R in the Month by Spain Nancy

Author:Spain, Nancy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, British
Publisher: Hutchinson & Co. (Publishers) Ltd.
Published: 1950-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Hem!”

Mr. Justice Mayhem brought his fine hands finger-tip to fingertip, and leant buck in his chair. His eves half closed as he glanced down at the pile of notes that lay on the desk in front of him.

“By now, Members of the Jury, you will have begun to realize the facts of this case, as they appear, one by one.”

Each word that he spoke was thin and dry. They crumbled from his mouth, as brittle as biscuits.

“You will find yourselves considering this somewhat inefficiently controlled private hotel and its occupants. Radiating from it (almost like the spokes of a wheel) are influences that touch upon a wider, if more private, circle. I mean, of course, the inter-relative effections of a large and comparatively wealthy family. The Rucksacks.”

His Lordship here lowered his hands and seemed to poise on them, above his notes.

“The Rucksacks were, one by one, whether by accident or design, almost exterminated. I do not care for sensational adjectives. However, I must use one here and I think I might be justified. If, indeed, a premeditated and far-reaching design began to reach its conclusion on the night of 23rd February, in the death of Mrs. Eithne Bognor (with whose unlawful killing the prisoner stands charged), I can only speak of such a design as anti-social…”

A titter ran round the court-room and was instantly suppressed. His Lordship frowned.

“Once upon a time oysters were the food of the poor. Now, no doubt they are linked in your minds with champagne, actresses, and what are sometimes called the idle rich. For this reason you may have gained the impression that they are anti-digestive, injurious, positively lethal. You would be mistaken. The oyster is the most easily digested of food. And the birthday party at the Oranmore Hotel was not synonymous with dissipation. One of the largest oyster-beds in the country was the property of the Rucksacks. And I understand at was Mrs. Bognor’s practice to have oysters sent to her from time to time, on her birthday, and in September, when, as you are aware, the R returns to the month. It was Mrs. Bognor’s pleasure on these occasions to invite a few friends to share in them…”

Here Mr. Justice Mayhem paused and passed his tongue rapidly over his lips. And he did not seem indifferent to the thought of oysters. He glanced up at the clock that ticked away the inexorable minutes above the prisoner at the bar.

“…and in the past she had often done this.

“Indeed, it was in September 1946, when she was staying in the little Devonshire village of Whortleberry Down, that some oysters—I think I am right in speaking of a cran or half a cran—from the Rucksack Beds (for in this way they are spoken of in Whitstable) were sent by rail to Portarlington, the nearest station to Whortleberry, by (as it then was) the Great Western Railway. They were, most unfortunately, delayed in transit, and when Rear Admiral Bognor and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Charles Rucksack, died,

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