Duck Season Death by June Wright Read Free Book Online Page A

was here. Had he not been well?”
    â€œHe was being plagued by anonymous telephone calls and letters.”
    â€œHow unpleasant! What were they about?”
    â€œHe wouldn’t tell me, but I think he might have been taking them seriously. I can’t understand why he didn’t report the matter to the police. He travelled under another name on the flight from Sydney, and when I met him at Melbourne airport, he was all huddled up in an overcoat and wearing dark glasses. Not that the disguise did much good. A note had been left for him at the gunsmith in Melbourne when he bought his Greenet.”
    â€œBut you don’t know what was in it? How strange not to confide in you.”
    â€œThere was a certain understanding between us, but never much love lost. A stranger matter was his insistence on spending the night at my flat instead of going to a hotel. I had the impression he wanted me under his eye, which was also his reason for dragging me up to this damn-awful place—as Margot Stainsbury dubbed your home town. At the moment I’m inclined to agree with her.”
    Shelagh’s face became chilly and she turned to deal with the high, quacking voice which came through the wire. Charles remembered the polite sparring match between her and Margot, who had arrived at the Duck and Dog accompanied by Jerry Bryce, the glowering young man of the cocktail party. Her brother’s latest infatuation pleased her no more than the others had. Athol had been quick to exploit the situation, exchanging slightly erotic banter with Margot both to annoy Shelagh and to arouse Jerry’s jealousy. But it had been Charles’s impression that Margot was trying to capture his more serious attention. In fact, Athol had said, maliciously frank, “I believe the woman wants me to marry her.” Margot had countered swiftly, “Darling Athol, what an incredible notion! You’d make a perfectly poisonous husband, as I am sure poor Paula discovered.”
    Young Bryce was one of those unfortunate persons who can never become angry without becoming inarticulate as well. Athol had played him like a fish on his verbal line, throwing practised taunts with the urbanity of one who never allows his emotions to get the better of his intellect.
    What a jolly night we had, reflected Charles. The only one who had appeared to remain impervious had been Ellis Bryce. Major and Mrs Dougall had taken umbrage at the first opportunity, while their daughter, Adelaide, who had been unfortunate enough to overhear some humiliating remarks Athol had passed on her, had spent the evening staring at nothing with blank, piteous eyes. The American, Harris Jeffrey, had kept his fists in a perpetually clenched state, as Athol entertained the company with his views on the morals, culture and character of all Americans. Of the other guests, Wilson was subtly mocked to his twitching unhappy face, and the young honeymooners, who had tried to take Athol in the best guesthouse spirit, had soon retreated, wounded and bewildered.
    Shelagh, having successfully baulked Mrs Spenser’s well-known curiosity, rang off. Charles said to her, “Do you know what all this reminds me of? One of those detective stories about an ill-assortedgroup weekending at a country house. I think everyone was about ripe for murder by the time Athol had finished last night.”
    â€œDon’t be absurd!” she said sharply. “You are to go and wait at the main road. Dr Spenser is picking Sergeant Motherwell up and will meet you there.”
    â€œWon’t you come too? I need you to keep my imagination at bay.”
    She shook her head and went to the door. “What happens now is not my affair. Besides, I must get the breakfast started. There’s Aunt Grace coming down now.”
    Charles scowled after her. She made perseverance seem an impossible task.
    II
    â€œAbsolutely no doubt at all,” pronounced Dr Spenser.
    â€œI entirely