Murder Adrift by George Bellairs Read Free Book Online Page A

Todds had resisted all the blandishments of speculative builders to sell them tempting plots at high prices.
    The house itself, hidden from the road and its unsightly sprawl of property by mature hedges, stood four-square at the end of a long gravel drive, with a mass of outbuildings behind and a spreading lawn punctuated by tall old trees in front. A small flock of sheep was grazing there to keep the grass under control.
    Hopkinson rang the bell and a maidservant appeared at once. She was well past her prime and was of the settled type which retainers seem to become after years of service with the same family. Littlejohn asked for Mrs. Todd and gave the maid his card.
    The woman looked at it and then at Littlejohn with a disapproving glance.
    â€˜You’re soon here, aren’t you? You oughtn’t to be worrying Mrs. Todd and Mr. Hector not yet in his grave. It doesn’t seem right. . . . ’
    The maid left them standing in the hall and vanished in the half light beyond.
    Littlejohn looked around him. The architecture was a bit complicated and fussy, as though, at some time or other, someone had lived there who couldn’t leave the place alone and always had to be adding to it or taking away from it. There were cupboards with glass doors let in the walls andfilled with bric-a-brac, recesses and nooks here and there where pot-plants were growing, and a sort of minstrels’ gallery hanging on one wall, as though the owner had been a member of a string quartette and preferred playing in mid-air.
    â€˜Please come in. . . . ’
    The maid was back looking flushed as if, as some retainers do, she had been arguing with her mistress and been rebuked for her pains.
    She led them to a room on the left, the windows of which overlooked the grounds in front of the house. It was a bright room, thickly carpeted and curtained, with white walls and expensive antique furniture. There were some good watercolours of the Copley Fielding type on the walls and more glass-fronted cupboards filled with oddments of expensive porcelain. There were photographs scattered here and there and Littlejohn recognised that of Kenneth Todd among them. He was much younger then and looked as prim and insipid as ever. There was, on a small sofa table, another portrait of a young man, presumably Heck, for there was a recognisable likeness between him and his brother. Heck looked happier and more lively and might just have had a joke with the photographer.
    Mrs. Todd joined them right away. She was seated in a wheel-chair which she propelled herself. Littlejohn received a shock when she entered. He had imagined, from descriptions, the stern matriach, an English Veuve Clicquot, the directing force and tyrant of the Todd and Fish enterprise. And here she was, a delightful old dame, small and refined, with a delicate pink face and white hair styled in modern fashion. Almost like a successful actress in happy retirement. The thin-lipped mouth, however, and the watchful grey eyes gave a firmness to her face which showed sheknew her own mind and was quite capable of looking after herself and her own business.
    She received the detectives without any fuss and they expressed their condolences. In normal circumstances she would probably have been a lively, almost gay, companion. Now tragedy had struck her but she maintained her dignity and avoided any dramatics. She gave Littlejohn a tired smile.
    â€˜I have read about you in the newspapers. The authorities evidently regard my son’s death as a serious affair, as they have sent you to investigate it.’
    Littlejohn returned the smile. There seemed to be no good reason for explaining the administrative causes of his appearance in Fordinghurst, the anti-climax of the illegal emigrants, the gelignite and the gastric disturbances of the two top officials.
    â€˜We are sorry to call on you so soon in the present circumstances but you will understand that in cases such as this, matters are urgent.