Read Online Hand in Glove by Robert Goddard - Free Book Online Page B

stepped into her shoes and beckoned for him to follow her towards the house. He had no choice but to comply, certain though he now was that he had arrived at the worst possible time. A short flight of steps led up from the lawn to some open French windows. The woman paused as she reached them and waited for him to catch up. In the room beyond her, he could see four figures turning to look in his direction. They too were wearing black.

H A N D I N G L O V E
    47
    It was Derek Fairfax. As Charlotte recognized him, a shaft of anger lanced through her. What could the man be thinking of ? To arrive at such a time was either crass insensitivity or a calculated insult. If he thought such an approach would aid his brother’s cause, he was much mistaken.
    “A visitor for you, Charlie,” said Ursula. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch the name.”
    “A friend of yours?” murmured Maurice.
    “No. He’s Derek Fairfax. Colin Fairfax’s brother.”
    “Good God. What—”
    “I’m sorry.” Fairfax stepped into the room. “I really am sorry to intrude like this. I had no idea . . . that the funeral was . . .”
    “Fairfax?” said Jack with a frown. “Isn’t that . . . the name of . . .”
    “The man responsible for Beatrix’s death,” said Charlotte. “I can’t imagine what brings you here, Mr Fairfax.”
    “I came to express my condolences.”
    “You could have done that by letter if you thought it appropriate.”
    “Yes. But—”
    “Have you come for some other reason?”
    “Well . . . In a sense. But perhaps I could call back another—”
    “I’d rather you didn’t.”
    “If you have something to say,” put in Maurice, “why don’t you say it?”
    Fairfax’s eyes flashed around the room. He was licking his lips and there was a trickle of sweat at the side of his brow. In other circumstances, Charlotte might have felt sorry for him. But these were not other circumstances. She watched him struggle to compose himself. Then he said: “My brother assures me he had nothing to do with the break-in at Miss Abberley’s cottage.”
    “He would, wouldn’t he?” remarked Ursula, stepping past him to reach an ashtray.
    “But I believe him. And if you heard what he had to say I think you might as well.”
    “Unlikely,” said Maurice. “My mother was swindled out of some furniture by your brother last year. And I subsequently had the dubious pleasure of meeting him. Untrustworthy would be to put it mildly.”
    “But not a fool. That’s the point. Only a fool would do what the police claim he did.”

    48

R O B E R T G O D D A R D
    “Am I to take it,” said Charlotte, “that your real purpose in coming here is to protest your brother’s innocence? If so, I can’t see how we can help you.”
    “He thinks—and so do I—that the real motive for the break-in was to murder Miss Abberley.”
    “Oh-ho,” said Jack. “The plot thickens.” He grinned, but nobody else seemed to find the situation amusing.
    “The Tunbridge Ware was stolen,” said Maurice. “And found in his shop. How does he explain that?”
    “Planted by the murderer to cover his tracks.”
    “Oh, come on! He can’t be serious.”
    “Besides,” said Ursula, “why should anyone want to murder Beatrix?”
    “I don’t know. But I thought . . . perhaps you . . .”
    “Might be hiding something?” snapped Charlotte.
    “No. Not hiding. Just not realizing the significance of . . . of something . . .”
    “Perhaps you think we murdered her. For her money.”
    “Of course I don’t.” He looked at her imploringly, urging her to yield just enough ground for him to take some kind of stand. But she would not.
    “My sister and I are the principal beneficiaries under Beatrix’s will, Mr Fairfax,” said Maurice calmly. “For my own part, I am the chairman and managing director of Ladram Avionics, an internationally successful company of which you may have heard. My means are considerable.
    Do you really think I care about a modest