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fast death. Mrs. Turner had worked in a field hospital in India, and I’m sure she passed some of her knowledge on to her daughter.”
“Why’d you send me along to talk to Charlotte about
the food?” Wiggins asked.
“Because I wasn’t sure if she’d use a gun or poison,”
Mrs. Jeffries said. “Actually, I was fairly sure it would be
the gun—both women are good shots.”
“Not quite good enough,” Smythe muttered.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until the inspector gets
home to find out the rest,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “And I imagine he’ll be quite late today.”
But oddly enough, he was home before dark and surprised them all by coming directly down to the kitchen.
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Fred, who’d reclaimed his favorite spot on the rug near the
stove, leapt up and bounced eagerly around the kitchen.
Samson, who’d been sitting on the footstool, jumped down
and ran off to the safety of the cook’s room.
Witherspoon stared at the departing cat. “Why is Samson running away?”
“It’s not you, sir.” Wiggins rose to his feet. “It’s Fred.
Samson gets a bit nervous whenever Fred starts his bouncing about the kitchen.”
“Sit down, lad.” Witherspoon waved him back to his
chair and slipped into the empty spot next to Mrs. Jeffries.
“I could do with a cup of tea. It’s been a rather extraordinary day.”
“Would you share your news with us, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries
motioned for Betsy to fetch another cup. “You know how
we love hearing about your cases.”
“That’s why I’ve come down,” he exclaimed. “Lucy
Turner has confessed to the murder of Caroline Muran.
Mind you, I don’t think the woman’s sane. She seemed to
think it quite all right to murder someone if they were in the
way of her getting what she wanted. While we were taking
her statement she kept saying over and over that the Merrimans were the cause of all her troubles. She tried to murder Russell Merriman, but she only wounded him in the chest.”
“Gracious, sir.” Mrs. Jeffries handed him his cup. “Does
that mean that Tommy Odell will be released?”
“Indeed it does,” he said. “We’ve sent word to the Home
Office. As soon as the formalities have been attended to,
he’ll be released.” He took a quick sip of tea. “I must say,
we had a bit of luck with this one. It’s amazing how often I
happen to be at the right place at the right time.”
“Whatever do you mean, sir?” Betsy asked.
Witherspoon told them what had happened that afternoon. They listened closely, taking care not to ask too many questions or do anything that would give the game away. “I
must say, it was very fortunate that Constable Barnes’ informant saw Miss Turner leave the house that night.”
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“Otherwise, you’d not have been anywhere near the
Turner house at just the right moment and you wouldn’t
have heard the gunshot,” Wiggins said. “And you’d not
have solved this one so quickly. Good thing you were there,
sir.”
“Yes, quite right.” Witherspoon finished his tea and got
to his feet. “I believe I’ll take Fred for a walk.”
“Why don’t you take him over to Lady Cannonberry’s,”
Mrs. Jeffries suggested. “I’m sure she’d love to hear your
good news, sir.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” Witherspoon agreed. “Come
along, Fred. Let’s go walkies.”
As soon as they were gone, Smythe got up. “I’ve got to
see Blimpey. Now that I know for certain they’re lettin’
Tommy out, I can tell him the good news.”
“We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” Betsy grabbed his hand and
they disappeared down the hall.
“I’d best get that roast out of the oven,” Mrs. Goodge
said as she got up. “The inspector will want his dinner
when he gets back.”
“I expect he’ll eat with Lady Cannonberry,” Mrs. Jeffries muttered. “I think I’ll go up to my room for a rest.”
“I’ll send Betsy up when we’re ready for supper,” Mrs.
Goodge said.
Mrs. Jeffries went upstairs and into her room. She sat
down in her chair by the window and stared out into the twilight. She was glad an innocent man wasn’t going to hang, but something was bothering her.
She hadn’t known until the men had returned which of
the three suspects was the killer. Perhaps that was what was
making her so uneasy. She closed her eyes and told herself
that no one was perfect, that people did the best they could.
And what did it matter? The killer had been caught. So
what was bothering her?
Inspector Nivens.
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Her eyes flew open. That was it. He’d always been a
thorn in their sides, but now that he was going to have his
conviction rescinded, it would be much, much worse. He
would be out to get Witherspoon.
He’d watch their inspector’s every move, and she suspected he’d have his minions watch the household. But what could be done about it?
Mrs. Jeffries sighed heavily. She’d worry about Nivens
on their next case. For right now, she simply needed a nap.
Smythe was grinning from ear to ear when he walked into
the Dirty Duck. Blimpey waved him over. “I take it you’ve
got good news for me.”
“Don’t be daft, man. Who do you think you’re foolin’.”
He sat down. “You already know. I’ve just come along to
confirm it and make it official like. Your boy ought to be
gettin’ out in a few days.”
Blimpey laughed. “It’s good news, Smythe. Good news
indeed. I knew I could count on you lot.” He waved at the
barmaid.
“I can’t stay long,” Smythe protested.
“You can stay long enough to celebrate with me,”
Blimpey replied. “And to tell me what you lot want.”
“We’re not wantin’ anythin’.” Smythe smiled at the
woman who brought them their pints. “We don’t do this for
money,” he continued when she’d gone out of earshot.
“I know that, but there’s got to be somethin’ I can do fer
you,” Blimpey protested.
“You can tell me why you wanted Odell out so badly,”
Smythe said bluntly. “You’re a decent sort, Blimpey, but
you’re not a bleedin’ heart.”
Blimpey’s smile faded and he looked down at his beer.
“If I tell ya, will ya promise it’ll go no further? I’d not like
to embarrass my Nell or Tommy’s mum.”
“You’ve my word.”
“He’s mine,” Blimpey replied softly. “But I didn’t know
it until he was arrested. His mum got out of her sickbed
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