The Studio Crime: A Golden Age Mystery by Ianthe Jerrold

Author:Ianthe Jerrold [Jerrold, Ianthe]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2015-05-04T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter XII

Mr Lascarides

At the inquest held the following morning only formal evidence was taken, and the matter was adjourned for a fortnight.

“And I think we shall have our man safely under lock and key before then, Mr. Christmas,” said Hembrow cheerfully as they walked down Baker Street after leaving the court. “Matters are going nicely—very nicely, so far.” He spoke with a good deal of satisfaction, and whistled to himself as they walked along. Hembrow’s idea of the identity of “our man” was fairly plain to John. Dr. Merewether had given his evidence at the inquest with composure, it was true, but with the sort of cold and steely composure of self-restraint: or of a liar determined to stick to his lie though he knows that it is not believed. In the two days that had passed since the murder he seemed to have aged ten years. John seemed to hear again the cool, sceptical voice of the Coroner:

“Did you know the deceased well?”

“I had attended him professionally.”

“And are you certain that the man who opened the door to you at nine o’clock on the evening of the death was the deceased?”

“To the best of my belief it was he.”

“You are not certain?”

“I am quite certain.”

“Are you aware of the fact that the doctor who examined the body gave it as his opinion that death took place not later than eight o’clock?”

“I am aware of that fact.”

“Yet you are certain that you saw the deceased alive an hour later than the hour at which, according to medical testimony, he was dead?”

“I am.”

“You are a doctor yourself, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“When you examined the body did you find anything incompatible with death having taken place within the past half-hour?”

“No.”

“You may stand down, Dr. Merewether.”

“Are you interested in carpets, Mr. Christmas?” Hembrow paused in his whistling to ask, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Carpets? What sort of carpets? Why?”

“Oriental. Because I’m going along to see some, and should be glad to have your company, if you care to come too. I’m not so much interested in the carpets, myself, as in the fellow who deals in them. This is the place. Coming in?”

They had turned down a small quiet street off Lower Baker Street, and Hembrow had stopped outside a small but expensive-looking shop which displayed in its window one beautiful old Persian prayer-rug with a grey and purplish bloom, and a vase of Japanese chrysanthemums. Over the shop-front Christmas read the name: “O. Lascarides. Carpets and Oriental hangings.”

“My man tracked the owner down to an address in Golders Green,” explained Hembrow. “And we’ve found a cabman in the rank near Circus Road who says that he drove a man wearing a fez out to Golders Green on the night of the murder. He’s a Greek, this Lascarides, not a Turk, by the way.”

They entered the shop, and a young girl who was engaged in darning a fine tapestry over the counter rose and bade them good morning.

“Mr. Lascarides in?” asked Hembrow.

The girl looked a little surprised.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.