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

“I prefer to undertake the vengeance myself, thank you.”
    Mr. Steadman looked at Anthony. “I understand that you called at the office yesterday morning.”
    â€œYes, I did,” returned Anthony defiantly. “And, when old Thompson told me I couldn’t see Mr. Bechcombe, I was fool enough to say I would go round to the private door and get in to him that way.”
    â€œAnd did you?” questioned Mr. Steadman quietly.
    â€œYes, I did, but I did not go in and murder my uncle,” returned Anthony in the same loud, passionate tone.
    â€œDid you see him?” Mr. Steadman inquired.
    â€œYes. He came to the door and told me to go away. He was expecting an important client.”
    â€œTony, you did not ask him for money?” his father said piteously.
    Anthony’s face softened as he looked at him. “I was going to, but I didn’t get the chance. He wouldn’t listen to me. I went on to ask a friend of mine in the next room to come out to lunch with me. As we were passing my uncle’s room he came to the door. ‘I want you, Tony,’ he said sharply. My friend went on, telling me to follow to the Field of Rest. Uncle Luke kept me a few minutes talking. He told me that if I had a really good opening he would go into it, if it were really promising the lack of money should not stand in the way. He said I was to come and see him that night and talk things over. I meant to go, of course. But then I heard this—” and Anthony gulped down something in his throat.
    â€œDid you keep your friend waiting?” inquired Mr. Steadman.
    â€œYes, I did!” Tony answered, staring at him. “Uncle Luke kept me a minute or two. But then I missed my way to the Field of Rest, and was wandering about the best part of half an hour. I suppose you don’t call that a very satisfactory alibi,” he added truculently.
    â€œOh, don’t be silly, Tony!” Mrs. Bechcombe interposed fretfully. “Of course we are all sure that you would not have hurt your uncle. We want to know if you saw anyone—if you met this wicked woman.”
    â€œWhat wicked woman? What do you mean, Aunt Madeleine?”
    â€œThe woman who left her glove in his room, the woman who killed my husband,” Mrs. Bechcombe returned, her breath coming quickly and nervously, her hands clenching and unclenching themselves.
    â€œMy dear Madeleine,” Mr. Steadman interrupted her, “I do not think it possible that the crime could have been committed by a woman.”
    â€œAnd I am sure that it was,” she contradicted stormily. “Women are as powerful as men nowadays and Luke was not strong. He had a weak heart.” And with the last words she burst into a very tempest of tears.
    Her cousin looked at her pityingly.
    â€œWell, well, my dear girl! At any rate the police are searching everywhere for this woman. The finding her can only be a matter of a few days now. I am going to send your maid to you.” He signed to the other men and they followed him out of the room. “Do her all the good in the world to cry it out,” he remarked confidentially when he had closed the door. “I haven’t seen her shed a tear yet. Now I am going to see Inspector Furnival before the inquest opens. That, of course, will be absolutely formal, at first. Can I give any of you a lift?”
    â€œI think not, thank you,” Mr. Collyer responded. “There must be some—er—arrangements to be made here and it’s quite possible we may be of some real service.”
    Both young men looked inclined to dissent, but the barrister proffered no further invitation and a minute or two later they saw him drive off.
    He was shown in at once to Inspector Furnival, who was writing at his office table, briskly making notes in a large parchment bound book. He got up as the door opened.
    Mr. Steadman shook hands. “You haven’t forgotten me, I hope,