Five Red Herrings by Dorothy L. Sayers Read Free Book Online Page A

her small daughter Myra in the art of plain knitting.
    Wimsey apologised for calling just before dinner, and explained that he wanted to fix up with Strachan about a foursome.
    ‘Well, I don’t quite know,’ said Mrs. Strachan, a trifle doubtfully. ‘I don’t think Harry is likely to be playing for a day or two. He’s had rather a tiresome — oh, well! I really don’t know. Myra, dear, run and tell Daddy Lord Peter Wimsey is here and wants to talk to him. You know, I never like to make any sort of arrangements for Harry — I always manage to put my foot in it.’
    She giggled — she was rather a giggly woman at the best of times. Nervousness, Wimsey supposed. Strachan had an abrupt manner which tended to make people nervous, and Wimsey more than suspected him of being a bit of a domestic tyrant.
    He said something vague about not wanting to be a nuisance.
    ‘Of course not,’ said Mrs. Strachan, keeping an uneasy eye on the door, ‘how could you be a nuisance? We’re always so delighted to see you. And what have you been doing with yourself this beautiful day?’
    ‘I’ve been up to the Minnoch to see the body,’ said Wimsey, cheerfully.
    ‘The body?’ cried Mrs. Strachan, with a little squeal. ‘How dreadful that sounds! What do you mean? A salmon, or something?’
    ‘No, no,’ said Wimsey. ‘Campbell — Sandy Campbell — haven’t you heard?’
    ‘No, what?’ Mrs. Strachan opened her large baby blue eyes very wide indeed. ‘Has anything happened to Mr. Campbell?’
    ‘Good Lord,’ said Wimsey, ‘I thought everybody knew. He’s dead. He tumbled into the Minnoch and got killed.’
    Mrs. Strachan gave a shrill shriek of horror.
    ‘Killed? How perfectly dreadful! Was he drowned?’
    ‘I don’t quite know,’ said Wimsey. ‘I think he bashed his head in, but he may have been drowned as well.’
    Mrs. Strachan shrieked again.
    ‘When did it happen?’
    ‘Well,’ said Wimsey, cautiously, ‘they found him about lunchtime.’
    ‘Good gracious! And we never knew anything about it. Oh, Harry’ — as the door opened — ‘what do you think? Lord Peter says poor Mr. Campbell has been killed up at the Minnoch!’
    ‘Killed?’ said Strachan. ‘What do you mean, Milly? Who killed him?’
    Mrs. Strachan shrieked a third time, more loudly.
    ‘Of course I don’t mean that, Harry. How absurd and how horrible! He fell down and cut his head open and got drowned.’
    Strachan came forward rather slowly and greeted Wimsey with a nod.
    ‘What’s all this about, Wimsey?’
    ‘It’s perfectly true,’ said Wimsey. ‘They found Campbell’s dead body in the Minnoch at 2 o’clock. Apparently he had been painting and slipped over the edge of the granite and cracked his skull on the stones.’
    He spoke a little absently. It was surely not his fancy that his host looked exceedingly pale and upset, and now, as Strachan turned his face round into the full light of the window, it was obvious that he was suffering from a black eye — a handsome and well-developed black eye, rich in colour and full in contour.
    ‘Oh!’ said Strachan. ‘Well, I’m not surprised, you know. That’s a very dangerous spot. I told him so on Sunday, and he called me a fool for my pains.’
    ‘Why, was he up there on Sunday?’ said Wimsey.
    ‘Yes, making a sketch or something. You remember, Milly, just on the other side of the burn from where we were picnicking.’
    5
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    ‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Mrs. Strachan, ‘was that the place? Oo! how perfectly horrid! I’ll never go there again, never. You may say what you like. Wild horses wouldn’t drag me.’
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Milly. Of course you needn’t go there if you don’t want to.’
    ‘I should always be afraid of Myra falling in and being killed,’ said Mrs. Strachan.
    ‘Very well, then,’ said her husband, impatiently. ‘Don’t go there. That settles that. How did all this happen, Wimsey?’
    Lord Peter told the story again, with such detail as he thought desirable.
    ‘That’s exactly like Campbell,’ said Strachan. ‘He walks about — that is, he