Silent Nights by Martin Edwards Read Free Book Online Page A

practically all day on Christmas-eve, and again today—subconscious desire to be near the booty, my dear Glover, and know it is safe—it was fairly good proof that the proceeds were hidden here somewhere.
    â€œYour knees have provided some excellent prints on the polished floor here. Identical with those left by the safe. And the distances between the impressions are identical, too, my young friend.”
    â€œA blasted detective!” snarled Glover.
    Mullinger smiled and nodded.
    â€œI was,” he admitted. “Retired from the Force. Retiring, Glover—but not BACKWARD! Colonel, can you forsake the port long enough to ring up the police and summon the manager in here? Thank you.”

A Happy Solution
    Raymund Allen
    Raymund Allen (1863–1943) was a Welsh-born, Cambridge-educated barrister who spent much of his legal career working as District Probate Registrar in Llandaff. An obituary in The Times described him as “a stimulating companion, a witty talker with a strong love of argument, and an excellent raconteur who had a strong fund of legal stories with a South Wales setting”. His wife, Alice Pattinson, was a well-known bookbinder.
    Allen wrote on legal subjects such as the Workers’ Compensation Act, but his passion was for chess, and he contributed short stories about the game to the Strand Magazine for over twenty years. “The Black Knight”, which appeared in 1892, was a story of the uncanny, while “A Happy Solution”, published in 1916, combined chess with detection to such good effect that twelve years later, Dorothy L. Sayers included it in her ground-breaking anthology Great Short Stories of Detection, Mystery and Horror . Allen was also the author of Irregular Forces: A Story of Chess and War ( 1915) and yet another chess story, “Allah Knows Best”.
    ***
    The portmanteau, which to Kenneth Dale’s strong arm had been little more than a feather-weight on leaving the station, seemed to have grown heavier by magic in the course of the half-mile that brought him to Lord Churt’s country house. He put the portmanteau down in the porch with a sense of relief to his cramped arm, and rang the bell.
    He had to wait for a few minutes, and then Lord Churt opened the door in person. His round, rubicund face, that would hardly have required any make-up to present an excellent “Mr Pickwick”, beamed a welcome. “Come in, my dear boy, come in. I’m delighted to see you. I wish you a merry Christmas.”
    It was Christmas Eve, and his manner was bubbling over with the kindliness appropriate to the season. He seized the portmanteau and carried it into the hall.
    â€œI am my own footman and parlour-maid and everything else for the moment. Packed all the servants off to a Christmas entertainment at the village school and locked the doors after ’em. My wife’s gone, too, and Aunt Blaxter.”
    â€œAnd Norah?” Kenneth inquired.
    â€œAh! Norah!” Churt answered, with a friendly clap on Kenneth’s shoulder. “Norah’s the only person that really matters, of course she is, and quite right too. Norah stayed in to send off a lot of Christmas cards, and I fancy she is still in her room, but she must have disposed of the cards, because they are in the letter-bag. She would have been on the look-out for you, no doubt, but your letter said you were not coming.”
    â€œYes, I know. I thought I couldn’t get away, but today my chief’s heart was softened, and he said he would manage to do without me till the day after tomorrow. So I made a rush for the two-fifteen, and just caught it.”
    â€œAnd here you are as a happy surprise for your poor, disappointed Norah—and for us all,” he added, genially.
    â€œI hope you approve of my fiancée ,” Kenneth remarked, with a smile that expressed confidence as to the answer.
    â€œMy dear Kenneth,” Churt replied, “I can say with