he recovered enough to speak, he said, “Poor Mary,” in a quavering voice, then Black drew the coverlet up over her. After a moment’s silence, he added, “We ought to call in a constable, Black.”
Black had used that moment to assess the situation. They were obviously dealing with ruthless people. Mr. Pattle was the last person to be seen with the hussy. Leaving her body in his house with no sign of forced entry could very well be an attempt to tie him to her murder. The whole mess could end up in his dish. Black had learned the advantage of having a heavyweight gent like Luten in your corner when dealing with the law. “Let’s have a word with Luten first,” he said.
Luten and murder went together in Coffen’s mind. “You’re right,” he said. “A few more minutes won’t matter to her now.” Then he frowned, and with his old interest in murder stirring him out of his lethargy, he looked around the room. “I don’t see her bonnet here. She had on a handsome bonnet when I left her last night. Looked like a flower garden. There’s no reticule here either. She had a blue reticule with her. I wonder now if it was a robbery. I know she had ten pounds in her bag.”
This told Black that Mr. Pattle had given her the money, but he didn’t chastise him. “We’ll talk it over with Luten,” he said, gently but firmly leading him out of the room, downstairs and out of the house. Neither of them said a word during the trip to Marine Parade.
Luten and Corinne, relaxed and smiling, were just returning from a drive in the countryside when they arrived at the mansion. It seemed a shame to interrupt their pleasant holiday. “Something’s come up,” Black said. Luten knew by their expressions it wasn’t something good, and with a sinking heart, he led them into the house.
“What’s the matter, Coffen?” Corinne asked. “You look as if you’d lost your best friend. I hope you haven’t lamed that team of grays.”
Coffen was never one for the long-winded speech. “It’s Mary,” he said. “She’s dead. Murdered, in my house.”
“Oh no!” Corinne put her arms around him to comfort him, and led him to the sofa.
As soon as they were all seated Luten turned to Black. “Tell us what happened,” he said, and Black told them everything, beginning with how and exactly where they had found her, that Mrs. Filmore was a local trollop called Mary Scraggs, that she had been at pains to keep Mr. Pattle busy while the house was searched last night, and that after talking to Flora he believed she and Henry had been searching the house for something, and not found it.
Luten listened carefully, then said, “The three of them working together then?”
“Or Mary trying to beat them to whatever’s hidden in the house.”
“How would Mary know about the hidden treasure? Did she have some connection to Bolger?”
“Not that we know of yet, but there’s no saying who a woman like that might know,” Black said. “I mean to have a word with Weir.”
“This seems to indicate that Flora and Henry killed her. Do you think she was killed there, or taken there after she was dead?”
“From the blood on the pillow, I’d say she was killed right there. Flora and Henry found her there searching, they got into an argument and ended up killing her.”
“Any idea how long she’d been dead?”
“Well, she was cold. The blood had dried.”
“Was the body rigid?”
“Looked like it,” Black said, frowning. “I didn’t touch it. She was dead, that’s all I can tell you for certain. She lives here in town but she didn’t go back to her own place last night. Mr. Pattle had the notion she was meeting someone.”
Coffen had been listening and spoke up. “She kept asking me what time it was last night on the beach. It could have been Flora and her fellow she was to meet. It’s possible they had joined forces. Flora knew about the treasure, might have made a bargain with Mary when she learned she had rented
Black had used that moment to assess the situation. They were obviously dealing with ruthless people. Mr. Pattle was the last person to be seen with the hussy. Leaving her body in his house with no sign of forced entry could very well be an attempt to tie him to her murder. The whole mess could end up in his dish. Black had learned the advantage of having a heavyweight gent like Luten in your corner when dealing with the law. “Let’s have a word with Luten first,” he said.
Luten and murder went together in Coffen’s mind. “You’re right,” he said. “A few more minutes won’t matter to her now.” Then he frowned, and with his old interest in murder stirring him out of his lethargy, he looked around the room. “I don’t see her bonnet here. She had on a handsome bonnet when I left her last night. Looked like a flower garden. There’s no reticule here either. She had a blue reticule with her. I wonder now if it was a robbery. I know she had ten pounds in her bag.”
This told Black that Mr. Pattle had given her the money, but he didn’t chastise him. “We’ll talk it over with Luten,” he said, gently but firmly leading him out of the room, downstairs and out of the house. Neither of them said a word during the trip to Marine Parade.
Luten and Corinne, relaxed and smiling, were just returning from a drive in the countryside when they arrived at the mansion. It seemed a shame to interrupt their pleasant holiday. “Something’s come up,” Black said. Luten knew by their expressions it wasn’t something good, and with a sinking heart, he led them into the house.
“What’s the matter, Coffen?” Corinne asked. “You look as if you’d lost your best friend. I hope you haven’t lamed that team of grays.”
Coffen was never one for the long-winded speech. “It’s Mary,” he said. “She’s dead. Murdered, in my house.”
“Oh no!” Corinne put her arms around him to comfort him, and led him to the sofa.
As soon as they were all seated Luten turned to Black. “Tell us what happened,” he said, and Black told them everything, beginning with how and exactly where they had found her, that Mrs. Filmore was a local trollop called Mary Scraggs, that she had been at pains to keep Mr. Pattle busy while the house was searched last night, and that after talking to Flora he believed she and Henry had been searching the house for something, and not found it.
Luten listened carefully, then said, “The three of them working together then?”
“Or Mary trying to beat them to whatever’s hidden in the house.”
“How would Mary know about the hidden treasure? Did she have some connection to Bolger?”
“Not that we know of yet, but there’s no saying who a woman like that might know,” Black said. “I mean to have a word with Weir.”
“This seems to indicate that Flora and Henry killed her. Do you think she was killed there, or taken there after she was dead?”
“From the blood on the pillow, I’d say she was killed right there. Flora and Henry found her there searching, they got into an argument and ended up killing her.”
“Any idea how long she’d been dead?”
“Well, she was cold. The blood had dried.”
“Was the body rigid?”
“Looked like it,” Black said, frowning. “I didn’t touch it. She was dead, that’s all I can tell you for certain. She lives here in town but she didn’t go back to her own place last night. Mr. Pattle had the notion she was meeting someone.”
Coffen had been listening and spoke up. “She kept asking me what time it was last night on the beach. It could have been Flora and her fellow she was to meet. It’s possible they had joined forces. Flora knew about the treasure, might have made a bargain with Mary when she learned she had rented
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