Read Online The Strings of Murder by Oscar de Muriel - Free Book Online

brought a dismayed hand to my brow when I saw another granite townhouse with half its windows blocked out with the most disgraceful red brick. The tax matter was more than a century old and the tax itself had been repealed more than thirty years since – yet these people had not even attempted to restore their houses.
    That could only remind me that I should not be fooled. Refined and stately as the place looked, it was far, far away from the world I was used to. This was Scotland.
    My toothless coachman drove around the circus and halted in front of number twenty-seven.
    ‘Nine-Nails McGray’s residence, sir,’ he announced.
    It was not the grandest house in the circus, its façade only three windows wide, and right on a corner, but there was a certain charm to it (the fact that all its windows remained intact was certainly an important factor).
    I climbed down from the cart and knocked on the oak door. As I waited, I had a closer look. It seemed like a well-kept place; clean windows with white frames, through which I saw green velvet curtains.
    Nobody answered the door and the rain was beginning to dampen the hem of my trousers, so I had to knock again. The driver brought my suitcases. ‘No one in the house?’ he asked.
    ‘There must be at least a blasted housekeeper!’ I grunted, knocking much harder than before.
    I was not finished banging when a coarse voice shouted: ‘ I’m coming, hold your bloody horses! ’ A moment later an old man opened the door. ‘Whit’s so fuckin’ urge–’
    He shut his mouth as soon as he saw me. The man was rather short, with jutting cheekbones and a round nose; untidy locks of grey hair grew only on his temples. He was wearing a stained apron and clenched a greasy rag in his hand. Even though the man had a reddened face, as if he’d just come out of a steam room, the colour faded away in a second.
    ‘I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t know who was calling!’
    ‘Save the apologies,’ I replied dryly. ‘My name is Ian Frey. I am looking for Inspector Adolphus McGray.’
    ‘Oh, Mr Frey from London! O’ course! We didnae expect ye so early, sir. I’m afraid Mr McGray isn’t at home now.’
    ‘I suppose I can find him at the City Chambers?’
    The man shook his head. ‘No, no, I’m afraid. Mr McGray must be at the lunatic asylum as we speak.’
    I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. ‘Oh! Well, I really cannot say that it surprises me. Do you know whether he is receiving proper care?’
    Now I thank Heaven that the butler’s eyes were not daggers. ‘Mr McGray doesn’t go as a patient! He’s visiting someone.’
    The driver let out a muffled giggle. All I could do was clear my throat and change the subject quickly. ‘I understand that I am supposed to be accommodated here.’
    ‘To whah?’ The butler frowned in incomprehension.
    ‘To be accommo – Jesus, I’ll be staying here.’
    ‘Oh! Aye sir! Do gimme yer bags. D’ye wantae wash yer face or something?’
    It was tempting to bathe and change clothes, but I thought that it would be better to report my arrival to the CID as soon as possible.
    ‘I’d like to but I cannot. Do you know whether Inspector McGray will be at the City Chambers at all during the day?’
    ‘Aye, I think so. Mr McGray told me he needed to sort out two or three wee things for ye. Bring some papers for ye to sign, I think.’
    ‘Fine. Perhaps I will meet him while I am there.’
    Saying no more, I jumped back into the cart, followed by the driver. ‘Take me to the City Chambers.’
    His eyes glowed at the promise of more of my money. ‘Aye, to High Street, master.’
    We headed south, towards Princes Street and the main railway terminus, which effectively cut Edinburgh in two: the opulent New Town and Calton Hill to the north, and the cluttered slums of the Old Town and the castle to the south.
    An offensive stench hit my nose as soon as we entered the bustling High Street. This looked more like the image of Edinburgh I’d had in mind: