Red Christmas by Reginald Hill

Author:Reginald Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2019-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

11

You are a humbug, sir … I will speak plainer if you wish it. An impostor, sir.

MR. SAMUEL PICKWICK

Breakfast was a remarkably lively meal, indecently, so it seemed, to those who had had less than their fair share of sleep the previous night.

There was a feeling of excitement among the guests as they realised they were to all intents and purposes cut off from the outside world. Many were disappointed that they were unable to make or receive Christmas greeting telephone calls, but the sense of being involved in an adventure (safely and comfortably endured) more than compensated.

After breakfast people drifted into the parlour, where they were delighted to discover heaps of gifts piled beneath the Christmas tree, and even more delighted to find how well chosen they had been.

‘It might have been hand-picked, specially for me!’ averred Mrs. Burton, looking at the small bottle of perfume she had just received. ‘You’re very efficient, Mr. Boswell. You must have a file on me somewhere!’

Boswell nodded his appreciation of the compliment and of the unconscious irony. The investigation carried out on all the guests had proved very useful in selecting their gifts. It seemed, however, it had been less useful in its premier task of weeding out security risks. It might well turn out that there was some innocent explanation of Bloodworth’s activities early in the morning, but it would be foolish to assume anything but the worst. The old man had been treated by his niece, Mrs. Hislop, and put to bed. His condition was not as grave as it had appeared to Boswell at first, but the doctor had made it clear he was a very sick man and it was out of the question for him to talk. Of course, her own close connection with Bloodworth made her opinion less weighty than it might otherwise have been, but it was impossible to contradict it without alternative medical advice. And certainly Boswell’s own amateur observations confirmed her diagnosis.

There had been no opportunity to talk with Arabella since her outburst. Her own interest in Bloodworth was still as mysterious as the man’s activities themselves. But there were other matters of greater concern. Sawyer, first and foremost. Incredibly, there was still no sign of the man. He must have got away out of the house, Boswell decided. Perhaps Bloodworth had had some kind of rendezvous with him? But even this theory was hard to maintain. He had detached four of the seven men under his control and sent them through the snow to give the barn and stables a thorough going-over.

The result was nothing.

Perhaps Sawyer had tried to make his escape in the night. In which case there was little doubt that nature would have done Boswell’s work for him and be holding the fugitive to be picked up later when the thaw came. Dead.

It would simplify matters. And, recalling Wardle, Boswell had no qualms about hoping that this in fact was what had happened.

Wardle’s absence he explained (and continually, painfully,

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