Read Online Smallbone Deceased by Michael Gilbert - Free Book Online

unpleasant. I was only having a joke.”
    â€œSo was I,” said Miss Mildmay.
    There was silence for some time after this, broken only by the flagellation of three typewriters.
    Miss Chittering, however, was not a person who was able to keep silent for very long. It was perhaps unfortunate that she had to address all her remarks to Anne, since she was still not on speaking terms with Miss Cornel owing to certain heresies on the subject of genuine crocodile dressing cases.
    â€œPoor Mr. Horniman,” she said. “I think he’s getting thinner every day. Worry, that’s what it is.”
    â€œWhat’s he got to worry about?” said Anne.
    â€œWell, I expect it’s all the new work—and the responsibility.”
    â€œHe gets paid for it.”
    â€œAnd the hours he works. He’s always here last thing at night.”
    â€œIt won’t kill him.” Anne sounded so unnecessarily bitter that Miss Cornel looked up curiously.
    â€œHe says the strangest things, too.”
    â€œLike ‘O.B.E., Esquire,’” suggested Miss Cornel unkindly from her corner. Fortunately, before any further hostilities could be provoked, the signal bell gave a buzz. Miss Cornel collected her shorthand notebook and went out.
    â€œSome people,” announced Miss Chittering to no one in particular, “think that because they’ve been here a long time they can say anything they like.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know,” said Anne. “How many r’s in referred?”
    The typewriters resumed their clatter.
    Meanwhile in Bob Horniman’s room he and Miss Cornel were looking rather hopelessly at a large black deed box labelled “Ichabod Stokes.”
    â€œHe can’t have lost the key,” said Miss Cornel. “He kept them all together on one ring. Let me have another look. Consequential, Marquis of Curragh, Lady Burberry, General Pugh—he always kept twelve boxes on this rack and six more under the bookshelf. That’s eighteen.” She counted the keys again. “You’re quite right,” she said. “There are only seventeen keys here. Stokes is missing—”
    â€œFirst the trustee, then the key,” groaned Bob. “I knew it. I knew it. The next thing we shall find is that half the securities are gone.”
    Miss Cornel looked at him sharply. “The securities aren’t kept in here,” she said. “They’re with Sergeant Cockerill in the strong room. There’s nothing in this box but old files and papers and trust accounts.”
    â€œI know,” said Bob, “but how am I to start checking up the securities unless I can get hold of the last set of trust accounts? Hasn’t Cockerill got a key?”
    Miss Cornel thought for a moment. “There was a master key with each set,” she said. “When your father had these new deed boxes put in, they came in sets. There was a master key with each one, and it was a good thing there was—they were always losing single keys—not your father, he was very careful, but the others—”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I don’t think Mr. Craine ever keeps his boxes locked at all,” said Bob. “Do you think his master key would fit this lock?”
    â€œI know it wouldn’t,” said Miss Cornel, “because about five years ago your father lost his master key, and I remember we had to have another one made. It took months.”
    â€œWell, we don’t want to go through all that if we can help it,” said Bob. “Ask Sergeant Cockerill to come up here for a minute.”
    Sergeant Cockerill, summoned from the basement, denied any knowledge of master keys.
    â€œAll the other keys I’ve got,” he said. “Strong room, lockers, doors, inside doors and outside doors. But not boxes. The partners look after them.” He spoke rather resentfully.
    â€œI suppose we shall have to get through to the firm