operation to get a joke well into a Scotch understanding.
– The Reverend Sydney Smith
While Melissa and Paul were speeding on their way back to Arrat House, Hamish was sitting quietly in the library, listening to Blair interviewing Charles Trent.
The young man interested him. He was surely old Andrew Trent’s heir. Charles was saying that Andrew had adopted him while he, Charles, was still a baby. No, he said amiably, he didn’t know who his real parents were and had never been curious.
What had his relationship with the dead man been like? Charles looked serious, opened his mouth to say something, and then shrugged. ‘Why pretend?’ he said. ‘He despised me. It seemed I couldn’t do a thing right as far as he was concerned. I wanted to go into the business instead of going up to Oxford, but he said nastily it was a successful business and I would probably ruin it. He did all right by me in material ways, best school and all that, but I never remember him particularly wanting to have me around. I’m not upset by his death … yet. The shock is still too great, so I don’t know whether I am going to grieve or not.’
‘Did you speak to him at all just before he died?’
‘No, I was out in the snow, talking to my fiancée.’
‘With whom you spent the night?’
‘Gosh, did she tell you that? Yes.’
‘And when you went to her room, didn’t you see the body?’
‘No, the room was in shadow apart from a little pool of light from a lamp beside the bed. I looked at Titchy, you see. I didn’t look anywhere else.’
‘What were you and Miss Gold talking about?’ asked Hamish suddenly.
‘Well, lovers’ talk, you know, things like that.’
‘Why did you go outside in the cold?’
‘Needed a breath of fresh air. This house is always over-heated. When will I know what’s in the will?’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Blair. ‘About eleven o’clock provided the roads stay clear.’
When Charles had left, Blair rounded on Hamish.
‘Why were you so interested in what he was talking about?’
‘I just wondered,’ said Hamish, ‘whether they might have been quarrelling. I mean, he brought her up here and she must know it was because he hoped the old man was really dying. It turns out he’s not. She gets awful jokes played on her and then her dresses are cut. Charles Trent got a modest yearly allowance from Mr Andrew Trent. So he had to work but he doesn’t seem to be able to keep a job for long or get a successful one. I wondered if maybe Titchy had decided to dump him.’
‘It’s an idea,’ admitted Blair ungraciously. ‘But mark my words, that Jan Trent knows Paul Sinclair did it. It’s jist a matter o’ breaking him down.’
Hamish stifled a sigh. Blair’s bullying methods rarely got him anywhere but he never seemed to understand that.
‘What are you going to do about Enrico?’ he asked maliciously.
‘I’ll deal wi’ that one in my ain good time,’ snarled Blair. ‘Look, why don’t you shove off, Hamish? It’s getting late. I’ll see this Paul Sinclair and his girl and then start again tomorrow. We’ll have the will and the autopsy report then.’
Hamish knew Blair wanted to be rid of him because the detective was sure that Paul Sinclair was the murderer and he didn’t want Hamish around to share in the credit.
He walked out of the library and collected his overcoat from a peg in the hall. Then he heard a scrunch of car wheels on frozen snow and went outside.
Melissa and Paul had arrived. Paul was white-faced. Melissa looked tired and scared. Hamish watched as they were ushered inside. He felt sorry for them. Blair would give them both a hard time of it.
He drove slowly homeward, the great bright stars of Sutherland burning fiercely overhead. The roads had been gritted and salted but were beginning to freeze in a hard frost.
The police station would be freezing cold, he thought gloomily. Maybe if he could solve this murder, he would offer Blair the credit in return for a
– The Reverend Sydney Smith
While Melissa and Paul were speeding on their way back to Arrat House, Hamish was sitting quietly in the library, listening to Blair interviewing Charles Trent.
The young man interested him. He was surely old Andrew Trent’s heir. Charles was saying that Andrew had adopted him while he, Charles, was still a baby. No, he said amiably, he didn’t know who his real parents were and had never been curious.
What had his relationship with the dead man been like? Charles looked serious, opened his mouth to say something, and then shrugged. ‘Why pretend?’ he said. ‘He despised me. It seemed I couldn’t do a thing right as far as he was concerned. I wanted to go into the business instead of going up to Oxford, but he said nastily it was a successful business and I would probably ruin it. He did all right by me in material ways, best school and all that, but I never remember him particularly wanting to have me around. I’m not upset by his death … yet. The shock is still too great, so I don’t know whether I am going to grieve or not.’
‘Did you speak to him at all just before he died?’
‘No, I was out in the snow, talking to my fiancée.’
‘With whom you spent the night?’
‘Gosh, did she tell you that? Yes.’
‘And when you went to her room, didn’t you see the body?’
‘No, the room was in shadow apart from a little pool of light from a lamp beside the bed. I looked at Titchy, you see. I didn’t look anywhere else.’
‘What were you and Miss Gold talking about?’ asked Hamish suddenly.
‘Well, lovers’ talk, you know, things like that.’
‘Why did you go outside in the cold?’
‘Needed a breath of fresh air. This house is always over-heated. When will I know what’s in the will?’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Blair. ‘About eleven o’clock provided the roads stay clear.’
When Charles had left, Blair rounded on Hamish.
‘Why were you so interested in what he was talking about?’
‘I just wondered,’ said Hamish, ‘whether they might have been quarrelling. I mean, he brought her up here and she must know it was because he hoped the old man was really dying. It turns out he’s not. She gets awful jokes played on her and then her dresses are cut. Charles Trent got a modest yearly allowance from Mr Andrew Trent. So he had to work but he doesn’t seem to be able to keep a job for long or get a successful one. I wondered if maybe Titchy had decided to dump him.’
‘It’s an idea,’ admitted Blair ungraciously. ‘But mark my words, that Jan Trent knows Paul Sinclair did it. It’s jist a matter o’ breaking him down.’
Hamish stifled a sigh. Blair’s bullying methods rarely got him anywhere but he never seemed to understand that.
‘What are you going to do about Enrico?’ he asked maliciously.
‘I’ll deal wi’ that one in my ain good time,’ snarled Blair. ‘Look, why don’t you shove off, Hamish? It’s getting late. I’ll see this Paul Sinclair and his girl and then start again tomorrow. We’ll have the will and the autopsy report then.’
Hamish knew Blair wanted to be rid of him because the detective was sure that Paul Sinclair was the murderer and he didn’t want Hamish around to share in the credit.
He walked out of the library and collected his overcoat from a peg in the hall. Then he heard a scrunch of car wheels on frozen snow and went outside.
Melissa and Paul had arrived. Paul was white-faced. Melissa looked tired and scared. Hamish watched as they were ushered inside. He felt sorry for them. Blair would give them both a hard time of it.
He drove slowly homeward, the great bright stars of Sutherland burning fiercely overhead. The roads had been gritted and salted but were beginning to freeze in a hard frost.
The police station would be freezing cold, he thought gloomily. Maybe if he could solve this murder, he would offer Blair the credit in return for a
Similar Books
