These Names Make Clues by E. C. R. Lorac

Author:E. C. R. Lorac
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2022-08-25T00:00:00+00:00

IX

Shortly after her brother had left Caroline House for his office, Miss Coombe was called to the telephone. The C.I.D. man on duty in the room apologised politely for the necessity of his presence, to which Miss Coombe replied in her cheerful, practical manner.

“Very nice of you to say so, but I don’t mind in the least. Very boring for you, I’m afraid. Conversation over the phone always sounds so foolish. Hallo. Miss Coombe speaking.”

It was Miss Delareign who had rung up, “full of chirp and chat,” as Susan put it. “I am so sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid I left my gloves behind me last night, rather a favourite pair. Might I call for them some time to-day?”

“By all means, though I could send them if you like,” replied Miss Coombe. “I think there is an evening bag of yours, too, black brocade with a diamanté clasp.”

“No. I didn’t leave a bag. I have my own, gold mesh to match my frock. The cleaners did the frock so beautifully. It doesn’t show a mark. I am so anxious to know if you have any news about poor Mr. Gardien’s accident.”

“No. Nothing whatever,” said Miss Coombe firmly. “In any case, I couldn’t talk about it over the phone.”

“No. Of course not. If I looked in—say after lunch—could I see you for a few minutes? I have a little idea I should like to discuss with you.”

Miss Coombe meditated before she replied, so that the lady at the other end put in “Hallo, are you still there?” in a surprised tone, and Miss Coombe replied abruptly, “Yes, I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting. I shall be in at two o’clock if that will suit you.”

“Thank you so much. Good-bye.”

Miss Coombe replaced the receiver and turned to the polite young man who stood looking out of the window.

“Would you like The Times, or do you prefer the Daily Mail? I’m afraid that bookcase hasn’t anything readable. I’ll send you in some papers.”

“Please don’t trouble—” His sentence was cut short by the telephone bell ringing again and Miss Coombe murmured:

“Do you prefer to answer it?”

“No, madam. I have no instructions except to be on duty here until I am relieved.”

Once again she lifted the receiver.

“Could I speak to Miss Coombe, please?”

“Speaking.”

“Good-morning. This is Valerie Woodstock. May I come in and talk to you for a little while? I very much want your advice about something. I should be so grateful if you could spare me a few minutes.”

“Certainly. Come as soon as you like,” replied Miss Coombe. “I shall be in all the morning. Say in half an hour? Excellent. Good-bye.”

With a word and a smile to the detective, Miss Coombe went out into the hall, but when she had closed the door behind her, her expression altered to a frown. Really, with the best will in the world it wasn’t easy to talk to people with the powers of the C.I.D., vested in a nicely mannered young man, at your elbow.

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