The Poisonous Seed by Linda Stratmann Read Free Book Online

inquest to give evidence.
    Time was short. If, as Constable Brown had said, the tests would support the police theory of a prescription error, Frances had only six days to identify some previously unknown enemy of Percival Garton who might have been his murderer. Even if there was no definitive proof that her father was at fault, the suspicion alone could mean the ruination of everything he had worked for, and a blot upon his reputation that nothing could ever remove. The only person she could talk to was Cedric, and if Herbert was afraid to pass himself off as a newspaper reporter she was not. There remained the difficulty of convincing Cedric that she was a lady reporter; it was something that could only be addressed in one way. It was a desperate and dangerous proceeding, but she must gather her courage and take the chance. Half afraid and half excited, Frances considered that it had, after all, been a good thing that they had not given her brother’s clothes to charity.

C HAPTER T HREE
     
    W ith business still distressingly quiet, Herbert took the opportunity to retire to his room and study, leaving Frances to mind the shop. The only customers she saw were those openly touting for gossip, after which they shamefacedly purchased a tin of Holloway’s Pills or a bottle of hair lotion. She busied herself with stocktaking and the accounts, and diverted Tom from his preferred state of idleness by asking him to dust, which he did with very ill grace.
    She was thus engrossed when the door of the shop burst open violently and two men dashed in at a run. Frances looked up in alarm, but they seemed to be taking no notice of her. They were both just on the favourable side of thirty, and one, a plump, pink-faced individual dressed in venerable tweeds, began pacing briskly back and forth, blowing noisily through pursed lips, arms swinging at his sides. His shirt seemed to have lost its collar, though whether this was a recent development in its history was unclear, as was the tendency of its tail to escape the restraint normally acceptable in public. His bowler hat, a size too small, was dusty and crumpled at the brim.
    ‘It won’t do, Barstie, it just won’t do!’ he exclaimed. ‘No, I know what you’re about to say, but I won’t do it! I won’t give in!’
    His companion, tall and slender, leaned against the doorjamb and gazed out into the street. His attitude was casual, but there was no mistaking a certain anxiety in his observation of passers-by. ‘No need to get in a panic, Chas,’ he said, soothingly. He was neatly dressed, but the coat, trousers and waistcoat had all seen better days and other partners, the shirt collar was frayed, and the crown of his silk hat was losing its bid to stay attached to the sides.
    Chas was far from pacified. He seemed hardly to know which way to walk, turning first this way and then that, chewing his knuckles, and then when that didn’t afford any relief, waved his hands wildly in the air. ‘He’s a thief, a crook! He’s cost me money!’ he exclaimed.
    Barstie turned and smiled at Frances and touched the brim of his hat. ‘Excuse my friend, Miss. We’ve had a nice day out on the town, but unfortunately my friend met an associate who advised him that he had suffered a reverse in business, and it’s rather upset his temper.’
    Frances did not know what to make of the two men, except that they reminded her of a class of gentleman who often appeared in the works of Mr Dickens. At least she felt sure that they had not come to rob the shop, not that there was a great deal to take. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you Sirs?’ she asked.
    Chas seemed to notice Frances for the first time, and abruptly changed the direction of his stride, darted over to her, and leaned heavily on the counter. ‘Yes – you’re to remember that we haven’t been here!’ then he dashed away, trailing a scent of tobacco and beer.
    ‘I am very sorry to hear of your recent difficulties,’ said