The Mystery of Treefall Manor: An Inspector Graves locked-room mystery by J.S. SAVAGE
Author:J.S. SAVAGE [SAVAGE, J.S.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2023-09-25T00:00:00+00:00
9. CURIOUS, THE THINGS PEOPLE DO
That none may have the impudence to irk
Or hinder me in Christâs most holy work.
Then I tell stories, as occasion calls,
âThe Pardonerâs Taleâ
The Canterbury Tales
The sky looked like it had been coloured in by a child who had only a grey pencil to hand when Carver drew the curtains. The clock on the wall told seven oâclock. A cautious rap at the door helped focus his mind to the present. For a second, he thought he imagined the sound, so softly had it penetrated the beer-induced fog which lay on his brain. âCome in.â
âBeg your pardon, sir,â cried Samuel Mason. âThe Inspector asked for breakfast to be sent up for you both.â
The proprietor had opened the door with one hand and on the other balanced a tray filled with tea, bacon, eggs, and bread. He walked slowly to the table as Carver switched on the lamp to help him on his way. After a few pleasantries between the two and the landlord inquiring how the young detective had slept, Samuel left Carver to his breakfast. The young detective had in fact slept well, though his slumber was fraught with dreams of ancient tales of knights on journeys and songs mingled with flagons of ale.
He lifted his little teapot to find a folded piece of paper beneath.
Meet outside at 8 sharp. G.
The aroma of the bacon had awakened his stomach and, being alone, Carver tore into the meal in front of him like an animal half-starved. The thick slices of bread were lathered in butter; the bacon was crisp. He pierced the sunny yolk; the yellow vitellus ran slowly over the bread like lava across arid plains. The strongly brewed tea warmed him, its steam clouding the cold windowpane.
He gave a satisfied yawn as he stretched before the now empty plate and figured he had a leisurely forty minutes until he was to be outside. He spent the time doing his ablutions and dressing. When he went downstairs, he found the back door open, his attention being alerted to it by a cold draught which whispered on his neck.
Stepping tentatively into the public bar he saw the chairs on the tables and wooden shutters upright on the bar top. Stale smoke from the previous night violated his nostrils, the sickly-sweet smell filled the air. There was no one to be seen and he assumed the front door to be locked.
Turning back, he followed the fresh air to the rear of the inn. Droplets of moisture clung to the grass. Logs and bits of wood were strewn around a battered old shelter which covered crates of beer bottles. Turning to his left he walked around the inn and there sitting on a bench beneath a window sat Graves, slowly puffing on a pipe. He didnât appear to hear Carver as he approached, his eyes were fixed on Peggy as she sniffed a pile of raked leaves.
âGood morning, sir.â
âMorning Carver,â came the reply after a few moments of puffing.
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