Read Online Crow's Inn Tragedy by Annie Haynes - Free Book Online Page A

killing.”
    â€œDon’t you think, Aubrey, that you had better say straight out that you believe I killed Uncle Luke?” Tony Collyer inquired very quietly, yet with a look in his eyes that his men had known well in the Great War, and had labelled dangerous.
    Instinctively Aubrey drew back. “My dear Tony,” he said, with what was meant to be an indulgent smile and only succeeded in looking distinctly scared, “why will you turn everything into personalities? I was speaking generally.”
    â€œWell, as I happen to be the only man who went to the War and who profits by my uncle’s will, and who was at the office the day he was murdered, I will thank you not to speak generally in that fashion,” retorted Anthony.
    His father lifted up his hand.
    â€œBoys, boys! This terrible crime is no time for unseemly bickering,” he said, in much the same tone as he would have used to them twenty years ago at Wexbridge Rectory.
    The three were in the dining-room of Mr. Bechcombe’s house in Carlsford Square. They had been brought there by an urgent summons from the widow of the dead man. Mrs. Bechcombe, prostrated at first by the news of her husband’s death, had been roused by learning how that death had been brought about, and, in her determination that it should be immediately avenged, she had insisted on her husband’s brother-in-law and his two nephews coming together to consult with her as to the best steps to be taken to discover the assassin.
    In appearance the last twenty-four hours had aged the rector by as many years. His shoulders were bent as he leaned forward in his chair—the very chair in which Luke Bechcombe had sat at the bottom of his table only the night before last. There were new lines that sorrow and horror had scored upon James Collyer’s face, even his hair looked whiter. Glancing round the familiar room it seemed to him impossible that he could never see again the brother-in-law upon whose advice he had unconsciously leaned all his married life. He was just about to speak when the door opened and Mrs. Bechcombe entered. She was a tall, almost a regal-looking woman, with flashing dark eyes and regular, aquiline features. To-day her beautifully formed lips were closely compressed and there was a very sombre light in her dark eyes, and there were great blue marks under them.
    Mr. Collyer got up, raising himself slowly. “My dear Madeleine, I wish I could help you,” he said, taking her hands in his, “but only Our Heavenly Father can do that, and since it is His Will—”
    â€œIt was not His Will!” Mrs. Bechcombe contradicted passionately. She tore her hands from his. “My husband was murdered. He did not die by the Will of God, but by the wickedness of man.”
    â€œMy dear aunt, nothing happens but by the Will of God—” Aubrey Todmarsh was beginning, when the door opened to admit a spare, short, altogether undistinguished-looking man of middle age.
    Mrs. Bechcombe turned to him eagerly.
    â€œThis is my cousin, John Steadman. You have heard me speak of him, I know, James. He is a barrister, and, though he does not practise now, he is a great criminologist. And I know if anyone can help us it will be he.”
    â€œI hope so, I am sure,” Mr. Steadman said as he shook hands. “This is a most terrible and mysterious crime, but there are several valuable clues. I do not think it should remain undiscovered long.”
    â€œI hope not!” the rector sighed. “And yet we cannot bring poor Luke back, we can only punish his murderer.”
    â€œAnd that I mean to do!” Mrs. Bechcombe said passionately. “I have sworn to devote every penny of my money and every moment of my life to avenging my husband.”
    â€œVengeance is mine, I will repay,” murmured Aubrey Todmarsh.
    â€œYes, I never professed to be of your way of thinking,” Mrs. Bechcombe returned with unveiled contempt.