Poisoned Chocolates Case by Anthony Berkeley Read Free Book Online

would have the advantage of already knowing the results achieved by his rivals before having to disclose his own. Not that he intended to rely on others' brains in the least; like Mr. Morton Harrogate Bradley he already had a theory of his own; but it would have been pleasant to be able to weigh up and criticise the efforts of Sir Charles, Mr. Bradley and particularly Alicia Dammers (to these three he gave credit for possessing the best minds in the Circle) before irrevocably committing himself. And more than any other crime in which he had been interested, it seemed to him, he wanted to find the right solution of this one.
    To his surprise when he got back to his rooms he found Moresby waiting in his sitting - room.
    “Ah, Mr. Sheringham,” said that cautious official. “Thought you wouldn't mind me waiting here for a word with you. Not in a great hurry to go to bed, are you? ”
    “Not in the least,” said Roger, doing things with a decanter and syphon. “It's early yet. Say when.”
    Moresby looked discreetly the other way.
    When they were settled in two huge leather armchairs before the fire Moresby explained himself. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Sheringham, the Chief's deputed me to keep a sort of unofficial eye on you and your friends over this business. Not that we don't trust you, or think you won't be discreet, or anything like that, but it's better for us to know just what's going on with a massed - detective attack like this.”
    “So that if any of us finds out something really important, you can nip in first and make use of it,” Roger smiled. “Yes, I quite see the official point.”
    “So that we can take measures to prevent the bird from being scared,” Moresby corrected reproachfully. “That's all, Mr. Sheringham.”
    “Is it?” said Roger, with unconcealed scepticism. “But you don't think it very likely that your protecting hand will be required, eh, Moresby?”
    “Frankly, sir, I don't. We're not in the habit of giving up a case so long as we think there's the least chance of finding the criminal; and Detective - Inspector Farrar, who's been in charge of this one, is a capable man.”
    “And that's his theory, that it's the work of some criminal lunatic, quite untraceable?”
    “That's the opinion he's been led to form, Mr. Sheringham, sir. But there's no harm in your Circle amusing themselves,” added Moresby magnanimously, “if they want to and they've got the time to waste.”
    “Well, well,” said Roger, refusing to be drawn.
    They smoked their pipes in silence for a few minutes. “Come along, Moresby,” Roger said gently.
    The chief inspector looked at him with an expression that indicated nothing but bland surprise. “Sir?”
    Roger shook his head. “It won't wash, Moresby; it won't wash. Come along, now; out with it.”
    “Out with what, Mr. Sheringham?” queried Moresby, the picture of innocent bewilderment.
    “Your real reason for coming round here,” Roger said nastily. “Wanted to pump me, for the benefit of that effete institution you represent, I suppose? Well, I warn you, there's nothing doing this time. I know you better than I did eighteen months ago at Ludmouth, remember.”
    “Well, what can have put such an idea as that into your head, Mr. Sheringham, sir?” positively gasped that much misunderstood man, Chief Inspector Moresby of Scotland Yard. “I came round because I thought you might like to ask me a few questions, to give you a leg up in finding the murderer before any of your friends could. That's all.”
    Roger laughed. “Moresby, I like you. You're a bright spot in a dull world. I expect you try to persuade the very criminals you arrest that it hurts you more than it does them. And I shouldn't be at all surprised if you don't somehow make them believe it. Very well, if that's all you came round for I'll ask you some questions, and thank you very much. Tell me this, then. Who do you think was trying to murder Sir Eustace Pennefather?”
    Moresby