Crow's Inn Tragedy by Annie Haynes Read Free Book Online

clearness of vision had earned him in the Force the sobriquet of “The Ferret.” His companion, Dr. Hackett, carried his occupation writ plain on his large-featured face and his strictly professional attire.
    Both men were looking grave and preoccupied as they entered the smaller office which had been little used since Mr. Bechcombe’s partner retired. Inspector Furnival took the revolving chair and drew it up to the office table in the middle of the room. Then he produced a notebook.
    â€œNow, Dr. Hackett, will you give me the details of this affair as far as you know them?”
    â€œI can only tell you that I was summoned about two o’clock this afternoon by a clerk—Winter, I fancy his name is. He told me that his employer was locked up in his office, that they thought he had had a fit and were breaking the door open, and wanted me to be there in readiness as soon as they had forced their way in. I hastily put a few things that I thought might be wanted into my bag and hurried here. I arrived just as the door gave way and found matters as you know.”
    The inspector scratched the side of his nose reflectively with the handle of his fountain pen.
    â€œMr. Bechcombe was quite dead?”
    â€œQuite dead. Had been dead at least two hours, I should say,” Dr. Hackett assented.
    â€œAnd the cause?” the inspector continued, suspending his pen over the paper.
    â€œYou will-understand that you will have to wait until after the post-mortem for a definitely full and detailed opinion. But, as far as I can tell you after the examination which was all I could make this afternoon, I feel no doubt that the cause of death was strangulation.”
    â€œIt seems inconceivable that a man should be strangled in his own office, within earshot of his own clerks,” debated the inspector. “Still, it is quite evident even at a casual glance that it has been done here. But I cannot understand why Mr. Bechcombe apparently offered no resistance. His hand-bell, his speaking-tube, the telephone—all were close at hand. It looks as though he had recognized his assassin and had no fear of him.”
    â€œI think on the contrary that it was a sudden attack,” Dr. Hackett dissented. “Probably Mr. Bechcombe had no opportunity of recognizing his murderer. The assassin sprang forward and—did you notice a sweet sickly smell that seemed to emanate from the body?”
    The inspector nodded.
    â€œThat was the first thing I noticed. Chloroform, I suppose?”
    â€œYes,” said the doctor slowly. “I should say the assassin sprang forward with the chloroform, or perhaps approached his victim unobserved, and attempted to stupefy him, and then strangled him. That is how it looks to me. For anything more definite we must wait for the post-mortem.”
    The inspector made a few hieroglyphics in his notebook, then he looked up.
    â€œYou say that death took place probably about two hours before you saw the body, doctor? and you were called in about two o’clock. Therefore, Mr. Bechcombe must have died about twelve o’clock. You are quite definite about this?”
    â€œI cannot be more exact as to the time,” Dr. Hackett said slowly. “I should say about twelve o’clock—certainly not much after. More probably a little before.”
    The inspector stroked his clean-shaven chin and glanced over his notes.
    â€œJust one more question, Dr. Hackett. Can you tell me just who was in the room when you got there?”
    Dr. Hackett hesitated a moment.
    â€œWell, there was Mr. Walls, who seems to be managing things in Thompson’s absence, and three other men whose names I do not of course know, and the late Mr. Bechcombe’s secretary, whose name I understand to be Hoyle—Miss Hoyle.”
    The inspector pricked up his ears.
    â€œI have not seen Miss Hoyle. What sort of a woman?”
    â€œOh, just a girl,” the doctor said vaguely.