A Blunt Instrument by Georgette Heyer Read Free Book Online

those footprints, Chief?"
    "The medical evidence goes to show that it is in the highest degree improbable that a woman could have struck the blow which killed Ernest Fletcher. Still, I agree that these notes will bear looking into."
    "Young Neville know anything about this Helen North?"
    "I haven't asked him. In the event of those IOUs having no bearing on the case, I'm not anxious to stir up any mud." He glanced up to see Glass staring at him with knit brows. "Well? Does the name convey anything to you?"
    "There's a man of that name living with his wife not five minutes' walk from this house," replied Glass slowly.
    The Sergeant pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. Hannasyde said: "Know anything about them?"
    "No, sir."
    "Address?"
    "You will find the house in the road which runs parallel to Maple Grove. It is called the Chestnuts."
    Hannasyde jotted it down. The Sergeant, meanwhile, was turning over a collection of photographs and snapshots laid on the desk. "Looks like you weren't so far out, Glass," he remarked. "I have to hand it to the late Ernest. He certainly knew how to pick 'em. Regular harem!" He picked up a large portrait of a dazzling blonde, dressed, apparently, in an ostrich-feather fan, and regarded it admiringly. That's Lily Logan, the dancer. What a figure!"
    Glass averted his eyes with a shudder. "Can a man take fire in his bosom, and his clothes not be burned? As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion!"
    "That's what you think," said Hemingway, laying Lily Logan down, and looking critically at another smiling beauty. "Went the pace a bit, didn't he? Hullo!" His eyes had alighted on the portrait of a curly-headed brunette. He picked it up. "Seems to me I've seen this dame before."
    "As his female acquaintance seems to have consisted largely of chorus girls, that's not surprising," said Hannasyde dryly.
    "Yours lovingly, Angela," read out the Sergeant. "Angela…' He scratched his chin meditatively. "Got something at the back of my mind. Do you seem to know that face, Chief?"
    Hannasyde studied the photograph for a moment. "It does look a little familiar," he admitted. "Some actress, I daresay. We'll check up on them presently."
    Hemingway held the photograph at arm's length. "No, I'm pretty sure I don't connect her with the stage. No use asking you, Glass, I suppose?"
    "I do not wish to look upon the face of a lewd woman," Glass said harshly. "Her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword."
    "Look here, what's the matter with you?" demanded the Sergeant. "Some actress given you the air, or what?"
    "I have no dealings with actresses."
    "Well, then, stopp panning them. How do you know anything about this poor girl's end, anyway?" He laid the portrait down.
    "Anything else, Chief?"
    "Nothing so far."
    At this moment the door opened and Miss Fletcher came in. She was dressed in deep mourning, and her plump cheeks were rather pale, but she smiled sweetly at Hannasyde. "Oh, Superintendent - you are a Superintendent, aren't you?"
    He had risen to his feet, and unobtrusively slid the big blotter over the heap of photographs. "Yes, that's right, madam."
    She looked at the mass of papers on the desk. "Oh dear, what a lot you must have to do! Now, tell me, would you like a little refreshment?"
    He declined it, which seemed to disappoint her, and asked her civilly if she wished to speak to him.
    "Well, yes," she admitted. "Only any time will do. You're busy now, and I mustn't disturb you."
    "I'm quite at your disposal, Miss Fletcher. Won't you sit down? All right, Glass: you can wait outside."
    "You have such a kind face," Miss Fletcher told him. "Quite unlike what one expected. I feel I can talk to you. Are you sure you won't have something? A little coffee and a sandwich?"
    "No, really, thank you. What was it you wanted to say to me, Miss Fletcher?"
    "I'm afraid you'll say I'm wasting your time. So silly of me not to have asked dear Mr. Lawrence while he was