The Riddle of Alabaster Royal by Patricia Veryan Read Free Book Online Page B

never!”
    Flushed with wrath, Vespa said, “I ought to strangle you! Going off and leaving my front doors wide; an open invitation to any thieves or mischief-making vandals!”
    â€œThrow down a red carpet and they wouldn’t come in,” babbled Strickley. “Sir,” he added with an ingratiating leer.
    â€œTo say nothing of bringing your woman into my house in the middle of the night—”
    â€œOw! What a wicked thing to—”
    â€œBe still, blast you! And to add to all else, making off with my breakfast! I’ve a good mind to—”
    â€œLies!” howled the prisoner, raising his hands in appeal to the sunny heavens. “Only to think as a eddicated flash cove like this would speak such raspers! And don’t it say in the Good Book as them what lies belong in deepest Hell? Tell this sinful young nob, Mr. Castle, sir! Tell him!”
    Searching his memory for the biblical reference, the priest said hesitantly, “Well, I’m— Er, that is to say—”
    â€œTell him there ain’t a word of truth in the whole perishing lot,” demanded the accused, the picture of outraged virtue. “Tell him to repent.”
    â€œYou know damned well I speak truth,” snapped Vespa.
    Mr. Castle said cautiously, “I am very sure you—er— believe what you say sir. But—”
    â€œWhat the deuce d’you mean by that? I tell you the front doors of the manor were wide open when I arrived, and this scoundrel was nowhere evident! In the night I heard him frippering about with his woman and saw her run into a room and hide!”
    â€œHah!” snorted Strickley. “Listen to it, willya!”
    The clergyman pursed his lips dubiously.
    â€œIf you mean to take this rascal’s word over mine,” growled Vespa.
    Mr. Castle wrung his plump hands. “I—I fear, I have no choice, sir.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œStrickley throwed one of my best customers out the window, about eight o’ the clock last evening, Captain, sir.”
    The new voice brought Vespa’s head around sharply. Mr. Ditchfield, proprietor of the Gallery Arms, stood there, a grave expression on his freckled face and the sunlight gleaming on his red hair. He was but one among the small crowd that had gathered to enjoy the proceedings.
    A large man whose gory apron proclaimed him the local butcher nodded vehemently and voiced a supporting, “’Sright, sir. We all on us see it.”
    â€œI don’t doubt you,” said Vespa. “But it doesn’t change the fact that Strickley came back to Alabaster later on, and—”
    â€œCouldn’t of, Mr. Vespa,” boomed a very tall lady wearing a sagging poke bonnet that completely hid her features. “My mister put Hezekiah Strickley in they stocks at half past eight o’clock.”
    â€œMrs. Blackham,” murmured the priest in Vespa’s ear. “Our good Constable’s spouse.”
    â€œAnd I ain’t been out but once since then,” asserted the prisoner defiantly. “And then only fer ten minutes account of me bowils, and thanks to Mr. Castle, and no thanks to them as begrudge a man defending of his honourable name!”
    â€œWhat man would that be, Hezekiah?” called the blacksmith, a sturdy, bright-eyed individual with a round sweaty face, a leather apron, and a long-handled pair of iron tongs still clutched in his hand. “Not yerself, me buck?”
    There was laughter at this, and angry protests from the prisoner, but Vespa frowned. If this was truth, then the intruder last night could not possibly have been Strickley.
    Watching him, the priest said, “They’re honest folk, Captain. It wasn’t Hezekiah who brought his—er—lady to your house, or stole your food.”
    â€œSee?” jeered the caretaker. “All wrong, wasn’t yer, Mr. London Dandy?”
    Shocked gasps arose from the