The Mystery of Montague Morgan: A 1920s Christmas Country House Murder (Heathcliff Lennox Book 7) by Karen Baugh Menuhin

Author:Karen Baugh Menuhin [Menuhin, Karen Baugh]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Little Dog Publishing ltd
Published: 2021-12-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

I let loose a long sigh. ‘Swift, I’ve been trying to tell you…well, I wasn’t at first, but then…oh hell.’ I told him all about the Admiral’s purported privileges, and what Bobbi Paxton had revealed about the smuggling…and the fact the warehouse wasn’t bonded.

‘But it has to be bonded.’ He was astounded. ‘If Morgan kept stock in an unauthorised warehouse, he risked losing his licence and his business and… everything. Oh, God, I never dreamt…’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Greggs returned to retrieve the tray, providing a fortuitous diversion.

He bent to whisper. ‘I have prepared a decanter of the Courvoisier. Should I bring it in, sir?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Damn it.’ Swift slammed a hand on the desk and spoke with rage in his voice. ‘Frobisher’s responsible for this and he’s going to answer for it.’ He got up and stormed out, fury in every sinew.

‘Trouble, sir?’ Greggs remarked.

‘They’re smuggling.’

‘Ah yes, very unsettling, sir.’

‘As if things weren’t sticky enough.’

‘And the clock is ticking, sir.’ He gathered the tray and headed for the door.

‘Yes, thank you, I do know that,’ I retorted as he wobbled off.

Swift marched Frobisher into the room.

‘It wasn’t me. Morgan sent your whisky here,’ his Lordship was protesting. ‘You can’t blame me for his decision, you’re being bally unfair.’

‘You know the damned rules as well as I do. What the hell were you thinking?’ Swift was beside himself. ‘It has to go into a Bonded Warehouse.’

‘We’re exempt. The Admiral was a friend of the King, the Frobishers have…’

‘Sit down,’ Swift yelled.

Frobisher sank into a chair, still protesting. ‘We have special…’

‘Do you really think that counts for anything in this day and age?’ Swift snarled.

‘It does in our circles.’ Frobisher attempted aristocratic disdain but sounded like a prinking coxcomb.

‘That’s why you were panicking when we talked about bringing in Scotland Yard.’ Swift barely took breath. ‘If the law discovers what’s in the warehouse, it will all be confiscated and we could be jailed.’ He raised his voice to a bellow. ‘It’s not just my whisky, you idiot, it’s the whole damned lot.’

Frobisher waved his hands up and down. ‘Shush, be quiet, he mustn’t hear you.’ He turned to me. ‘Please Lennox, tell him not to shout like that.’

‘Swift,’ I spoke sharply. ‘Just a minute.’

Swift was practically baring his teeth. ‘What?’

I leaned toward Frobisher, who was trying to shrink through the back of his chair. ‘Who mustn’t hear us, Frobisher?’ I demanded.

‘I… I… aaahhh.’ He put his fingers over his mouth.

‘You mean Kenyon mustn’t hear?’ I supplied the answer. ‘Did you and Morgan sell him this fiction about your family having immunity from Excise duty?’

Swift cottoned on. ‘And Morgan inflated the value of his business based on the lie, didn’t he?’

It was falling into place – the secrets, the subterfuge – and it added a new dimension to Morgan’s motives.

‘He… I…’ Frobisher had blanched deathly white, his scant hair standing on end around his bald patch.

‘Kenyon paid far more than Morgan’s business was worth,’ I stated.

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