Fault in the Structure (Mrs. Bradley) by Mitchell Gladys

Author:Mitchell, Gladys [Mitchell, Gladys]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2014-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chief Superintendent Nicholl looked dubious.

“But if it’s a proper question, Mrs. Gavin,” he said, “what do you expect to get at his landlady’s?”

“I’m hoping to break down his alibi for the week Mrs. Lawrence was murdered.”

“Well, I wish you more luck than we’ve had.”

“Woman to woman, and all that kind of thing, you know. What sort of woman is she?”

“A most respectable old party. Has let rooms to the College for years and never a breath against her. If you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs. Gavin, ma’am, I think you’ll be wasting your time.”

“We’ll see. You never know.”

She drove off blithely to the address he had given her, but her visit proved to be as abortive as the superintendent had prophesied. Lawrence’s lodgings were in a much larger house than Laura had envisaged. It was a solidly built, three-storey Victorian mansion, well maintained; it had a neat front garden, a polished brass knocker, doorbell and letter-flap, and in answer to her ring the front door was opened by a maid capped and aproned and with a well-scrubbed, fresh-complexioned face. This girl stood politely awaiting the caller’s opening remarks.

Laura produced Dame Beatrice’s official card with her own name added to it in Dame Beatrice’s handwriting.

“I wonder whether I could speak to Mrs. Breaston?” she said.

“Come inside, madam, please. I’ll go and ask. Would it be about a room?—because I don’t believe we have a vacancy.”

“Oh? Has Mr. Lawrence’s room been re-let, them?” asked Laura, who had not foreseen such a useful opening to her visit.

“I’ll speak to Mrs. Breaston, madam, if you’ll kindly take a seat.”

There was a small table in the hall with a chair at either end of it. Laura sat down and was not kept waiting. Mrs. Breaston reminded Laura of nobody so much as of the enigmatic housekeeper at Manderley. She was a tall ramrod of a woman dressed all in black. She glided like a fictional nun and carried her hands clasped just below her waist. She was decorated with a large cameo brooch and a long gold chain at the end of which Laura could see a gold cross. Her hair was strained into a small bun at the back of her neck and she wafted before her a faint odour of aniseed.

“I have no vacancies,” she said, “but your card hardly suggests that you need one. The Home Office? Are you connected with the police force? If so, I am going to complain to my Member of Parliament. I really must protest about being badgered in this way.”

“I am not a member of the police force, neither have I any intention of badgering you, Mrs. Breaston. Did you know that Mr. Lawrence has been sent to prison for dangerous driving?”

“I have no wish to hear Mr. Lawrence’s name spoken.”

“I suppose he did leave you rather suddenly. Was he up-to-date with his rent?”

“I have no complaints about that. Perhaps we had better go into my sitting-room. The servants are all ears.” She led the way along the hall and opened a door.

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