Read Online 12- Mrs. Jeffries Reveals Her Art by Emily Brightwell - Free Book Online Page A

Barnes asked,glancing down at his notebook. “Perhaps one of the others will be more forthcoming.”
    “Excuse me, sir.” Constable Martin stuck his head into the room. “But the American gentleman wants to know if he and his wife can leave now.”
    “Could you just send them in here, please?” the inspector instructed. “I’d like to take their statements before they go.”
    “Yes, sir,” the constable replied.
    “You’re going to interview them together, sir?”
    “I’m not sure I ought to be questioning them at all.” Witherspoon rubbed his eyes and fought back a yawn. “They’ve probably got nothing to do with the fellow’s death, even if it is a murder. Neville Grant told us they only arrived from America recently, so I don’t see how they could have disliked Underhill enough to poison the fellow.”
    A few moments later, Constable Martin ushered in the Modeans. The inspector introduced himself and Barnes. Tyrell Modean—a tall, dark-haired man with gray sprinkled at his temples and a rugged, tan complexion—was a good ten years older than his beautiful, auburn-haired wife. Lydia Modean wore a bronze-colored day gown that rustled faintly as she crossed the room. The dress was simple with only a decorative fichu of cream lace at the base of her slender throat. But from the cut of the fabric and the way it fitted against her slender frame, it was obviously expensive, even to Witherspoon’s less-than-experienced eyes. She wore no jewelry save for an ornately filagreed gold wedding band. The inspector noted her husband wore one just like hers.
    When she spoke, his surprise was obvious. “You’re English?”he asked. He’d assumed that, like her husband, she was from America.
    “Born in Bristol,” she replied with a slight smile.
    “Excuse me, Inspector, but how long is this going to take?” Tyrell asked. “It’s been quite an ordeal for both of us.”
    “I appreciate that,” Witherspoon answered, “but there are a few questions I need to ask. I’ll be as quick as possible. Why don’t you both have a seat?” He gestured towards the settee.
    Modean looked for a moment as though he were going to refuse, then he sighed, took his wife’s arm and gallantly seated her before sitting down himself. “What do you want to know? All we can tell you is what we saw.”
    “That’ll be fine, sir. Do go ahead.”
    “We’d just sat down to have tea when all of a sudden, Underhill started making these noises, kind of a coughing sound. At first I thought he’d swallowed the wrong way or was just coughing to clear out his throat. Then I realized the poor devil was choking. I jumped up and tried to help.” He shrugged defeatedly. “Slapped him on the back and got his collar undone, but nothing seemed to do any good. He just kept wheezing and coughing and making these god-awful noises. I thought he must be having a fit of some kind. His body was jerking so hard he fell off the settee. We got him onto his back, but that didn’t do any good either. He just thrashed about for a few minutes and then died.”
    “I see,” Witherspoon said slowly. “Was today the first time you’d met James Underhill?”
    “No.” Modean shook his head. “I’d met him a number of years ago. We didn’t really travel in the same circles, but I had run across him before.”
    “James Underhill introduced the two of us,” Lydia Modean put in quickly. “It was several years ago. Tyrell bought some Flemish watercolors from him.”
    “You’re an art dealer, sir?” Witherspoon asked, thinking him a gallery owner from America.
    Modean laughed. “I’m a businessman, Inspector. I’ve a number of irons in the fire back home. Banking, hotels, investments. My vocation is making money, but my great love is art. That’s why we’re here. I’m negotiating with Mr. Grant to buy three Caldararos.”
    “Mr. Underhill was an art dealer?” the inspector commented.
    “I wouldn’t really say that.” Modean leaned back against