The Mystery of the Peacock's Eye by Brian Flynn

Author:Brian Flynn [Flynn, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Classic, Mystery, 1920s
Publisher: John Hamilton Ltd
Published: 1928-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XIV

The Peacock’s Eye

Mr. Stark—the manager of the Westhampton branch of the once ill-starred Mutual Bank—sat in his spacious private room on the Bank premises and thoughtfully stroked his chin with his long supple fingers. He then picked up the morning paper again and read a paragraph therein with much more than ordinary interest. This done he put the paper down on his table and resumed his previous occupation of chin-stroking. He was a man of striking appearance—tall—and of fine physique generally—debonair and always dressed in the height of good taste. When he had suddenly entered the industry of Westhampton—a matter of about fourteen months ago he had caused something akin to a sensation in Westhampton social circles, and many Westhampton hearts surrendered to his fascination. Rumours had it that he was extremely highly-connected and that he had been sent to Westhampton immediately following upon the scandal caused by Sir Felix Warburton’s downfall—upon a special mission. Banks must be like the wife of Caesar! Rumour also had it that he was or had been intimate with such people as Sir Matthew Fullgarney—the late Major Carruthers and even with Lady Brantwood herself. Brantwood Castle, it may be observed was the biggest house for many mile around and Lady Brantwood suited it. It was evident that upon this particular morning somethin had occurred to worry him, and to cause him disturbance. Suddenly he came to what was obviously an important decision. He pressed the bell that communicated with the outer office. A junior clerk obeyed the summons.

Tell Mr. Churchill that I want him, at once. If he’s busy tell Mr. Jennings to go on the counter in his place. Churchill must come to me.”

Within the space of a few moments Mr. Churchill—the first cashier to designate him accurately—stood in front of the Manager. Mr. Stark picked up the paper and handed it to him. He indicated the paragraph that he had read so many times with a gesture both graphic and eloquent. “Pretty dreadful, isn’t it?” he remarked when Churchill had finished reading it. Churchill nodded his head slowly in agreement. “Now, Mr. Churchill,” went on Mr. Stark, “what I want to say to you is this. Miss Delaney called here on the morning of the day that she appears to have been murdered. That’s a fact, isn’t it, Churchill?”

Churchill nodded again. “Quite right, sir.”

“Did you attend to her yourself?”

“I did. Don’t you remember that I brought her in here to see you—she requested an interview?”

“Yes, I felt pretty certain it was you who ushered her in here. Now tell me, what was the nature of her transaction with you at the counter?”

“I cashed a cheque for her amounting to a hundred pounds. The cheque was drawn to ‘self.’”

“Notes—all of it?”

“Every penny, sir.”

“Remember what you gave her?”

Churchill knitted his forehead. “five ‘tenners,’” he said slowly as the remembrance came to him—“that’s fifty—eight ‘fivers’—that’s ninety—the rest in currency notes—pounds and halve. I couldn’t say to those exactly.”

“Good,” declared Stark, “here’s another one for

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