The Case of Alan Copeland by Moray Dalton

Author:Moray Dalton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2020-08-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII

A TERRIBLE POSITION

The afternoon after the day Alan Copeland was committed for trial George Hayter called at the office of Reid, Reid and Pearmain, and having sent in his card, was shown immediately into John Reid’s room.

Reid, who had not had much experience of private enquiry agents, was favourably impressed. He had been expecting a furtive-looking person with a tendency to cringe. George Hayter was a big man with a wholesome, weather-beaten face and remarkably steady grey eyes. He might have been a farmer come to consult him professionally about a mortgage. “You’re not my idea of a sleuth,” he said as they shook hands.

Hayter smiled. “I’ve been a good many other things in my time. Bronco buster. Canadian mounted police, second engineer on a tramp steamer, chicle gatherer in British Guiana. And that isn’t half. But I’ve held this job down for three years now. I was in the same battalion in 1917 with a chap who’s now high up at the Yard. We’re still good friends, and that’s given me a pull. Now about this case, Mr. Reid. I read all the newspaper accounts in the train coming down. Can you give me the inside dope?”

Reid sighed. “I’m afraid the police have a very good case against my client,” he began. “The undisputed facts are that Copeland was not happy in his married life. His wife was years older, and he had, I fear, married her only for her money. I managed her affairs and I remember suggesting to her that she should make him a regular allowance. No. She doled out every penny. It seems that she even resented his attempt to earn a little by poultry farming. There’s no doubt that she was a thoroughly disagreeable woman, and that she made the poor devil’s life a burden. She died a year ago last June after a few hours’ illness. Copeland fetched the doctor and he made no bones about signing the certificate. Mrs. Copeland had made a will leaving everything to her husband. He left me to settle his business affairs, probate and all the rest of it. I had to forward any papers that had to be signed through the London branch of his bank. He remained away until last April when he returned, bringing with him the second Mrs. Copeland, and set about restoring Strays. The place was a manor in the seventeenth century and has come down in the world, passing into the hands of farmers, who replaced the lattice windows with sashes and plastered cheap wall papers over the oak beams. It had always been Copeland’s dream to do what he and his wife have been doing these last few months, but of course it has cost a good bit of money.” Reid hesitated a moment as if he found some difficulty in proceeding. “This—this girl he married was a niece of the vicar of Teene. She stayed at the vicarage for a fortnight, two months before Mrs. Copeland’s death. They do not deny that during her visit she—they became lovers, with the result that she—”

“Yes.

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