Strangeways to Oldham by Andrea Frazer Page A

I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ replied Hugo with confidence.
    â€˜Oh, I will, I will. And if I can’t get the information today, there are more ways than one to skin a cat.’
    â€˜You think this chap’s got a cat, do you?’ asked Hugo, not really paying attention any more.
    â€˜You’re dothering, Hugo. It’s just a figure of speech, as you jolly well know.’
    Young Mr Williams did the honours at the front door, welcoming them all back to Reggie’s old home, which seemed very odd, considering there was a ‘relative’ in attendance. Where had that fellow got to, wondered Lady Amanda? He ought, at least, to act the part, by welcoming the funeral guests. But he was nowhere to be seen, nor did he appear as they sipped glasses of warm, cheap punch, and nibbled on curling ham and cheese sandwiches.
    It wasn’t until Reggie’s next-door neighbours left, that he reappeared, but he moved to the far side of the room, and seemed to take an inordinate interest in a bookcase full of dusty leather-bound volumes, that probably had not been taken out of the shelves in years – nay, decades.
    â€˜What’s he up to?’ asked Hugo, sotto voce.
    â€˜Avoiding speaking to anyone, if you ask me. He’s pulling that old trick of trying to hide in plain view, like that purloined letter, or whatever it was, that Sherlock Holmes had to sort out.’
    â€˜He can’t hide for ever.’
    â€˜Probably waiting for us to go. What he doesn’t know is that I arranged with young Mr Williams for us to stay on and hear the will being read. That should spike his guns good and proper! Watch this!’
    And with this last imperative hissed at Hugo, she approached the rear view of the man who wasn’t who he said he was. ‘You’re dear old Reggie’s nephew, aren’t you?’ she asked, in the sort of piercing voice that simply cannot be ignored, and he had to turn towards his interrogator, no doubt flabbergasted at being addressed as such.
    His first reaction was one of alarm, and he simply blurted out, ‘Who told you that?’ Lady Amanda was on dangerous ground here, but it had not occurred to her that her manner of address might make him suspicious of her motives for being here.
    â€˜Can’t remember. I just remember hearing that you were,’ she assured him. ‘Had a great old time in the navy, didn’t he, your uncle, during the war?’
    â€˜Really enjoyed himself,’ came the answer, with great assurance, an utter and complete lie. He was handling himself well under fire.
    â€˜Well, nice to meet you,’ she said, ‘Although, I suppose our paths will never cross again after today,’ she finished, turning away, and thinking, until we bring you to justice, that is.
    Her hearing was still sharp, though, and, as she left his side, she heard him mutter, ‘I damned well hope they don’t!’
    Young Mr Williams had overheard this exchange, and frowned in puzzlement. He’d have to try to remember to have a word with young Lady Amanda sometime. The poor girl seemed to have got her wires crossed somehow.
    As the few remaining guests trickled away, young Mr Williams began to shuffle through the papers in his briefcase, and when there were only ‘the suspect’, Lady Amanda and Hugo left, he cleared his throat and begged for them to be seated. ‘I have here the last will and testament made by Mr Reginald Chamberlain Pagnell, and I propose to read it to you now.’
    â€˜Why are those two still here?’ asked the suspected murderer.
    â€˜Because we’re old family friends!’ boomed Lady Amanda, in her best Lady Bracknell voice. That quelled him, and the reading of the will proceeded.
    After a number of small bequests, it was announced that the residual legatee was a Mr Richard Churchill Myers, of number six Wilmington Crescent, Belchester, another old friend,