Case with No Conclusion by Leo Bruce Page B

nice little pub somewhere. Only, of course, he wouldn’t listen to that. He had to be hanging round here looking after Mr. Stewart for the rest of his days; and this is what’s come of it!”
    â€œStill,” said Beef consolingly, “perhaps you’ll be able to have a house yourself now.”
    â€œI’ve every intention,” said Mrs. Duncan, “as soon as this blows over.”
    â€œWould you mind telling me what your husband said that makes you so certain that he did commit suicide?”
    â€œWell, he
said
he was going to do himself in,” said Mrs. Duncan. “He told me so last night. It was after you’d been questioning him again. It was bad enough having to answer all the police asked him, without you coming along. He said, ‘I can’t face the court.’ It nearly drove him off his head having toattend the coroner’s. And then knowing that there would be Mr. Stewart’s trial as well, it was too much for him. Besides, he left a note.”
    â€œHe left a note, did he?”
    â€œYes, on the kitchen table. The police have took it now, though it was meant for me. Said he couldn’t stand no more of it; questioning and that; and was going to hang himself. And that’s what he did do. In my scullery too, and only wearing his nightshirt.”
    â€œWhat time would that have been?”
    â€œI couldn’t say, I’m sure. He came up to bed the same time as I did last night—round about ten. ’Course, we ought never to have stayed in this house after the murder. But we were told we should be wanted to give evidence, so what could we do? I think it turned poor Duncan’s head, being in and out of the library where they found the corpse. Anyway, there he was in the morning.”
    â€œYou both slept in the same room, then?” queried Beef.
    â€œYes,” admitted Mrs. Duncan shortly.
    â€œSeparate beds?” Beef suggested.
    â€œIf you must go into such details, yes,” he was told.
    â€œBut you never heard him get up and go out?”
    â€œNo. But there’d be nothing unusual in that. He was very restless at night, very restless.”
    Beefs voice grew sepulchral. “And where is he now?” he asked the cook.
    She seemed the least embarrassed person. “Inthe scullery with a sheet over him. The police have seen to him.”
    Beef recrossed his legs. “Now I want to ask you a few questions about the past,” he said.
    Mrs. Duncan became guarded in her manner. “There’s not much I can tell you,” she assured him.
    â€œFor instance, what regular visitors was there at the house?”
    â€œVery few, really,” she said. “There was the Reverend Smyke used to come round when he wanted a subscription to something, and Doctor Benson, and of course Mr. Peter, and really I can’t remember anyone else who came more than once.”
    â€œWhat about when old Mr. Ferrers was alive?”
    â€œIt was just the same, very few strangers. There was his lawyer, a Mr. Nicholson, and another gentleman like a lawyer that was often in and out, but I think he came to see Mr. Stewart.”
    â€œWhat was his name?” asked Beef, busy with his notebook.
    â€œOrpen, I think it was,” returned the cook as though she grudged the information.
    â€œDo you remember him?” asked Beef, turning to Peter Ferrers.
    â€œYes, I remember him quite well. I believe his real name was Oppenstein. I never knew his business.”
    â€œHas he been lately?” Beef asked Mrs. Duncan.
    â€œI think he came once just after old Mr. Ferrers died, but I’ve never seen him since.”
    â€œHm. Well, I think that’s all I want to know fromyou, Mrs. Duncan. Thank you very much. Oh—by the way…”
    She turned back from the doorway which she had already reached. “What is it now?” she asked.
    â€œWho ran the housekeeping accounts?”
    As far as it was possible