Appleby Talking by Michael Innes Read Free Book Online Page B

discreet country cottage of hers, and her head was cosily in the oven, sure enough.
    “But the gas was turned off – and only her fingerprints were on the tap.”
    “I see.” Appleby’s interest appeared not very lively. “Could she have reached that tap from where she lay?”
    “Certainly she could. And the thing is just conceivable as suicide. She may have turned off the tap herself. Not really out of economy, of course. That’s only a joke.”
    “Ah,” said Appleby.
    “She may have thought better of killing herself at the last moment, as so many of them do. And so she may have reached out desperately at the last moment and managed to turn the tap. Indeed, the position of the arm rather suggested it.”
    “And this cottage was where she lived?”
    “Not as a regular thing. Although she was pretty well retired from the stage, she had rather a flashy flat here in town. The cottage was there on a lock-up, occasional weekend basis. The sort of cottage where you take down your provisions in tins, do all your own chores, and have absolutely no questions asked.
    “A man worked in the garden on Wednesdays. I doubt if he’d have been welcome about the place at other times.”
    “The suggestion,” said Appleby, “appears to be that Miss Clodd–”
    “Mrs Jolly. She was married – quite legally – to a nebulous person called Jolly. He was, I think, essential to her way of life.”
    “Husbands sometimes are.”
    “You misunderstand me.” Cadover’s solemn gloom grew. “The woman had more money than she ought to have had, even if she was quite thrivingly no better than she ought to have been.
    “Unless I’ve got it all wrong, she was not merely immoral, but criminal as well. Jolly turned up at awkward moments–”
    “And decidedly belied his name. In fact, a particularly filthy kind of blackmail.” Appleby stood up. “Well, it’s nice to hear that things are still going on as usual. And you’ve got a murderer to hunt for, all right.
    “It’s overwhelmingly probable that your Honoria was liquidated by somebody who couldn’t afford to lose either his reputation or any more money. Don’t forget, in the excitement of hanging the fellow, to get the virtuous Jolly locked up at the same time. And now I must be off.”
    “And, mind you, there were signs of a struggle.” Cadover was following Appleby doggedly to the door. “Bruises in various places, broken fingernails, rather a nasty–”
    “Quite so.” Appleby, with his hand on the doorknob, drew back at the sound of a sharp rap from outside. Hard upon it, a young man burst precipitately into the room.
    “I say, sir–” The young man checked himself, recognised Appleby, and hurried on. “They’ve found something. A key. And it nearly got buried with the corpse .”
    Inspector Cadover sat down heavily at his desk. John Appleby, looking considerably less retired from the CID than he had done thirty seconds before, was staring at the contents of a small box which the young man had produced.
    “A Yale key,” he said, “–and an odd little bit of twisted wire.”
    The young man nodded. “Just found by the post-mortem wallahs in Honoria’s tummy.” With the confidence of one whose cheerful grin operates some inches above a most respectable school tie, the young man glanced from Appleby to his chief.
    “A flood of light.” Appleby was immobile and his lips scarcely moved. Only his hand had gone out and, very gently, his fingers were at play upon the little twist of thin, spring-like wire.
    “You mean that this – this lunacy positively improves matters?” Cadover had risen, taken three strides to his window, and was contemplating a considerable area of London with every appearance of extreme malevolence.
    “There ought to be a flood of light in it. Remember Dupin?”
    “Dupin?” The young man looked up as one who delights in the fruits of an extensive literary education. “You mean Poe’s Frog?”
    “Exactly. Poe’s Frog. Poe’s