The Sword in the Stone-Dead by Paul Tomlinson

Author:Paul Tomlinson [Tomlinson, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paul Tomlinson
Published: 2016-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

Vickery paced the entrance hall. It was after a quarter-to  when Sir Geoffrey came out of the library and closed the door behind him. He looked mildly annoyed.

“That young man has the manners of an ox,” Sir Geoffrey said. “Sat himself behind my desk without so much as a by-your-leave; fired questions at me, cutting off my answers as if he couldn’t be bothered to listen, and then ushered me out of my own library when he’d had his fill of me. Quite intolerable. I shall speak to the Chief Constable.”

“We must make allowances, Sir Geoffrey,” Vickery said. “He has the task of investigating a murder, an unpleasant undertaking in itself. And his first priority must be to bring the killer to justice. I’m sure he wished to complete your interview as quickly as possible, so as not to intrude on your grief any more than he had to.”

“‘Spose you’re right, Vickery. But a little courtesy wouldn’t go amiss. I’ll get Crawley to bring tea and breakfast things up to the drawing room. No one’s going to want to stand on ceremony this morning. Then I’m going to check on Timothy. If anyone wants me, send Crawley up, I’ll be resting in my room.”

Sir Geoffrey went to summon the butler.

Doctor Cole came up the stairs in his shirt sleeves, a sheet of paper in his hand with a few notes written on it.

“Debney?” The doctor asked.

Vickery nodded towards the library door.

The doctor knocked and went inside. He re-emerged after ten minutes. “He wants you in there now,” the doctor said. He sounded as though Debney had rather offended him. 

Vickery tapped on the library door and entered. He sat down opposite the Inspector and waited for him to speak. Debney was reviewing the notes he’d taken while speaking to Sir Geoffrey.

“I know about you, Mr. Vickery,” the Inspector said, without looking up. He didn’t sound impressed.

Vickery chose not to respond. He’d sat opposite policemen before, and was accustomed to their tactics. Debney looked at him, brow furrowed. “I’m aware of the Alhambra incident. And that you have subsequently assisted the police in a minor way in several investigations.”

“I am always happy to help, Inspector,” Vickery said.

“I want to make it very clear that I will not be requiring your assistance here. There is no place for an amateur sleuth in a murder investigation. Leave it to the professionals, Mr. Vickery.”

“I would not dream of intruding,” Vickery said.

“Sir Geoffrey has indicated that only four of the guests were not within his sight at the time of the murder,” Debney said.

“Leo Fulbright, his wife Margot McCrae, Artie Delancey, and myself,” Vickery said.

“Where were you at midnight, Mr. Vickery?”

“I was taking the air, out on the terrace. I am not aware that anyone saw me there, so doubt if anyone can corroborate my alibi.”

“Why did you not watch the performance inside with the others?”

“I have spent too much of my time around theatres and theatrical types. Since my retirement, I try to limit myself to only a couple of hours a day in their company.

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