The Vice Society by James McCreet Read Free Book Online Page A

Now – you have said before that you admitted the deceased, Mr Jonathan Sampson, at ten o’clock in the evening.’
    ‘To his room, yes. But he arrived about an hour earlier.’
    ‘Was he alone when he arrived, or with the other gentleman?’
    ‘I cannot be sure. I do not see every customer. My impression is that he arrived alone and was joined shortly after by his friend.’
    ‘What makes you think they were friends?’
    ‘Mr Sampson seemed to know and like the other fellow.’
    ‘I dare say I know and like the Queen, but she might not term us friends.’
    ‘I mean, they had quite a lot to say to each other. They sat close and spent the time in discussion.’
    ‘Discussing what?’
    ‘How could I know, sir? The house is noisy at that time of the evening. There is food to be served.’
    ‘Well, did they frown? Were they serious or jocular? Did they argue? Did they laugh?’
    ‘They seemed contented enough, I suppose. Their heads remained close as they tried to make each other heard.’
    ‘Or not heard by others. And you have said that they did not drink.’
    ‘Only coffee.’
    ‘Tell me about this other man. What was his name? What did he look like?’
    ‘He did not pay for the room so I did not take his name. He was well dressed. A jovial enough sort.’
    ‘Like myself, then.’
    ‘Rather better dressed. And more jovial.’
    ‘How old was he, do you think?’
    ‘Quite young, I suppose. Twenty something.’
    ‘An unusual friend for a man of Mr Sampson’s years.’
    ‘A man might have any friend he likes.’
    ‘Indeed. Have you seen him here before or since?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘More, Mrs Colliver. You are withholding information from me.’
    ‘I am not.’
    ‘Then why do you shift in your seat and twitch so? Anybody might think it was you who committed the murder.’
    ‘Murder? What are you saying? I don’t want anyone talking about a murder at my coffee house. Can you imagine what they would say? “Go to Colliver’s for a coffee and get murdered.” He jumped!’
    ‘How do you know? Were you in the room? I thought you were asleep when the incident happened.’
    ‘I was. That is what I have heard. I do not know what happened in the room.’
    ‘More of that in a moment. You told the inquest that the men went to the room at ten o’clock. They were both quite sober, you said. And yet we found four used glasses that smelled of sherry in that room. Can you explain that?’
    ‘Might not they have brought their own drink in a bottle?’
    ‘And four glasses? Nobody reported seeing the young man carrying a bottle.’
    ‘You would be surprised what I have found people bringing to those rooms.’
    ‘I am sure. So the glasses do not belong to you? I could take them and smash them if I wanted to?’
    ‘If you like.’ But Mrs Colliver’s tone said that she would be happier if he did not.
    The inspector scowled and looked at his colleague. ‘Mr Cullen – have you any questions, or are you going to just sit there?’
    The constable cleared his throat. ‘Did either of the gentlemen have an orange with them, or buy one from a girl while here?’ he asked, extracting a notebook.
    ‘No. No orange,’ replied the lady, forgetting for a moment the hair about to spill from her bonnet.
    ‘And I would like to ask about a long blonde hair that we found on the bed nearest the window. Might it be yours?’
    Mrs Colliver’s hand went reflexively to her bonnet. ‘It could well be. I clean the rooms myself.’
    ‘Would you take off your bonnet for us?’ asked Mr Newsome.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Why not? Have you something to hide?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘Well, then . . .’
    Mrs Colliver looked from one man to the other, then at the tabletop as if making up her mind. Finally, with a grimace, she extracted the bonnet cord from between her chins and unleashed a mop of loose blonde hair over her face. But it was not the hair that the policeman noticed – it was the bloody contusion just above her forehead, the hair about