anything except a little publicity. That won’t hurt Pete.’
‘No . . . I’ll come out,’ and she hung up.
Duke put the receiver back on its cradle with care. ‘I suppose she’s sore that you’ve got into a jam,’ he said to Peter. ‘Anyway that’s how she sounded.’
‘Well, it can’t be helped,’ Peter returned, not meeting his glance. ‘I suppose I’d better put through a call to the office.’
Duke picked up the telephone again. ‘Before you do, I’ll have
a talk with the cops. You’ve got to keep your head, Pete. They’ll
try and shake you, you know.’
‘That’ll be all right,’ Peter returned. He stood close to Duke
as he dialled police headquarters.
ELEVEN
A few hours later there was a council of war held in Sam Trench’s office.
Mainly out of courtesy to his age, Sam presided in the chair. He was a trifle bewildered. Clare sat near him, smoking and throwing worried glances at Peter who lounged in the window recess. Harry Duke paced slowly up and down in front of Sam’s desk, a dead cigar clenched in his white teeth.
‘Fairview’s waking up,’ Duke said pleasantly. ‘It’s a pity you don’t turn your paper into a daily. Something tells me that you’ll be needing a daily pretty soon.’
‘But what happened?’ Clare demanded, flicking ash on to the threadbare carpet. ‘What did the police say?’
‘Not much.’ Duke smiled over at Peter. ‘They didn’t like the set-up, but I reckon this is the first death by violence that’s happened in this burg and they were up the creek without a paddle.’
‘You mean they accepted the suicide theory?’
Duke shot her a sharp look. ‘Why not? It was suicide, wasn’t it?’
‘Now, look, Clare, don’t complicate things, will you?’ Peter broke in.
She looked from Duke to Peter and back again. ‘I can’t see Timson committing suicide,’ she said, flatly.
‘Look, the guy cut his throat with a razor. Maybe it wasn’t suicide, maybe he was just having a dry shave and his hand slipped. Whatever happened, he’s dead. That’s all you’ve got to worry about,’ Duke said, gently.
Sam scratched up his hair with both hands. ‘But why all the fuss?’ he demanded. ‘I could understand it if Timson was from Fairview, but he isn’t. He didn’t even die in Fairview, so what’s it got to do with us?’
‘He died in Peter’s bed, didn’t he?’ Clare said, quietly.
Sam scowled over at Peter. ‘Are you the young fella she’s been running around kind of regular with?’
‘Now please, Sam, that’s beside the point.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Peter put in quickly. ‘Why shouldn’t he know? He’s been pretty decent to you, hasn’t he? I want to marry Clare, Mr. Trench, only she just won’t make up her mind.’
Old Sam gave him a searching look and then fumbled for his pipe. ‘Well, if she isn’t sure, don’t you worry her, young man. The fella who’s lucky enough to get her, has got to be worth his salt.’
Duke glanced at Clare with a hard, amused little smile in his eyes. She was looking embarrassed and angry.
‘Will you shut up, Sam?’ she said, sharply.
Sam snorted. ‘What a way to talk to an old man,’ he complained. ‘Get a few grey hairs and what happens? Anybody’s football to kick around.’
‘The point is, why did Timson buy Pinder’s End?’ Duke said, bringing some point into the conversation. ‘Can anyone tell me that?’
Clare shook her head. ‘One of our staff was out there this morning. There’s nothing on the land except a few broken down bungalows. The tenants have been ordered to quit by the end of the week.’
Peter Suddenly said, ‘It’s no good, Harry, I’m going to tell them.’
Duke’s face stiffened for a second, then he shrugged. ‘If you feel like that about it,’ he said, and sat down, pushing his hat over his eyes.
Peter looked at the other two. ‘We won’t get anywhere unless you know the truth,’ he said. ‘Timson was murdered. We made it look
‘No . . . I’ll come out,’ and she hung up.
Duke put the receiver back on its cradle with care. ‘I suppose she’s sore that you’ve got into a jam,’ he said to Peter. ‘Anyway that’s how she sounded.’
‘Well, it can’t be helped,’ Peter returned, not meeting his glance. ‘I suppose I’d better put through a call to the office.’
Duke picked up the telephone again. ‘Before you do, I’ll have
a talk with the cops. You’ve got to keep your head, Pete. They’ll
try and shake you, you know.’
‘That’ll be all right,’ Peter returned. He stood close to Duke
as he dialled police headquarters.
ELEVEN
A few hours later there was a council of war held in Sam Trench’s office.
Mainly out of courtesy to his age, Sam presided in the chair. He was a trifle bewildered. Clare sat near him, smoking and throwing worried glances at Peter who lounged in the window recess. Harry Duke paced slowly up and down in front of Sam’s desk, a dead cigar clenched in his white teeth.
‘Fairview’s waking up,’ Duke said pleasantly. ‘It’s a pity you don’t turn your paper into a daily. Something tells me that you’ll be needing a daily pretty soon.’
‘But what happened?’ Clare demanded, flicking ash on to the threadbare carpet. ‘What did the police say?’
‘Not much.’ Duke smiled over at Peter. ‘They didn’t like the set-up, but I reckon this is the first death by violence that’s happened in this burg and they were up the creek without a paddle.’
‘You mean they accepted the suicide theory?’
Duke shot her a sharp look. ‘Why not? It was suicide, wasn’t it?’
‘Now, look, Clare, don’t complicate things, will you?’ Peter broke in.
She looked from Duke to Peter and back again. ‘I can’t see Timson committing suicide,’ she said, flatly.
‘Look, the guy cut his throat with a razor. Maybe it wasn’t suicide, maybe he was just having a dry shave and his hand slipped. Whatever happened, he’s dead. That’s all you’ve got to worry about,’ Duke said, gently.
Sam scratched up his hair with both hands. ‘But why all the fuss?’ he demanded. ‘I could understand it if Timson was from Fairview, but he isn’t. He didn’t even die in Fairview, so what’s it got to do with us?’
‘He died in Peter’s bed, didn’t he?’ Clare said, quietly.
Sam scowled over at Peter. ‘Are you the young fella she’s been running around kind of regular with?’
‘Now please, Sam, that’s beside the point.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Peter put in quickly. ‘Why shouldn’t he know? He’s been pretty decent to you, hasn’t he? I want to marry Clare, Mr. Trench, only she just won’t make up her mind.’
Old Sam gave him a searching look and then fumbled for his pipe. ‘Well, if she isn’t sure, don’t you worry her, young man. The fella who’s lucky enough to get her, has got to be worth his salt.’
Duke glanced at Clare with a hard, amused little smile in his eyes. She was looking embarrassed and angry.
‘Will you shut up, Sam?’ she said, sharply.
Sam snorted. ‘What a way to talk to an old man,’ he complained. ‘Get a few grey hairs and what happens? Anybody’s football to kick around.’
‘The point is, why did Timson buy Pinder’s End?’ Duke said, bringing some point into the conversation. ‘Can anyone tell me that?’
Clare shook her head. ‘One of our staff was out there this morning. There’s nothing on the land except a few broken down bungalows. The tenants have been ordered to quit by the end of the week.’
Peter Suddenly said, ‘It’s no good, Harry, I’m going to tell them.’
Duke’s face stiffened for a second, then he shrugged. ‘If you feel like that about it,’ he said, and sat down, pushing his hat over his eyes.
Peter looked at the other two. ‘We won’t get anywhere unless you know the truth,’ he said. ‘Timson was murdered. We made it look
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