Missing or Murdered by Robin Forsythe Read Free Book Online Page B

moment’s hesitation and Mary Standish turned to go.
    â€œIf you want anything further will you kindly ring, sir?”
    â€œThanks. I’m quite all right. I shan’t trouble you,” replied Vereker, helping himself to a slice of cake.
    Mary Standish had gone.
    â€œMy lady knows something more than she is willing to confess, I should say. Of course she would naturally be reticent about her admirer’s affairs. Strange that she should know nothing of Bygrave’s relationship to Winslade. It looks as if it were nothing more serious than philandering—on his part; that’s a fairly sound deduction from a worldly point of view. Young scamp!”
    After tea Vereker put a sketch-book into his pocket and wandered out of Hartwood. Half an hour later saw him seated in a lane. Temporarily, the Bygrave case was completely forgotten; a certain massing of dark and light and the sky pattern through the foliage groups had seized him. His crayon was scribbling furiously; eye and hand were in glorious accord and driven by a fine emotion. It could be altered to the terms of design later; this was the first burning impression.
    He walked back to the inn with a feeling of exultation—just the exultation of the sportsman who has made a good bag, or the poet who has created a beautiful line. The appearance of Inspector Heather brought him to earth. That officer was just returning from his round of inquiry. Vereker strove to read some message in his face, but it was entirely impassive.
    â€œPicked up the key to the problem, Heather?” asked Vereker cheerfully.
    â€œNo. Have you?” from the police officer, with a quick glance at Vereker’s beaming visage.
    â€œGot the skeleton of the whole thing!” exclaimed Vereker, with undisguised delight.
    â€œHow did you manage that?” asked Inspector Heather dubiously.
    â€œQuite by accident. Took a stroll keeping my eyes open—and there, in a lane in a certain play of sunlight, the germ, the skeleton!”
    â€œOf the Bygrave case?” asked the inspector in a mocking tone.
    â€œNo, no. Bygrave case, no! I mean my next picture. I’m forgetting that I’m a detective; for an hour or two I’m an artist. I’ll meet you at dinner. I shall possibly have returned to the fold by then.”
    Vereker was in his bath when a smile of bewilderment crossed his features and he uttered the exclamation: “Prize ass that I am! I had completely forgotten the existence of Sidney Smale, Bygrave’s private secretary!”
    He hurriedly finished his toilet and, feeling refreshed and ready for dinner, returned to the dining-room, where Inspector Heather awaited him.
    â€œHeather, we’ve completely overlooked one person who may be able to shed a light on events prior to Lord Bygrave’s disappearance.”
    â€œDo you think so?” asked Heather, looking up slowly from an evening paper that had just arrived.
    â€œLord Bygrave’s private secretary, a man called Sidney Smale,” said Vereker excitedly.
    â€œHe’s out of the country at the present moment,” remarked the inspector quietly.
    â€œWhere has he gone?”
    â€œTo Paris, for a holiday. We’ve cut it short by cabling for him to return to Bygrave Hall the day after to-morrow.”
    â€œResourceful fellow, Heather! I hope your summons will be obeyed. I trust you cabled in a thoroughly peremptory tone. All my suspicions have suddenly veered round to Smale. I’ve reluctantly had to discard Lawless and have discharged him without a stain on his character.”
    â€œWhat makes you suddenly suspect Smale?” asked the inspector.
    â€œPrimarily because his Christian name’s Sidney!” replied Vereker gravely.
    The inspector tossed his head wearily as if to signify that conversation in that jocular key was distasteful. “What about dinner?” he asked.
    â€œDo you think Smale will return in response to a cable?