Trouble Brewing by Dolores Gordon-Smith Page A

you
sure
?’
    â€˜Nearly sure.’
    â€˜I don’t believe it.’ Bill put the file back on the desk like a man in a daze. ‘I’ve never come across a blinking case like it. A man we didn’t know was missing is murdered, a missing man we assumed to be dead is suspected of murder, and now another man, who we all thought was safely dead years ago, strolls in, restored to life. Where the hell’s he been all this time?’
    â€˜That’s one of the questions I want to ask.’
    Bill looked at the clock and swore. ‘You’ll have to ask it by yourself. I’ve absolutely got to be in Court. But here’s a thought, Jack. How on earth will it affect that trust fund of the Jaggards?’
    â€˜That, old son, is another one of the other questions. But from what I can remember, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Gregory Jaggard got the wooden spoon. Can you pass me the file? I want to check the solicitor’s address.’
    â€˜I need scarcely tell you, Major Haldean, we are not accustomed to impart confidential details relating to our clients.’ John Gervase Stafford peered disapprovingly at Jack over the top of his half-moon spectacles. ‘However, in light of Sir Douglas Lynton’s telephone call, I feel that an exception may be made in this case. Although why we pay rates when the police force deems it necessary to call upon amateurs, I really do not know.’
    â€˜The officer in charge has to be at the Old Bailey this morning in connection with another case. As I’ve been retained by Mr Harold Hunt to investigate an associated matter, Sir Douglas thought it best for me to see you, rather than brief another officer previously unconnected with the affair,’ said Jack, blessing the foresight which had made him prompt Sir Douglas to ring Kyle, Stafford and Bruce.
    â€˜I see,’ said Mr Stafford, with the suspicion of a sniff. ‘As you have the confidence of both Mr Hunt and Scotland Yard, it would be churlish of me to object any further.’ He permitted himself a thin smile. ‘Please smoke if you so wish. I do not myself indulge in the habit. I consider tobacco to be the cause of most of the nervous agitation so sadly prevalent amongst your contemporaries.’
    Jack’s hand froze on the way to his pocket and he contented himself with bringing both elbows up to the desk and resting his chin on his interlocked hands. Mr Stafford leaned back in his chair and steepled his index fingers together under a prim mouth.
    â€˜Well, Major?’ he asked, after a short pause. ‘You do have some questions for me, I presume?’
    Having thus established the prickly Mr Stafford in the role of imparter, rather than withholder, of information, Jack relaxed with a smile. ‘Oh lots, sir. The first and most important is about this chap who turned up yesterday. He is Laurence Tyrell, is he?’
    â€˜Undoubtedly, sir. His wife, the former Miss Patricia Helston, currently known as Mrs Jaggard, identified him at once.’
    â€˜I see . . . Bit of a shock for everyone, what?’
    â€˜A most severe shock. Indeed, had I any inkling of the upset it would cause Mrs Jaggard I would have refrained from letting him confront her without warning.’ He hesitated. ‘To be honest, Major, I thought there must be some mistake, either deliberate or accidental. As far as I was aware, there was no doubt that Laurence Tyrell had been killed at the Third Ypres, and I harboured a suspicion – unworthy as it transpired – that the man claiming to be Mr Tyrell was an impostor. There is a considerable sum of money at stake and, in such cases, I regret to say that false claimants are not unknown. Rather than be a party, however innocent, to any deception, I thought it was best to take immediate action to establish his
bona fides.
’
    â€˜Why did he come to you, sir? Why not go straight to his wife?’
    â€˜He was not furnished