Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery Benedict Brown (good books to read in english .TXT) 📖

He took a breath in and held it for a moment before continuing his story. “Back in those days, the police didn’t always do things by the strict letter of the law. My colleagues tried everything they could to frame the fellow, but Tommy was too clever. For five years of my career, I thought of little else but sending him to the hangman’s noose, when all I needed was to bide my time.”

He came to a halt, so I urged him on. “And how did you catch him in the end?”

“He made a mistake of course. I’d had a man in his gang for a few months, he managed to get wind of an attack they were planning on another gang and we got there just in time to arrest everyone involved.”

I allowed his story to play out in my head but couldn’t understand its purpose. “Grandfather, why are you telling me this?”

He looked straight at me, his sombre expression temporarily lightening. “Isn’t it obvious?”

This was a ridiculous question to put to me as I rarely find anything obvious, even if it’s inches from my face and covered in flashing lightbulbs.

When I failed to reply, he continued regardless. “Maitland was supposed to have died last night, so what happened this morning couldn’t have been planned ahead of time. The killer is bound to have slipped up somewhere, but I can’t see it. I can’t even tell you for certain why he would have murdered Belinda and Maitland but not Fellowes.”

This surprised me somewhat. “So you’re sure that Fellowes was poisoned?”

“Yes, of course he was. It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise, and I do not believe in coincidences. I can’t say exactly what he ate, as there are too many toxic plants in the gardens alone, but it wasn’t in Cook’s dinner last night that, or else the rest of the staff would have come down with it too.”

“Couldn’t it have been from the champagne? Mightn’t he have had a snifter to try for himself?”

Grandfather shook his head witheringly. “I’ve already told you, boy. Cyanide would have killed him outright. Whatever Fellowes consumed must have been far weaker or he’d be lying in the mortuary with Belinda and Maitland. The question is whether he was ever meant to die in the first place. Had the killer run out of cyanide and made do with whatever substance was at hand? Or did he only wish to keep our faithful butler quiet for a while and not actually hurt him?”

I considered his questions. “We spoke to Fellowes last night and he swore he had nothing of note to report. We know he went outside with Cora but surely, if either of them had seen anything out of the ordinary, they would have told us.”

Somewhat petulantly I thought, Grandfather kicked one of the leather-bound books on the floor. “You’re probably right. But I know there’s something I’m missing in all of this and I should be able to see it.”

Delilah walked over to comfort her master by plumping herself down on his feet and I remembered what I’d discovered in the woods. “Grandfather, I went for a walk and found this.”

He stared back blankly at the wax paper I’d produced. “Yes, very nice.”

“It’s from the butcher’s,” I explained, but he still didn’t understand why I was bringing him a piece of litter. “I think that Marmaduke Adelaide has been stealing from the larder and camping out in the woods. If he wasn’t here to kill Maitland, it could explain why he was in the house when Cora saw him.”

“Or it could be from a poacher’s lunch. They’re not known for their good habits and we get plenty of them on the estate.” He bit his lip and looked once more at my grand discovery. I think he must have relented a little as, when he spoke again, it was in a gentler tone. “You may be on to something though. And if you’re right, and young Adelaide is still around, we’ll find him before long.”

I thought I’d try to make myself useful and went to pile up the abandoned books that Delilah wasn’t using as a nest. “Do you think he could be involved after all?”

He brought his hands forward to form a pyramid. “It’s possible, Christopher. We still can’t rule anyone out.”

“Except poor Uncle Maitland,” I replied, with the books now stacked beside his chair.

Though my Latin is not the best, I could see that the titles were all related to chemistry. From what I could tell, they were largely on poisons and toxic substances. I had to hope that they’d found their way to our library because of my grandfather’s profession, rather than any nefarious motivation my ancestors had possessed.

“That’s right.” He paused and his face fell once more. “If only we knew what he saw before I made my toast.”

I thought for a moment about what my uncle had told us. “He said he saw Fellowes leaving the petit salon, but we know why that was. Fellowes had been to see his secret girlfriend. It’s another red herring.”

“That was only the beginning. What if Maitland had more to say? I think that my son witnessed something he shouldn’t have, which is why the killer took a risk to keep him quiet.” Grandfather delivered this last sentence with such gravity that it was clear he considered it to be the linchpin to the whole case.

“So what do we do now?”

He shuffled his feet under Delilah and took his time to reply. “Now, I sit here and think for as long as it takes for the solution to come to me.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

I had some thinking of my own to do, so I retired to my room without another word to my family. In the seclusion of my chilly quarters, I took out my book of ornithological observations and wrote, “Possible nightingale, definite sparrow.” I like to keep a record of my sightings and it’s really quite fascinating to go