Read Online Death by the Mistletoe by Angus MacVicar - Free Book Online
Authors: Angus MacVicar
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second thought. Only when the different tragedies are correlated does the fact become of the utmost importance.
The seven deaths with which the mistletoe is connected include those of the Right Rev. Kenneth Millar, the Rev. George Manderson, Father Magnus MacLean, Lochaber, the Rev. Augustus Wainwright, the Rev. Albert Tyson, Devonshire, and the Rev. Archibald Allan. Though red marks were found on the body of Father Melville Davidson, no mistletoe, it is stated, was found near the spot where it lay.
The Rev. William MacCallum was drowned in the River Irvine in Ayrshire, while Father Hope Mallinson was killed in a motor accident in London. The Gazette is prepared to believe that these two men met their deaths purely by accident. The evidence of the red marks and the green sprigs, however, puts the matter of the other seven tragedies beyond the bounds of mere coincidence.
What vast terrorist organisation is behind this series of callous murders? Is there an enemy of Britain striking at the most vulnerable part of her solid foundation — the religious life of the country?
The police would be well advised to seek diligently for the source of the supply of mistletoe, because, were it found, the identification of a number of the criminals might possibly follow. None can be bought in shops at this period of the year, and in only about half a dozen parts of Britain can it be found growing wild.
*
And there the article ended.
At two o'clock James was summoned to attend at the police station.
CHAPTER IV
James had a momentary qualm when he received the sudden invitation to visit the police station; tor he had no doubt but that his article was the cause of the consternation in the voice of the Procurator Fiscal who had addressed him over the telephone. But his conscience was not altogether a guilty one. On the previous night, when he had put before him the facts contained in the last part of the article, Mr. Archibald MacLean had given him no warning not to publish them.
James was shown into the inspector’s room. Seated round the table were five men — three of whom were personally known to the editor of the Gazette . Inspector McMillan was there, his large red face puffed and blotched after a sleepless night, and his hands uncertainly clasping and unclasping. On either side of him sat the Chief Constable, a small, thin, yellow-haired man with an eyeglass and a waxed moustache, and Mr. Archibald MacLean. The Fiscal was of medium height and sturdily built. He had a shock of greying brown hair, slightly thin at the top, but allowed to grow thick at the nape of the neck like a poet’s. He had a habit of keeping one shoulder raised higher than the other, and his head, which seemed too large even for his stout body, was generally held on one side like an alert sparrow’s. His astute mind, for which he was noted throughout the county, was reflected in his keen, if somewhat flabby, face.
James was of the opinion that the other two sharp-featured, motionless men were Detective-Inspector McKay and Detective-Sergeant Wilson. The former, tall, dark and middle-aged, had sombre brown eyes and a long chin, while his companion was a short, stout individual, grey-haired, with a hatchet face rather disfigured by warts. His blue eyes glittered strangely as they regarded James.
The Fiscal rose when the editor entered, and stumped round to his side, looking up at him with choleric eyes.
“What the hell do you mean by publishing that article?” he demanded. He had the quick Celtic temperament which makes a man give expression to his thoughts at once and be sorry for it afterwards if need be. “We’ve just read it. Every word of it is true, of course, as we learned last night. And to-day post mortems in every part of the country have confirmed your theories. But, my God, MacPherson, could you not have kept quiet about things?”
“Why should I have kept quiet?” asked James, whose eyes were very gloomy, and into whose
The seven deaths with which the mistletoe is connected include those of the Right Rev. Kenneth Millar, the Rev. George Manderson, Father Magnus MacLean, Lochaber, the Rev. Augustus Wainwright, the Rev. Albert Tyson, Devonshire, and the Rev. Archibald Allan. Though red marks were found on the body of Father Melville Davidson, no mistletoe, it is stated, was found near the spot where it lay.
The Rev. William MacCallum was drowned in the River Irvine in Ayrshire, while Father Hope Mallinson was killed in a motor accident in London. The Gazette is prepared to believe that these two men met their deaths purely by accident. The evidence of the red marks and the green sprigs, however, puts the matter of the other seven tragedies beyond the bounds of mere coincidence.
What vast terrorist organisation is behind this series of callous murders? Is there an enemy of Britain striking at the most vulnerable part of her solid foundation — the religious life of the country?
The police would be well advised to seek diligently for the source of the supply of mistletoe, because, were it found, the identification of a number of the criminals might possibly follow. None can be bought in shops at this period of the year, and in only about half a dozen parts of Britain can it be found growing wild.
*
And there the article ended.
At two o'clock James was summoned to attend at the police station.
CHAPTER IV
James had a momentary qualm when he received the sudden invitation to visit the police station; tor he had no doubt but that his article was the cause of the consternation in the voice of the Procurator Fiscal who had addressed him over the telephone. But his conscience was not altogether a guilty one. On the previous night, when he had put before him the facts contained in the last part of the article, Mr. Archibald MacLean had given him no warning not to publish them.
James was shown into the inspector’s room. Seated round the table were five men — three of whom were personally known to the editor of the Gazette . Inspector McMillan was there, his large red face puffed and blotched after a sleepless night, and his hands uncertainly clasping and unclasping. On either side of him sat the Chief Constable, a small, thin, yellow-haired man with an eyeglass and a waxed moustache, and Mr. Archibald MacLean. The Fiscal was of medium height and sturdily built. He had a shock of greying brown hair, slightly thin at the top, but allowed to grow thick at the nape of the neck like a poet’s. He had a habit of keeping one shoulder raised higher than the other, and his head, which seemed too large even for his stout body, was generally held on one side like an alert sparrow’s. His astute mind, for which he was noted throughout the county, was reflected in his keen, if somewhat flabby, face.
James was of the opinion that the other two sharp-featured, motionless men were Detective-Inspector McKay and Detective-Sergeant Wilson. The former, tall, dark and middle-aged, had sombre brown eyes and a long chin, while his companion was a short, stout individual, grey-haired, with a hatchet face rather disfigured by warts. His blue eyes glittered strangely as they regarded James.
The Fiscal rose when the editor entered, and stumped round to his side, looking up at him with choleric eyes.
“What the hell do you mean by publishing that article?” he demanded. He had the quick Celtic temperament which makes a man give expression to his thoughts at once and be sorry for it afterwards if need be. “We’ve just read it. Every word of it is true, of course, as we learned last night. And to-day post mortems in every part of the country have confirmed your theories. But, my God, MacPherson, could you not have kept quiet about things?”
“Why should I have kept quiet?” asked James, whose eyes were very gloomy, and into whose
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