Suspects—Nine by E.R. Punshon Read Free Book Online Page B

going to have her hands full, what with one admirer of the temper and the reputation of Judy Patterson, and another like Michael Tamar, unscrupulous, powerful, and wealthy. Lots of explosive material lying about, he thought, and then he reflected that really he must make an effort to carry out his errand. The room was comparatively empty now. People were coming up to Flora to bid her farewell, to murmur their thanks, to tell her how lovely it had all been. Bobby watched his opportunity. She saw him and turned towards him with her usual enchanting smile, not even a flicker of a sophisticated eye-lash betraying that she hadn’t the least idea who he might be. But he looked presentable, something to do with the army, probably, she supposed, from his tall, well-drilled-looking figure, and so she bestowed on him one of those glances of hers that her friends called ‘Flora’s K. O. s,’ since no man was believed capable of enduring them and retaining his balance.
    â€œI have to apologise twice over,” Bobby said. “I called to ask if I might see you on a matter of business and got pushed in here more of less by accident. If I might explain—”
    â€œOh, yes,” said Flora, slightly puzzled, but amiably ready to listen to any explanations from any good-looking young man.
    â€œI’ve come,” he went on, “from Olive, Hats,” and at that she interrupted him with a little squeal of laughter—he noticed how thin her laugh was, different from Olive’s bubbling mirth or from that of Lady Alice’s niece.
    â€œWhy, has darling Olive got a partner?” she asked. “Have you brought the new hat? is it ready? I was going to rush round to have a peep.” She stopped, looked at Bobby, and suddenly began to laugh again: “I know,” she cried. “You’re the policeman Olive’s engaged to, the detective person. You are, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you aren’t? I’m right?”
    â€œI am engaged to Miss Farrar,” he admitted stiffly in a slightly irritated tone, for he did not see what business it was of hers.
    She clapped her hands at his reply.
    â€œHow awfully exciting,” she cried. “Holland.” She turned to the man at her side, the distinguished-looking person Bobby had noticed before whose hard eyes contradicted so oddly his soft and smiling mouth. “Mr. Owen’s a detective—a real one, Scotland Yard. He just goes about catching murderers and burglars and people. Oh, I do hope nobody here is thinking of committing a murder.”
    Her high, excited voice—Bobby had a sudden conviction that Flora had been a little too frequent with the cocktails—caused a small group to gather. The words ‘a detective’ passed from one to the other. Bobby had a moment of profound envy of Lady Alice, who was able to express disapproval by the aid of the flat side of a hairbrush. Over the heads of those near him he saw that Judy Patterson had come back into the room. He had been making quickly for the door, apparently still intent on avoiding his host, when that shrill word of Flora’s made him pause. Bobby saw him looking at him with quick attention and supposed that probably Judy knew he was a police officer. More than once Bobby’s duties had called him to the Cut and Come Again, a notorious night club of which Bobby knew Judy Patterson was a member and a frequenter. In the young man’s sombre eyes there showed a quick and startled fear, as though called up by that grim word, murder, Flora had uttered so lightly but that seemed now as though it were spreading around them all a slow circle of silence and of apprehension. Mr. Tamar called from the outskirts of the group.
    â€œDon’t talk like that, Flora.”
    â€œMy goodness, why not?” she retorted. “You don’t mean to murder any one just yet, do you, Micky Mouse, darling? I might, but why you?”
    Tamar hated