Read Online Who Killed Charmian Karslake? by Annie Haynes - Free Book Online Page A

cheerfully:
    â€œTerrible affair that at the Abbey?”
    â€œTerrible!” the barmaid assented, with an uneasy glance at Stoddart.
    The newcomer looked at him too. “You have heard of it maybe, sir?”
    â€œI have,” Stoddart told him in a noncommittal tone. At present he was uncertain whether the reason for his presence at Hepton was known or not.
    Quite evidently this new-comer desired to be friendly. “Can’t understand a woman being shot in her own bedroom, and the murderer getting away with it. Can you, sir?” turning suddenly on the detective.
    Stoddard took a long pull at his drink before answering, then he said slowly:
    â€œHas he got away with it? Has it been proved that the murderer was ‘he’ at all?”
    The hand with which the barmaid was manipulating the big brass taps obviously trembled.
    The rubicund stranger paused in the very act of raising his glass and stared at the detective.
    â€œI say, sir, does that mean –”
    Stoddard smiled grimly. “It does not mean anything but a plain statement of fact. Miss Karslake is quite as likely to have been shot by a woman as by a man. By the way, I hear she was a stranger hereabouts.”
    â€œThat she was,” said the newcomer, who seemed to be constituting himself the spokesman of the assembly.
    â€œWe are not much for going up to London, we Hepton folks, and this was the first time she ever come here.”
    â€œWas it?” Stoddart questioned.
    â€œWhy, of course it was,” the burly one said positively. “Who has been getting at you?”
    â€œNobody.” Stoddart looked round. “But I thought I had heard of people named Karslake living in Hepton and she might have been a connexion.”
    â€œWhat be ’e a saying Karslakes. Course there is Karslakes in Hepton. ’Tain’t spelt like this woman’s though.”
    The interruption came from an old man cowering down in the chimney-corner seat and holding out his trembling old hands to the heat.
    Inspector Stoddart turned to him. Here was what he had been trying to find – one of the forefathers of the hamlet.
    â€œYou have known Karslakes in Hepton, sir,” he said, with a deferential air to which the old man was quite unaccustomed.
    â€œâ€™Ees, ’ees, sir,” he quavered. “So do many of these ’ere folks too. Only our Karslake, ’taint spelt like this ’ere pore thing’s. Karslake, I understand hers was – spelt with a K like. While ours was Carslake, spelt with a C. That’s what made folks not recognize the name. But if it were spelt different folks wouldn’t be unlike, would they?”
    â€œI suppose not”, the inspector said slowly. “But now these Carslakes spelt with a C, are there any of them left in Hepton?”
    â€œNow, no, sir.” The old man shook his head. “The last of ’em, Mrs. Lee Carslake, she lived at the Red House, a bit out o’ town that were. Everybody knowed her – a widow woman – her man had been a doctor over at Peysford Green, and when he died she come back to live at Hepton. Hepton born and bred she was. Father was Lawyer Herbert, buried at back o’ church he is. Ay, Hepton born and bred were Mrs. Lee Carslake.”
    â€œHad she any children?” the inspector inquired in as conversational a tone as he could manage.
    â€œAy! Chillen, yes. Of course she had.” The ancient scratched his head. “A matter of four or five boys and then the youngest, the purtiest little wench ever I see.”
    A little girl! The inspector felt that he was striking oil at last.
    â€œWhat was her name?” he asked abruptly.
    â€œHer name?” the old man repeated. “Well, now, it was Missy Carslake I called her, when I spoke to her, which wasn’t often. Her mother, I have heard her call her Angel or someut like that.”
    But other memories were waking.
    â€œMrs. Lee Carslake. The Red