A Murder is Arranged by Basil Thomson Page B

housekeeper the choice of the viands.
    Pauline Coulon allowed a dinner wagon to be wheeled in and helped herself to the various good things without showing the least concern because three pairs of eyes were fixed upon her; moreover, she plied a good knife and fork while chattering away about her impressions of the first Christmas she had ever passed in England.
    â€œYour Christmas,” she said, “I know is the fête for children but at Waterloo one sees little of that; everyone seems to be hurrying homeward as fast as they can and most of them are laden with parcels.”
    It was Huskisson who first introduced the subject that was uppermost in all their minds, although they had avoided it until now.
    â€œMademoiselle Coulon was, of course, very much upset at the news I had to break to her.”
    â€œAh yes!” She threw out her hands with a little gesture of horror. “But surely Margaret had no enemies in England. You have, of course, very clever police at your Scotland Yard. They are working on the case—yes?”
    â€œOh yes; their best men are working on the case,” said Forge. “I should not be surprised if they called to see you as soon as they hear that you are in England and that you knew Margaret Gask well.”
    â€œBut I know of no enemies that she had.”
    â€œPerhaps it was no enemy,” suggested Oborn; “it may have been a friend.”
    â€œFriends do not kill defenceless women.” Then she added thoughtfully: “But a jealous lover might.”
    â€œHe might,” said Oborn with meaning.
    â€œYou are forgetting the fur coat,” said Forge, to whom this innuendo was distasteful.
    â€œFur coat?” she asked. “What has a fur coat to do with it?”
    â€œMerely that it disappeared on the night of the murder.”
    â€œShe was wearing it, you mean?”
    â€œWe think she must have been, as it was such a cold night.”
    â€œThen the motive was robbery?”
    â€œThe whole mystery is why was Margaret in the lane at that time of night,” said Forge. “There could have been nothing to take her out except to meet someone.”
    â€œBut what contradiction,” she said with a little moue. “If she had a rendezvous it must have been with a lover and yet a lover, even if he killed in jealous rage, would not steal a coat.”
    â€œThat’s what puzzles us all,” said Oborn. “I think perhaps if you had been here all the time your woman’s intuition might have gone a long way towards solving the mystery.”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. “Of course Margaret was very beautiful and a beautiful woman never lacks lovers.” She passed her hand over her forehead and turned to Mr Forge. “You will forgive me but I have been travelling for so many hours and this news has upset me…”
    â€œYou would like to go to your room,” said her host. “My housekeeper will show you the way and see that you have everything you require.”
    â€œThank you: that will be very nice.”

Chapter Seven
    D ALLAS’ NEXT REPORT , received after Boxing Day, read as follows:
    â€œIn connection with what has come to be known as the ‘murder in Crooked Lane’ I have to attach the medical report of Dr Smithers on the death of Hyam Fredman. It will be remembered that at the inquest held yesterday the jury returned a verdict of ‘murder by some person or persons unknown.’”
    Richardson turned to the medical report and noted that it was in the handwriting of Dr Smithers himself. He touched his bell; a clerk answered it.
    â€œAh! You’re the very man for this job,” said Richardson. “You can decipher the handwriting of doctors who ought to be dropped into a canal with a stone round their necks as a warning to the profession to write legibly.”
    The clerk looked at the document with knitted brow. “Very good, sir,” he said with