Death Among the Sunbathers by E.R. Punshon Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t find them despising education. And if we find a six-footer in touch with Miss Sybil Frankland, then—’
    He paused. The door opened and Sybil came in again, followed by a young man who could claim to be a six–footer with a couple of inches at least to spare. He was of rather ungainly build, with a small body for his height, with long, sprawling limbs terminating in enormous bony hands and feet, but with the face of a pouting cherub, so round and smooth it was, with such small, well-shaped, handsome features, wide, innocent-looking eyes and a pursed-up, red-lipped mouth, above which flickered the dawning of a faint moustache that apparently had not yet decided whether to face the world in growth or not. An unusual-looking youngster altogether, Mitchell felt; one of the self-willed, rather spoiled type, and yet easily led as well. Sybil was clinging to his arm with both hands, and remembering that she wore an engagement ring on her left hand, Mitchell guessed they were an engaged couple.
    â€˜Mr Keene?’ he asked amiably. ‘A friend of the family, I believe?’
    â€˜Miss Frankland and I are engaged,’ Keene explained. ‘I came along as soon as I heard. It doesn’t seem possible, I couldn’t believe it at first.’ He added to Sybil, ‘I saw some fellow dodging about the garden as I came in – is he another of these journalist chaps?’
    â€˜Oh, they’re everywhere,’ Sybil said wearily.
    â€˜You knew Mr and Mrs Curtis?’ Mitchell asked him.
    â€˜Yes, of course. Jo called at the shop only this morning... and now... I can hardly believe it’s true even yet.’
    â€˜What shop is that?’ Mitchell asked. ‘Is it yours?’
    â€˜Yes. I’m an art dealer; my place is in Deal Street, Piccadilly,’ Keene explained. ‘Mrs Curtis came in this morning.’
    Â â€˜Any special reason for calling?’ Mitchell asked, and it did not escape his attention that Keene hesitated for a moment before answering, and that he chose his words with a certain care as he replied,
    â€˜Well, yes... I suppose so... Miss Frankland and I are hoping to get married pretty soon, and Mrs Curtis wanted us to put it off for a time.’
    â€˜Why was that?’ Mitchell asked.
    â€˜Oh, well,’ Keene answered, ‘things are pretty bad in our line... dad made pots of money; but ever since the slump, trying to sell a picture is like trying to get a man to back a horse he knows won’t run. If you do try, people just look at you and then start to talk about the weather.’
    â€˜Things pretty bad everywhere, I suppose,’ agreed Mitchell, thinking sadly of certain pay cuts he knew of, while Ferris heaved a sigh so deep it seemed like a young gale.
    â€˜That’s what Jo didn’t understand,’ Keene explained eagerly. ‘She was doing jolly well herself and she thought everyone else ought to be – Curtis wasn’t all the same. And then she didn’t like the idea of our leaving England.’
    â€˜You were thinking of that?’
    â€˜Well, I have some relatives out in Kenya – you can pick up a good farm there almost for the asking just now, and if you’ve a bit of money coming in to keep going you can live on it for nothing nearly and just wait till things get better.’
    â€˜It wasn’t so much that Jo minded our going,’ Sybil interposed. ‘She wouldn’t believe Maurice could sell the business for enough to give us a start there.’
    â€˜Oh, you never know your luck,’ Keene observed.
    That there had been some friction between Keene and the dead woman seemed plain, and yet Mitchell felt it was impossible to attach much importance to the fact. No reasonable motive for murder lay there; one does not murder a prospective sister-in-law for advising a more prudent course than one feels altogether inclined to follow. All the same, the point was one to remember,