is whether or not the bank is sound?” Maitland asked. “I should think that Mr. Boyd’s death wouldn’t have any bearing on the soundness of the enterprise.”
“Don’t take me for a fool,” Luty said impatiently. “Of course the murder of a general partner is goin’ to have a bearin’ on the bank. My friend wants to know if the man’s death means there’s something bad goin’ on. You know, hanky-panky with money, double dealin’, that sort of thing. Have you heard anything?”
Maitland smiled. “Luty, tell your friend not to worry. There’s nothing that suggests that Boyd’s death has anything to do with any irregularities.”
“But how can you be so sure?” Luty asked. This wasn’t going as she had hoped. She’d forgotten how tight-lipped Maitland could be. She wasn’t getting anywhere.
“You can’t be certain, of course,” he said. “But Lawrence Boyd had many enemies, and most of them had absolutely nothing to do with his business.”
“Enemies,” she repeated. “What do you mean?” Now they were getting somewhere.
Maitland glanced at the closed door of his office and then leaned closer. “Don’t repeat this Luty, but the fellow wasn’t very well liked.”
Luty smiled eagerly and waited for more.
Maitland leaned back in his chair. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea?”
CHAPTER 4
“This is very nice but not very comfortable looking,” Barnes murmured as he turned and surveyed the room. “I’d not fancy anyone could fall asleep on that settee. Thing looks as stiff as a plank board and so do those chairs. As a matter of fact, there’s not a stick of furniture in here that looks like you could sit more than a few minutes without your backside going numb.”
Witherspoon and Barnes were at the Boyd household. As they stood in the drawing room, waiting to speak to the housekeeper, the constable was studying the furnishings like a general surveying a battlefield. The inspector followed his lead and took a closer look at the furniture.
The room was done in the Empire style. The settee and the matching chairs had ornately carved backboards of heavy, dark wood and were upholstered with stiff green-and-white brocade fabric. The width of the seat on both the settee and the chairs was very shallow.
“I can’t see Glover catching a catnap on anything in here,” Barnes muttered. “He’s too big and the seats on all the furniture too small.”
Witherspoon continued his survey of the room. There was a green brocade loveseat in front of the fireplace, but it was upholstered in the same stiff brocade as the settee and had a very low back; certainly that didn’t look inviting enough to sleep on. The other chairs in the room didn’t look any better. “I can’t imagine how Glover managed it. There’s nothing in the room that looks at all comfortable, but perhaps he was really tired.”
“Or perhaps he was lying,” Barnes said.
“Did you sense that?” Witherspoon looked at the constable. He respected Barnes opinion as he wasn’t given to rushing to judgment or assuming that everyone was guilty.
“I sensed he wasn’t being completely candid,” the constable replied. “But I can’t put my finger on what’s bothering me. Miss Clarke verified much of his story, and the clerk, Bingley, verified the note had arrived and that he’d been invited to luncheon.”
The door opened and a tall, brown-haired woman wearing a gray bombazine dress stepped into the room. “I’m Hannah Rothwell. I understand you wish to speak to me.”
“I’m Inspector Gerald Witherspoon and this is Constable Barnes,” he began. “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to speak with you yesterday. There are some questions we’d like to ask you.”
“I had to go to the shops and order provisions for the staff. The larders were empty. Even if there’s been a death in the household, people need to eat.” She stared at them for a moment. “Will this take long? I’ve a number of tasks to
“Don’t take me for a fool,” Luty said impatiently. “Of course the murder of a general partner is goin’ to have a bearin’ on the bank. My friend wants to know if the man’s death means there’s something bad goin’ on. You know, hanky-panky with money, double dealin’, that sort of thing. Have you heard anything?”
Maitland smiled. “Luty, tell your friend not to worry. There’s nothing that suggests that Boyd’s death has anything to do with any irregularities.”
“But how can you be so sure?” Luty asked. This wasn’t going as she had hoped. She’d forgotten how tight-lipped Maitland could be. She wasn’t getting anywhere.
“You can’t be certain, of course,” he said. “But Lawrence Boyd had many enemies, and most of them had absolutely nothing to do with his business.”
“Enemies,” she repeated. “What do you mean?” Now they were getting somewhere.
Maitland glanced at the closed door of his office and then leaned closer. “Don’t repeat this Luty, but the fellow wasn’t very well liked.”
Luty smiled eagerly and waited for more.
Maitland leaned back in his chair. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea?”
CHAPTER 4
“This is very nice but not very comfortable looking,” Barnes murmured as he turned and surveyed the room. “I’d not fancy anyone could fall asleep on that settee. Thing looks as stiff as a plank board and so do those chairs. As a matter of fact, there’s not a stick of furniture in here that looks like you could sit more than a few minutes without your backside going numb.”
Witherspoon and Barnes were at the Boyd household. As they stood in the drawing room, waiting to speak to the housekeeper, the constable was studying the furnishings like a general surveying a battlefield. The inspector followed his lead and took a closer look at the furniture.
The room was done in the Empire style. The settee and the matching chairs had ornately carved backboards of heavy, dark wood and were upholstered with stiff green-and-white brocade fabric. The width of the seat on both the settee and the chairs was very shallow.
“I can’t see Glover catching a catnap on anything in here,” Barnes muttered. “He’s too big and the seats on all the furniture too small.”
Witherspoon continued his survey of the room. There was a green brocade loveseat in front of the fireplace, but it was upholstered in the same stiff brocade as the settee and had a very low back; certainly that didn’t look inviting enough to sleep on. The other chairs in the room didn’t look any better. “I can’t imagine how Glover managed it. There’s nothing in the room that looks at all comfortable, but perhaps he was really tired.”
“Or perhaps he was lying,” Barnes said.
“Did you sense that?” Witherspoon looked at the constable. He respected Barnes opinion as he wasn’t given to rushing to judgment or assuming that everyone was guilty.
“I sensed he wasn’t being completely candid,” the constable replied. “But I can’t put my finger on what’s bothering me. Miss Clarke verified much of his story, and the clerk, Bingley, verified the note had arrived and that he’d been invited to luncheon.”
The door opened and a tall, brown-haired woman wearing a gray bombazine dress stepped into the room. “I’m Hannah Rothwell. I understand you wish to speak to me.”
“I’m Inspector Gerald Witherspoon and this is Constable Barnes,” he began. “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to speak with you yesterday. There are some questions we’d like to ask you.”
“I had to go to the shops and order provisions for the staff. The larders were empty. Even if there’s been a death in the household, people need to eat.” She stared at them for a moment. “Will this take long? I’ve a number of tasks to
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