lax and cold.
Anthony waked to the sound of his opening door. Georgina stood there on the threshold calling him.
“Anthony—Anthony—Anthony!”
He was awake and out of bed at the third repetition.
“Georgina! What is it?”
“Jonathan—something has happened—I think he’s dead!”
He came over, put on the light, flung on a dressing-gown, thrust his feet into slippers, and came back along the passage with her and down the stairs. They came into the study, and the curtains blew out again to meet them. They had not spoken. Now he said,
“Who opened that glass door?”
“I don’t know.”
“What made you come down?”
“I heard it bang.”
It was just quick question and answer. And then he was over at the writing-table, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there, seeing the bullet hole in the dinner-jacket, and turning round to say,
“He’s gone! We shall have to ring up the police.”
Georgina had remained beside the door. She had shut it behind her. She went back a step now and leaned against it. Her pale thick hair hung curling upon her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and dark, and her face was white. There was no colour in it at all. Her blue dressing-gown hung down open over a white night-dress. Her bare feet were in slippers trimmed with fur. She had so fixed, so rigid a look that Anthony felt a stab of apprehension. He said harshly,
“For God’s sake wake up! I tell you we must ring up the Lenton police!”
She said, “A doctor—”
“They’ll bring one. But it’s no use—he’s gone. They won’t want anything to be touched. You haven’t touched anything?”
Georgina opened her stiff lips and said,
“Only the revolver—”
Chapter XIII
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR FRANK ABBOTT on his way to Lenton with Sergeant Hubbard emerged from a prolonged silence to remark that he supposed it was too much to expect the locals to warn you when they were going to have a murder and call in the Yard, but it would be a great deal more convenient if they did.
“The trail is always cold before we get on to it. We are never called in until everyone has had time to go over what he is going to say and make sure he isn’t going to say too much. Whereas if we could be served with a nice neat notice something on the lines of ‘A murder has been arranged and will take place at twelve p.m. on the thirteenth prox,’ we should make a point of being on the spot to note any criminal reactions which might be knocking about.”
Sergeant Hubbard allowed himself to laugh. His immediate aim in life was to model himself upon his companion down to the last sock, handkerchief or what-have-you. Since he was dark and stocky, the result of his efforts was merely to try a temper not inclined to suffer fools gladly. Being a cheerful and care-free young man, he continued upon his imitative way without the least suspicion that he was making a nuisance of himself. It was a fine morning, he was a very good driver, and he was being allowed to drive, so all he did was to laugh and say that it might be a pity but he didn’t see how it could be helped.
They drew up in front of Lenton police station at no later than eleven o’clock, and after a brief interview with the Superintendent proceeded to Field End, where Inspector Smith was in charge. Frank Abbott, having worked with him before in . what came to be known as the Eternity Ring case, was prepared to find that all preliminary measures had been meticulously carried out. Smith was, in fact, a most zealous and conscientious officer. It is of course possible to have too much zeal. It is also possible to have too much imagination. Inspector Smith’s most severe critic would not have accused him of this. He was a goodlooking, well set-up man with a fresh complexion and a wooden cast of countenance which was sometimes a useful asset. He took Frank and Sergeant Hubbard into the study and described the scene as he had found it on his arrival in the small hours of the morning.
“The
Anthony waked to the sound of his opening door. Georgina stood there on the threshold calling him.
“Anthony—Anthony—Anthony!”
He was awake and out of bed at the third repetition.
“Georgina! What is it?”
“Jonathan—something has happened—I think he’s dead!”
He came over, put on the light, flung on a dressing-gown, thrust his feet into slippers, and came back along the passage with her and down the stairs. They came into the study, and the curtains blew out again to meet them. They had not spoken. Now he said,
“Who opened that glass door?”
“I don’t know.”
“What made you come down?”
“I heard it bang.”
It was just quick question and answer. And then he was over at the writing-table, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there, seeing the bullet hole in the dinner-jacket, and turning round to say,
“He’s gone! We shall have to ring up the police.”
Georgina had remained beside the door. She had shut it behind her. She went back a step now and leaned against it. Her pale thick hair hung curling upon her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and dark, and her face was white. There was no colour in it at all. Her blue dressing-gown hung down open over a white night-dress. Her bare feet were in slippers trimmed with fur. She had so fixed, so rigid a look that Anthony felt a stab of apprehension. He said harshly,
“For God’s sake wake up! I tell you we must ring up the Lenton police!”
She said, “A doctor—”
“They’ll bring one. But it’s no use—he’s gone. They won’t want anything to be touched. You haven’t touched anything?”
Georgina opened her stiff lips and said,
“Only the revolver—”
Chapter XIII
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR FRANK ABBOTT on his way to Lenton with Sergeant Hubbard emerged from a prolonged silence to remark that he supposed it was too much to expect the locals to warn you when they were going to have a murder and call in the Yard, but it would be a great deal more convenient if they did.
“The trail is always cold before we get on to it. We are never called in until everyone has had time to go over what he is going to say and make sure he isn’t going to say too much. Whereas if we could be served with a nice neat notice something on the lines of ‘A murder has been arranged and will take place at twelve p.m. on the thirteenth prox,’ we should make a point of being on the spot to note any criminal reactions which might be knocking about.”
Sergeant Hubbard allowed himself to laugh. His immediate aim in life was to model himself upon his companion down to the last sock, handkerchief or what-have-you. Since he was dark and stocky, the result of his efforts was merely to try a temper not inclined to suffer fools gladly. Being a cheerful and care-free young man, he continued upon his imitative way without the least suspicion that he was making a nuisance of himself. It was a fine morning, he was a very good driver, and he was being allowed to drive, so all he did was to laugh and say that it might be a pity but he didn’t see how it could be helped.
They drew up in front of Lenton police station at no later than eleven o’clock, and after a brief interview with the Superintendent proceeded to Field End, where Inspector Smith was in charge. Frank Abbott, having worked with him before in . what came to be known as the Eternity Ring case, was prepared to find that all preliminary measures had been meticulously carried out. Smith was, in fact, a most zealous and conscientious officer. It is of course possible to have too much zeal. It is also possible to have too much imagination. Inspector Smith’s most severe critic would not have accused him of this. He was a goodlooking, well set-up man with a fresh complexion and a wooden cast of countenance which was sometimes a useful asset. He took Frank and Sergeant Hubbard into the study and described the scene as he had found it on his arrival in the small hours of the morning.
“The
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