Off the Record by Dolores Gordon-Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

you in the lobby, you seemed like the obvious person to talk to but I’m not sure how to start.’
    ‘Close your eyes and take a stab at it, old thing,’ suggested Jack, covertly glancing at his watch. Honestly, if Ferguson didn’t get a move on, the pubs would be closed.
    Ferguson turned back to the piano. ‘This thing needs tuning,’ he muttered irrelevantly.
    ‘Ferguson,’ said Jack warningly. ‘You didn’t lug me in here to agitate yourself about the piano.’
    ‘Sorry.’ Ferguson took a deep breath. ‘It’s about Stoke Horam. You remember what happened there?’
    Jack sat up attentively. This sounded promising. ‘Considering it was in the newspapers for weeks, I should say so.’
    Ferguson brought down his hands in a chord, closed the piano lid in a gesture of finality, and turned round. ‘Have you ever heard of a man called Andrew Dunbar?’
    ‘Andrew Dunbar? The name rings a bell but I don’t know why. Who is he?’
    ‘He’s my stepfather.’ Hector Ferguson went to the door, shut it, and walked back to the piano with his chin lowered and his hands deep in his pockets. ‘He lives in Scotland but he comes down to London fairly often. He’s separated from my mother and he hasn’t got a lot of time for either of us.’ He looked up with a faint smile. ‘I may say the feeling’s mutual. He’s the owner of Dunbar’s, the gramophone manufacturers. He was on the spot when Charles Otterbourne committed suicide.’
    ‘Was he, by jingo?’
    ‘Yes . . .’ Ferguson hitched himself on to the stool. ‘I know you’ve got friends in the police. I wondered if you ever got to know what went on behind the scenes.’
    ‘Sometimes,’ said Jack cautiously. ‘I haven’t any special knowledge of what happened at Stoke Horam though.’
    Ferguson looked deflated. ‘Haven’t you?’ He drummed his fingers on the wood of the stool. ‘I’m not sure how to put this, but since Professor Carrington and Mr Otterbourne died, my stepfather has been a very happy man.’ He tapped a cigarette on the back of his hand and lit it nervously. ‘He’s never been able to conceal his feelings, Haldean, and he was delighted with how things turned out.’
    ‘It sounds a bit ghoulish. Why should he be so happy?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Hector Ferguson pulled nervously at his cigarette. ‘You see, on the face of it, Mr Otterbourne’s and Professor Carrington’s deaths, particularly the Professor’s, should have made things very difficult for him, but he’s been on top of the world. It’s very odd, especially when you understand how much he likes money.’
    ‘I don’t suppose he’s unique in that.’
    Ferguson smiled fleetingly. ‘No, I don’t suppose he is, but he’s a canny customer, and no mistake. Professor Carrington built a new type of gramophone for my stepfather. When that machine’s ready for production, it’ll be a very valuable commodity indeed. Professor Carrington had absolutely no business sense and my stepfather got him to sign a contract giving him the rights to the machine. That contract was little more than daylight robbery. I’ve heard him gloat about what a shrewd deal he’d pulled off. So far so good, yes?’
    ‘Yes, from your stepfather’s point of view,’ said Jack with a shrug. ‘Not so good for Professor Carrington, I’d say.’
    ‘Exactly. When the Professor died, my stepfather should have been devastated. I don’t suppose he cared tuppence about the Professor but he cared about his machine. He was hoping to make a considerable profit from it, so I wasn’t surprised when I heard he’d asked Gerard Carrington, the Professor’s son, to take over his father’s work.’ Hector Ferguson clasped his hands together with a frown. ‘I made it my business to meet Carrington. I wanted his opinion of what happened at Stoke Horam.’
    ‘Which is?’
    ‘Which is the story in the newspapers was essentially true,’ said Ferguson with a shrug. ‘Gerard Carrington believes Mr