom Custer at his elbow, and the question jerked him out of his bewildered trance and his training reasserted itself.

“Go an’ telephone ter Doctor Middlesham,” he ordered. “Tell ’im to come ’ere right away. An’ when you’ve done that go outside and find Sergeant Mackleberry. . . .”

“Is she . . . dead?” breathed Custer, staring at the motionless form of the woman on the floor in fascinated awe.

“I don’ know . . . I think so,” said Mr. Budd. “Do as I tell yer, will you?”

“She must ’ave shot ’erself,” said Custer, huskily. “She couldn’t ’ave bin . . .”

“What the ’ell was that noise?” Brockwell came out of his room clad in pyjamas, his hair ruffled and a scowl on his unprepossessing face. “What’s goin’ on, hey?”

“There’s been an accident,” replied Mr. Budd, quickly. “Somethin’s happened to your wife. . . . No, stay where you are, please,” he added, sharply, as Brockwell took a step towards him.

“An accident . . .? God Almighty, you don’t mean . . .? What’s ’appened to ’er?” Brockwell stammered incoherently, with a dawning fear in his small eyes.

“I think she’s shot herself. I don’t know yet. . . .” said Mr. Budd. “Go an’ do what I told yer, Custer, an’ get a move on. . . .”

Tom Custer dragged his eyes away from the spectacle beyond the open door and, turning, hurried away down the stairs.

“Shot ’erself?” muttered Brockwell. “Shot ’erself . . .?” His mouth sagged loosely and all the bluster seemed to ooze out of him. He sat down suddenly on the chair, which Mr. Budd had so recently occupied, and dropped his head in his hands.

The stout superintendent went cautiously into the room and stooped over Mrs. Brockwell. It didn’t take him long to assure himself that she was dead. Her eyes were open and already glazing, and the polished back of his watch remained undimmed when he held it close to her parted lips. He looked round for the weapon from which the shot had been fired, but he couldn’t see it. Unless it was under the body, it wasn’t there. But, of course, it must be under the body. He couldn’t move that to look until after the doctor had made his examination, but he could take it for granted that it was there. It couldn’t be anywhere else in the room and it must be still in the room. This was a case of suicide, not murder. Murder was completely out of the question this time. There could not have been anyone else in the room except Mrs. Brockwell. That was definite, anyway. The window was shut and fastened; nobody could have come or gone that way. And he himself had been watching the door, so that was equally impossible.

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