Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict Emily Brightwell (great books for teens TXT) 📖

inside the building.

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Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

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“Good day, Constable Barnes,” the constable on duty

behind front counter said.

“Morning,” he replied. “Miserable day out, isn’t it?

Looks like it’s going to rain soon.” Barnes didn’t know the

constable’s name, but he wasn’t surprised the fellow knew

him. He’d become quite well known since he’d been working with the inspector. Usually, he enjoyed the extra bit of attention, but today he hoped he didn’t run into too many

people who recognized him.

“Are you here to meet Inspector Witherspoon?” the constable asked. “He’s not come past me, and I’ve been on duty for an hour.”

“Oh no, I’m just here to have a gander at one of your

files.” He hurried toward the staircase.

“You’ll want the records room, then,” the constable continued. “Good luck finding it. Since we’ve moved into this building they can’t find a ruddy thing. It wouldn’t surprise

me in the least if a whole room went missing.”

Barnes laughed and kept on going. He climbed the stairs

to the first floor but didn’t stop there. The records room

was all the way at the top of the building. Whether the file

was properly stored there or not remained to be seen, but he

had to start somewhere. He passed several constables but

none that knew him personally. By the time he reached the

top floor, he had to stop on the landing to catch his breath. He

was huffing and puffing like a train engine. Then he started

down the hallway toward a large room at the very end.

Barnes reached the doorway, grasped the knob, and took

a quick look behind him to make sure no one was watching.

But the corridor was empty, so he stepped inside.

Rows of wooden cabinets were lined up across the room

like soldiers standing at attention. Along the walls shelves

were filled with boxes, files, stacks of paper, and metal lock

boxes. Opposite the door was a tall, narrow window that let

in the gray morning light. He crossed the green linoleum

floor and looked out at the view. For a moment, he was almost dizzy; he wasn’t used to being up so high. From this 80

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height, the boats and barges plying the Thames seemed almost like toys. But he didn’t have time to stand here gawking; he had to find that file. Barnes turned and surveyed the room, wondering where on earth he ought to start. Just then

the door opened and Inspector Witherspoon stuck his head

into the room.

Barnes gaped at him. “Good morning, sir.” He’d no idea

what the inspector was doing here. Blast, that stupid constable on the front desk must have mentioned he’d come up here.

“Hello, Barnes,” Witherspoon said, stepping into the

room. “The duty constable said you’d come up here.”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Barnes silently vowed to stop being so

chatty.

Witherspoon stared at him expectantly. “I thought we

were meeting at Ladbrook Grove.”

Barnes cleared his throat. “Well, sir, as I was coming in

this morning, it suddenly struck me that there was something about that Lamotte case we’re working on that seems awfully similiar to some other cases I’ve heard about. So I

thought I’d come along and have a quick look at the files

before I met up with you. Was there any particular reason

you came here today?”

Witherspoon stared at him, his expression incredulous.

Barnes was sure he was doomed. But then the inspector

said, “Why, that’s remarkable; I had the exact same thought.

That’s what brought me here today. Gracious, Constable,

we’ve worked together so long now that we’re even starting

to think in the same manner as one another.”

Barnes hid his relief behind a weak smile.

“I thought I’d have a look at the Compton case file.”

Witherspoon headed for a shelf at the far end of the room.

“Is that the file you were after?”

“Yes, sir, that’s the one.”

“The items taken from the Compton premises were very

much like the things stolen from the Lamotte offices.”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

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“That’s what I thought, sir,” Barnes replied. They were

currently working on a case of theft. Several typewriters had

been stolen from the offices of Lamotte and Lamotte, Insurance Brokers. Barnes wasn’t in the least interested in the Compton case, yet he had to tread carefully. It wouldn’t do

to arouse the inspector’s suspicions about what he was really

doing here today. “There were a couple of typewriters stolen

from the Compton offices. I wanted to see if they were ever

recovered or if the name of the fence was in the file.”

“They were recovered,” Witherspoon said brightly. “Gracious, Barnes, we’re onto something here, I can feel it.

Come along, then. Let’s have a good look.”

“Wouldn’t it be in one of the cabinets, sir?” Barnes asked.

“The most recent files are always stored on the shelves,”

Witherspoon replied. “The Compton case was less than six

months ago, so I’ll warrant that we’ll find the file just about

here.” He pulled down a file box, flipped it open, and then

grinned triumphantly. “Ah, here it is.”

“That was fast, sir,” Barnes said.

Witherspoon laughed. “You forget, I used to run the records room. I rather enjoyed it, and I must admit, I was actually quite good at it.”

“I’m sure you were, sir, but you’re better at solving murders.” Barnes didn’t want his inspector getting any silly ideas about running back to the records room.

“He’s not the only one who can solve murders around

here.” Nigel Nivens, who’d entered the room so silently neither man had heard the door open, stepped farther into the room. “What are you two doing here? You’d better not be

looking for the Odell file; you’ll not find it. It’s still on my

desk.”

“Gracious, Inspector Nivens, why would you think we

were interested in that case?” Witherspoon held up the

file he’d just taken out of the box. “This is the Compton

case file. We’re not the least concerned with your case; it’s

closed.”

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Emily Brightwell

“And it had better stay that way,” Nivens snapped. “I’m

warning you, Witherspoon, keep your nose out of the Mu-

ran case. I got Tommy Odell dead to rights and he’s going

to hang.”

Witherspoon, ever the gentleman, tried again. “I assure

you, I’m not in the least interested in Tommy Odell.”

“Perhaps we should be, sir,” Barnes said softly. He

glanced at Nivens and noted, with some satisfaction, that

his face was turning red. “It seems to