A Medal For Murder by Frances Brody Read Free Book Online Page A

for spotting the cufflink. I had a case a few weeks ago where the fool of a village bobby and some female photographer marched all over the house. It’s a miracle there was a scrap of evidence left.’
    Oh he remembered me all right. My hackles rose. ‘If you’re referring to Bridgestead—,’ I said, about to remind him of one or two points.
    ‘But that was then, and this is now,’ he said quickly. It made me wonder whether he had thrown out the challenge to rouse me from my half-stupid state.
    He picked up a small evidence bag and tipped a cufflink onto a sheet of paper. It was just over half an inch square, with a gold edge and a banded agate centre in white, black and brown. ‘In good condition, no scratches, but some wear on the back.’
    ‘It’s quite distinctively marked,’ I said. ‘You think it might belong to the killer?’ The cufflink was not expensive enough to be Mr Milner’s. It was of a type that could be bought in any gentleman’s outfitters, or a jewellery store at the lower end of the market.
    ‘It’s possible, and it may indicate a scuffle,’ the inspector said. ‘Is it familiar?’
    I shook my head. It struck me that one only notices cufflinks if they are particularly flashy, or if you are in love with the man.
    ‘Did you know Mr Milner before this evening?’
    ‘No. I sat next to him for the first act of the play, and then moved to the rear stalls.’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘Because?’
    ‘I don’t like to sit on the front row, and he was not an ideal theatregoer. His son was in the production. Mr Milner gave a running commentary.’
    ‘What sort of commentary?’
    When someone is a bore and their comments unwelcome, it is suprising how much one shuts out. But I could still hear some of Milner’s words in my head.
    ‘He was critical of his son’s performance. He said that at Rodney’s age, he was serving in South Africa.’
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Tonight was the last night. Mr Milner had seen the play several times. I’m afraid he rather put my back up, so I wasn’t very sympathetic to the poor man. He said he hoped Rodney would not be treading the boards again anytime soon. That he was better at selling motor cars.’
    The young constable eagerly scribbled this down. He was not sufficiently experienced to feign lack of interest.
    I produced the programme from my bag and opened it at the page of Mr Milner’s advertisement.
     
MILNER & SON’S MOTOR WORKS
    (Established 1903)
    Summerfield Avenue
    Harrogate
    -----------------------------------------
    Sole District Agent
    Austin De Dion Ford Wolseley
    Any make of car supplied
    Official Repairers to Royal Automobile Club, etc.,
    Agents A.A.
    Tyres – Petrol – Accessories
    Telegrams “Motor” Telephone 417
     
    The inspector took the programme. ‘Do you mind if I keep this?’
    ‘Please do.’
    Inspector Charles turned to the cast list. ‘This must be his son, Rodney Milner, playing Henry Mynor.’
    ‘Yes. Rodney plays the up-and-coming businessman, the chap who gets the girl.’
    There was something reassuring about the inspector’s presence. He was thoughtful, unhurried as he looked at the names.
    ‘Do you suspect one of the cast, or a theatre patron?’ I asked.
    He stretched his legs. ‘It’s far too soon,’ he said gently, as though I had not asked a stupid question. ‘One must keep an open mind. It’s not theft. His wallet was not taken.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said rather stupidly. Mr Milner struck me as a man who would carry a wad of money.
    He made a steeple of his hands. ‘Mrs Shackleton, if Mr Milner was not at the theatre because of his son’s less than scintillating stage performance, why was he there?’
    The voice in my head said, Never speak ill of the dead. ‘To sell cars in the bar afterwards? I’m not sure.’ It seemed treacherous to damn Milner for a lecher as well as the worst kind of theatregoer. But it had to be said. ‘He admired Lucy Wolfendale, the young leading lady. He offered to