Read Online Hanged for a Sheep by Frances Lockridge - Free Book Online

“If we suppose Anthony threatening his murderer, or shouting at him. And the murderer, perhaps with the weapon concealed—in his pocket, perhaps, or in a bag—had fired up at him. The impact would have knocked Anthony over backward, probably, at that range.”
    Pam nodded. She thought.
    â€œThe gun wasn’t there, I gather,” she said. “Or you’d have mentioned it.”
    â€œNo,” Weigand said. “It wasn’t there.” He broke off and after a moment began again.
    â€œWere they down on him?” he said. “The family—Benjamin Craig and Major Buddie and the rest. All of them, as your aunt said. Or was she—well, merely talking?”
    â€œThey didn’t like him,” Pam said, after thinking a moment. “Nobody really knew much about him, except that he was always hanging around places. Night clubs and places. And, of course, he was so much younger. And then there was Aunt Flora’s money. Although I don’t know if he gets any. Would have got any. Because I don’t know how Aunt Flora felt about him, really.”
    â€œDid you ever meet him?” Weigand said.
    Pam nodded. Once or twice, she thought.
    â€œAnd—?” Bill Weigand prompted.
    â€œ I didn’t like him,” Pam said. “Oily, I thought. But, then, I like Aunt Flora.” She looked at Bill. “I really do,” she said.
    â€œRight,” Weigand said. “I’ve an open mind. Has your aunt a great deal of money?”
    Pam said she had always supposed so. Aunt Flora had always looked like a lot of money. “And then there’s this house,” she pointed out. But whether these things meant merely plenty of money—“like thousands a year,” Pam explained—or lots of money, like millions, Pam didn’t know.
    â€œOnly,” she said, “she’s leaving me some. Won’t that be nice?”
    Weigand said it would be very nice. He relapsed into thought, and emerged from it to go to the hall and stand for a moment at the head of the stair-flight leading down. Then he called, “Mullins!”, his voice cutting through the amorphous sounds below. Pam heard Mullins’s heavier, blunter voice answer.
    â€œO.K., Loot,” Mullins said. And then he came largely up the stairs and, after a moment, stood beside Bill and looked down at her.
    â€œHullo, Mrs. North,” he said. “You got a nice one this time.”
    â€œHello, Aloysius,” Pam said, sweetly. “Didn’t I, though?”
    â€œListen, Mrs. North,” Mullins said earnestly, looking suddenly rather warm. “Not so much Aloysius, huh? I didn’t mean—” He looked around, a little anxiously and as if for support. “Jerry ain’t here?” he said.
    â€œRight,” Pam said. “Jerry ain’t here, Mr. Mullins. And don’t talk as if I—as if I went out after them.” But she smiled and Mullins looked relieved.
    â€œO.K.,” he said. “It was just a figure of speech.”
    Both Weigand and Pam looked at him with some surprise. He looked pleased. “A figure of speech,” he repeated, cheerfully. “You want some of ’em, Loot?”
    â€œRight,” Weigand said. “Get your little book. And get Mrs. Buddie.” He stopped, puzzled.
    â€œMrs. Buddie?” he repeated. “Why isn’t she Mrs. Anthony?”
    â€œShe changed,” Pam said. “Yesterday morning she decided to be Mrs. Buddie again. She always did.”
    â€œListen!” Mullins said. “Sounds like she knew, don’t it? I mean—she was sort of getting ready to be a widow.” He looked at the others. “Sort of,” he said. “In advance, like.”
    Weigand looked interested but Pam shook her head. She said she didn’t think that meant anything.
    â€œBecause,” she said, “she was always going back to Buddie. After she was Mrs. Craig, and Mrs.