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

that.”
    â€œBecause—” Inspector Furnival prompted.
    â€œOh, well, because I heard it strike afterwards, I suppose,” Walls answered lamely. “There are days when I don’t notice it.”
    â€œUm!” the inspector glanced at him. “Do you know the name of the last client who saw Mr. Bechcombe?”
    â€œPounds—Mr. Pounds, of Gosforth and Pounds, the big haberdashers. He came about the lease of some fresh premises they are taking. I happen to know that.”
    â€œAh, yes.” The inspector looked him full in the face. “But you don’t happen to know why Mr. Anthony Collyer wanted to see his uncle, perhaps?”
    The sweat broke out afresh on Mr. Walls’s forehead.
    â€œI don’t know anything about it.”
    â€œYou know that Mr. Collyer came,” the inspector said with some asperity. “Why did you not mention it?”
    Walls glanced at him doubtfully.
    â€œThere wasn’t anything to mention. Mr. Anthony wanted to see Mr. Bechcombe, and he couldn’t, so he went away. He talked to Mr. Thompson, not to me.”
    â€œYou did not hear what he said when he went away? Your desk seems to be most inconveniently placed, Mr. Walls.”
    â€œI heard him talking a lot of nonsense to Mr. Thompson.”
    â€œSuch as—” The inspector paused.
    â€œOh, well, he said he must see Mr. Bechcombe and he said he would, and Mr. Thompson—”
    â€œBe careful!” warned the inspector. “Don’t make any mistakes, Mr. Walls, I want to know what Mr. Anthony Collyer said.”
    â€œHe said—he said—if Mr. Thompson didn’t let him in he would go round to Mr. Bechcombe’s private door,” the man said, then hesitated. “But it—it was just nonsense.”
    â€œDid he try to get into the room through the private door?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Walls said helplessly. “I didn’t see him any more.”
    The inspector drew a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper from his breast pocket and, opening it, displayed to the clerk’s astonished eyes a long, white suede glove.
    â€œHave you ever seen this before?”
    John Walls peered at it.
    â€œNo. I can’t say that I have. It—It is a lady’s glove, inspector.”
    â€œIt is a lady’s glove,” the inspector assented. “Where do you imagine it was found, Mr. Walls?”
    â€œI’m sure I don’t know,” Walls said, staring at him. “It—I think a good many ladies wear gloves like that nowadays, Mr. Furnival. I know Mrs. Walls—”
    â€œThis particular glove,” the inspector went on, “I found beside Mr. Bechcombe’s writing-table this afternoon.”
    â€œDid you?” Mr. Walls looked amazed. “Well, I don’t know how it came there. All Mr. Bechcombe’s clients were men that came to-day.”
    â€œExcept perhaps the one that came to the private door,” suggested the inspector.
    â€œI don’t know anything about that,” Walls said in a puzzled tone. “I never heard anything of a lady coming to-day.”
    The inspector folded the glove up and put it away again.
    â€œThat will do for the present, Mr. Walls. I should like to see Mr. Thompson if he returns, and now please send Miss Hoyle to me.”
    Walls looked uncomfortably surprised.
    â€œMiss Hoyle?”
    â€œYes, Miss Hoyle—Mr. Bechcombe’s secretary!” the inspector said sharply. “I suppose you know her, Mr. Walls?”
    â€œOh, yes,” Walls stammered. “At least, I couldn’t say I know her. I have spoken to her once or twice. But she didn’t make any friends among us. And her office was quite apart. She didn’t come through our door, or anything. She is a lady—quite a lady, you understand, and her office is next to Mr. Bechcombe’s own.”
    â€œIndeed!” For once the inspector looked really interested.