In the Frame by Dick Francis Read Free Book Online Page B

fraction.
    ‘And you?’ I enquired.
    He raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘Insurance,’ he said, as if surprised that anyone should ask.
    ‘Same company as Mr Greene?’ I said.
    ‘Mr Who?’
    ‘Greene. With an “e”.’
    ‘I don’t know who you mean,’ he said. ‘We are here by arrangement with Mrs Matthews to inspect the damage to her house, which is insured with us.’ He looked with some depression at the extent of the so-called damage, glancing about as if expecting Maisie to materialise Phoenix-like from the ashes.
    ‘No Greene?’ I repeated.
    ‘Neither with nor without an “e”.’
    I warmed to him. Half an ounce of a sense of humour, as far as I was concerned, achieved results where thumbscrews wouldn’t.
    ‘Well… Mrs Matthews is no longer expecting you, because the aforesaid Mr Greene, who said he was ininsurance, told her she could roll in the demolition squad as soon as she liked.’
    His attention sharpened like a tightened violin string.
    ‘Are you serious?’
    ‘I was here, with her. I saw him and heard him, and that’s what he said.’
    ‘Did he show you a card?’
    ‘No, he didn’t.’ I paused. ‘And… er… nor have you.’
    He reached into an inner pocket and did so, with the speed of a conjuror. Producing cards from pockets was a reflex action, no doubt.
    ‘Isn’t it illegal to insure the same property with two companies?’ I asked idly, reading the card.
    Foundation Life and Surety.
    D. J. Lagland. Area Manager
.
    ‘Fraud.’ He nodded.
    ‘Unless of course Mr Greene with an “e” had nothing to do with insurance.’
    ‘Much more likely.’
    I put the card in my trouser pocket, Arran sweaters not having been designed noticeably for business transactions. He looked at me thoughtfully, his eyes observant but judgement suspended. He was the same sort of man my father had been, middle-aged, middle-of-the-road, expert at his chosen job but unlikely to set the world on fire.
    Or
Treasure Holme
, for that matter.
    ‘Gary,’ he said to his younger side-kick, ‘go and find a telephone and ring the Beach Hotel. Tell Mrs Matthews we’re here.’
    ‘Will do,’ Gary said. He was that sort of man.
    While he was away on the errand, D.J. Lagland turned his attention to the ruin, and I, as he seemed not to object, tagged along at his side.
    ‘What do you look for?’ I asked.
    He shot me a sideways look. ‘Evidence of arson. Evidence of the presence of the goods reported destroyed.’
    ‘I didn’t expect you to be so frank.’
    ‘I indulge myself, occasionally.’
    I grinned. ‘Mrs Matthews seems pretty genuine.’
    ‘I’ve never met the lady.’
    Treat in store, I thought. ‘Don’t the firemen,’ I said, ‘look for signs of arson?’
    ‘Yes, and also the police, and we ask them for guidance.’
    ‘And what did they say?’
    ‘None of your business, I shouldn’t think.’
    ‘Even for a wooden house,’ I said, ‘it is pretty thoroughly burnt.’
    ‘Expert, are you?’ he said with irony.
    ‘I’ve built a lot of Guy Fawkes bonfires, in my time.’
    He turned his head.
    ‘They burn a lot better,’ I said, ‘if you soak them in paraffin. Especially round the edges.’
    ‘I’ve been looking at fires since before you were born,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go over there and paint?’
    ‘What I’ve done is still wet.’
    ‘Then if you stay with me, shut up.’
    I stayed with him, silent, and without offence. He was making what appeared to be a preliminary reconnaissance, lifting small solid pieces of debris, inspecting them closely, and carefully returning them to their former positions. None of the things he chose in that way were identifiable to me from a distance of six feet, and as far as I could see none of them gave him much of a thrill.
    ‘Permission to speak?’ I said.
    ‘Well?’
    ‘Mr Greene was doing much what you are, though in the area behind the chimney breast.’
    He straightened from replacing yet another black lump. ‘Did he take