right next to the empty teacups. One of them hates walnuts and the other cleaned his plate of every last crumb.”
“I see,” she murmured. “And from that you’ve deduced that he not only knew his killer, he trusted him enough to have tea with him?”
“Right,” Witherspoon said enthusiastically. “It’s obvious they spent some time talking and enjoying their tea before the killer pulled out the gun and shot him in the head. Besides, from the position of the body, it doesn’t look as if the victim knew what hit him. His posture wasn’t in the least defensive.” The inspector continued on, telling her every detail that he could remember from the crime scene. Talking to her helped him; now that he’d shared the horror of the hole in that poor man’s skull, he sincerely hoped he’d be spared nightmares.
“He was shot in the head, sir?” she asked. She already knew some of these particulars, but she couldn’t let on that she did. Mrs. Jeffries didn’t want the inspector to become suspicious at her lack of curiosity.
“Oh yes.” He took a sip from his cup. “At very close range too.”
“And no one heard the shot?” she pressed again. That was an important fact; she wanted to make sure it was absolutely correct.
“Not so far,” Witherspoon replied. “But we’ve still got lads doing house-to-house interviews. Something may turn up tomorrow. The whole situation is very odd. Except for the killer, Ashbury was apparently alone in the house. Quite deliberately so, it seems. The rest of the household was in the country and they didn’t come home till later this afternoon. According to the evidence and statementsmade by the victim’s family, Ashbury connived to get to the house early so that he could meet the person who probably killed him.”
“So you’re assuming he knew his killer and had actually invited him to tea, is that it, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries was beginning to get a tad confused herself.
“That’s the assumption we’re working on.” He sighed again and continued specifying the other details of the investigation. Carefully he gave her a moment-by-moment account. As he spoke he felt as though a huge weight were being lifted off his shoulders. By the time he’d finished his narrative, he felt positively cheerful.
“So you can see why I thought this might be a difficult one to solve,” he said. “After all, this is going to be one of those cases where the victim wasn’t well liked by anyone but doesn’t seem to have done anything bad enough to actually make someone want to shoot him. Yet someone did shoot the poor chap, and it’s my job to find out who. Most puzzling.”
“But you’re very good at solving puzzles, sir,” she reminded him. “I must say, his daughter’s behavior seemed rather odd.”
“Very odd, indeed,” he replied, then took another sip from his cup. “As was her husband’s behavior. About the only behavior that wasn’t odd was the servants’. They were all just frightened, of course. Except for the one that found the body; she didn’t seem to be scared. Mind you, I’m going to have another chat with the staff. It was so late by the time I got to them that everyone was tired.”
“Are you going to look for the missing footman?” Mrs. Jeffries sipped her tea.
Witherspoon considered this. “I’m not sure. The lad left hours before the killing happened. I don’t see what it could have to do with the murder, but then again, I’m notsure I quite believe it was a coincidence. But yes, I’ll try to find the boy. He may know something.”
Mrs. Jeffries nodded and went on to her next question. “Are you sure the gun you found under the tea trolley was the same one used to kill the victim?” She’d learned never to take anything for granted.
“We won’t know more until after the postmortem’s been done,” he replied. “The revolver had been recently fired.”
“Did anyone in the household recognize the gun?”
Witherspoon stared at her
“I see,” she murmured. “And from that you’ve deduced that he not only knew his killer, he trusted him enough to have tea with him?”
“Right,” Witherspoon said enthusiastically. “It’s obvious they spent some time talking and enjoying their tea before the killer pulled out the gun and shot him in the head. Besides, from the position of the body, it doesn’t look as if the victim knew what hit him. His posture wasn’t in the least defensive.” The inspector continued on, telling her every detail that he could remember from the crime scene. Talking to her helped him; now that he’d shared the horror of the hole in that poor man’s skull, he sincerely hoped he’d be spared nightmares.
“He was shot in the head, sir?” she asked. She already knew some of these particulars, but she couldn’t let on that she did. Mrs. Jeffries didn’t want the inspector to become suspicious at her lack of curiosity.
“Oh yes.” He took a sip from his cup. “At very close range too.”
“And no one heard the shot?” she pressed again. That was an important fact; she wanted to make sure it was absolutely correct.
“Not so far,” Witherspoon replied. “But we’ve still got lads doing house-to-house interviews. Something may turn up tomorrow. The whole situation is very odd. Except for the killer, Ashbury was apparently alone in the house. Quite deliberately so, it seems. The rest of the household was in the country and they didn’t come home till later this afternoon. According to the evidence and statementsmade by the victim’s family, Ashbury connived to get to the house early so that he could meet the person who probably killed him.”
“So you’re assuming he knew his killer and had actually invited him to tea, is that it, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries was beginning to get a tad confused herself.
“That’s the assumption we’re working on.” He sighed again and continued specifying the other details of the investigation. Carefully he gave her a moment-by-moment account. As he spoke he felt as though a huge weight were being lifted off his shoulders. By the time he’d finished his narrative, he felt positively cheerful.
“So you can see why I thought this might be a difficult one to solve,” he said. “After all, this is going to be one of those cases where the victim wasn’t well liked by anyone but doesn’t seem to have done anything bad enough to actually make someone want to shoot him. Yet someone did shoot the poor chap, and it’s my job to find out who. Most puzzling.”
“But you’re very good at solving puzzles, sir,” she reminded him. “I must say, his daughter’s behavior seemed rather odd.”
“Very odd, indeed,” he replied, then took another sip from his cup. “As was her husband’s behavior. About the only behavior that wasn’t odd was the servants’. They were all just frightened, of course. Except for the one that found the body; she didn’t seem to be scared. Mind you, I’m going to have another chat with the staff. It was so late by the time I got to them that everyone was tired.”
“Are you going to look for the missing footman?” Mrs. Jeffries sipped her tea.
Witherspoon considered this. “I’m not sure. The lad left hours before the killing happened. I don’t see what it could have to do with the murder, but then again, I’m notsure I quite believe it was a coincidence. But yes, I’ll try to find the boy. He may know something.”
Mrs. Jeffries nodded and went on to her next question. “Are you sure the gun you found under the tea trolley was the same one used to kill the victim?” She’d learned never to take anything for granted.
“We won’t know more until after the postmortem’s been done,” he replied. “The revolver had been recently fired.”
“Did anyone in the household recognize the gun?”
Witherspoon stared at her
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