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

“Just an ordinary-looking girl. I did not notice her much, except that I thought she looked white and shocked, as no doubt she was, poor girl!”
    â€œNo doubt!” the inspector assented. “How was she dressed, doctor?”
    â€œDressed?” the doctor echoed in some surprise. “Well, I don’t take much notice of dress myself. Just a dark gown, I think.”
    â€œNo hat?”
    â€œNo, I don’t think so. No, I am sure she hadn’t.”
    â€œDo you know where she works?”
    â€œDidn’t know such a person existed until this afternoon. I know nothing about her,” the doctor said, shaking his head.
    The inspector coughed.
    â€œUm! Well, that will be all for the present, doctor. It is probable that you may be wanted later, and of course possible that Mrs. Bechcombe may wish to see you.”
    â€œI suppose she has been told?”
    â€œOf course,” the inspector assented. “We phoned to the house at once, and I gather she was informed of the death, not of course of the cause, by a relative who was there—a Mr. Collyer, a clergyman. I shall go round to see her when I have finished here. I hear that she collapsed altogether on hearing of her loss.”
    â€œPoor thing! Poor thing!” the doctor murmured. “Well, inspector, I shall hold myself at your disposal.”
    Left alone, the inspector looked over his notes once more and then sounded the electric bell twice. One of his subordinates opened the door at once.
    â€œTell Moore and Carter to take the names and addresses of all the clients. Verify them on the phone and then allow them to go home. If any of them are not capable of verification, have them shadowed. Now send John Walls to me.”
    The clerk did not keep Inspector Furnival waiting. He came in hesitatingly, dragging his feet like a man who has had a stroke. His face was colourless, his eyes were dark with fear.
    â€œYou sent for me, inspector?” he said, his teeth chattering as if with ague.
    â€œNaturally!” the inspector assented, glancing at him keenly. “I want to hear all you know about Mr. Bechcombe’s death. But, first, has Amos Thompson returned?”
    â€œN—o!” quavered Walls.
    â€œCan you account for his absence in any way?” the inspector questioned shortly.
    â€œNo, I have no idea where he is,” Walls answered, gathering up his courage. “But then he is the managing clerk. I am not. I very seldom know anything of his work.”
    The inspector did not answer this. He drew his brows together.
    â€œWhen did you see him last?”
    â€œAbout half-past twelve, it would be. He went out of the office, I have not seen him since. But he did go out to lunch early sometimes. And he may have gone somewhere on business for Mr. Bechcombe.” Walls wiped the sweat from his brow as he spoke.
    The inspector looked at him.
    â€œI understand that Mr. Bechcombe was heard to tell him to be in readiness to go with him to the Bank at one o’clock?”
    â€œI—I believe Spencer said something about that,” Walls stammered. “But I did not hear what Mr. Bechcombe said myself. My desk is farther away than Spencer’s and I was busy with my work. All I heard was that Mr. Bechcombe was not to be disturbed on any account. He slightly raised his voice when he said that.”
    â€œDid you gather that Mr. Bechcombe had business of an important nature with a mysterious client?”
    â€œI didn’t gather anything,” said Walls with some warmth. “It wasn’t my business to. If Mr. Bechcombe did have an important client he must have admitted him himself by the private door. The last one that went to him in an ordinary way came out in a very few minutes.”
    â€œBefore twelve o’clock?” questioned the inspector sharply.
    â€œOh, yes. Some minutes before the clock struck—about a quarter to, I should say. I noticed