A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer (25 page)

They’d come to the entrance of the post office. Wiggins opened the door for Helen. “Allow me,” he said, bowing gallantly. He really did like this girl. He hoped he could still see her once this case was over.

“Thank you.” She smiled happily and stepped inside. “I’ll only be a minute. It’s only Mr. Cameron’s telegram up to Yorkshire to see how his old uncle’s gettin’ on. Won’t take more than a few moments. Are you goin’ to wait fer me?”

“Right ’ere,” he replied. “I’ve time to walk ya back.”

Walking her back would give him a chance to see what, if anything, he could find out about Brian Cameron. He thought it awfully strange that the man knew a woman in his household was slipping out regularly and did nothing to stop it. It didn’t seem right, somehow.

Constable Barnes lived in a neat little house on Brook Street near the Hammersmith Bridge. Witherspoon knocked softly on the pristine white door, hoping the constable hadn’t already left for the station.

He wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing, but he didn’t honestly see that he had any choice. His inner voice had told him all along that this wasn’t a burglary. But on the other hand, he knew he was taking a great risk by disobeying a direct order to stay off the case. It was a risk he was prepared to take, but did he have the right to involve Constable Barnes? Barnes didn’t have a fortune and a big house. Barnes lived on his policeman’s salary. Furthermore, he had a wife to support. Witherspoon had just about talked himself into leaving when the door flew open.

“Goodness, Inspector,” Barnes said in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you.” He was in his shirtsleeves and braces.

“Oh, well,” Witherspoon muttered. “I didn’t really expect to be here.”

“Come in, sir.” He ushered the inspector inside and closed the door. “Would you like a cup of tea? The wife and I are just havin’ breakfast.”

Witherspoon opened his mouth to answer, to say that he was sorry to have bothered the good constable, that it was all a mistake, when before he could get a word out, a woman’s voice came from the room at the end of the hall. “Who is it, dear?”

“It’s Inspector Witherspoon, lovey,” Barnes replied, gesturing at the inspector to proceed him. “Come to have a cuppa with us.”

“Oh, dear,” Witherspoon murmured. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast.”

“Not to worry, sir.” Barnes chuckled. “You didn’t and we’ve plenty of tea.”

They entered a small, cheerful room with white walls adorned with shelves of knickknacks and china, a tiny fireplace and bright yellow-and-white lace curtains at the windows. An oak sideboard sat against the wall, and a round table, covered in a white lace tablecloth and set for breakfast, was square in the middle of the room. A woman with gray hair neatly tucked up in a bun and enormous blue eyes smiled up at him. “Do sit down, Inspector,” she said, patting the empty chair next to her. “I’m Adelaide Barnes.”

He bowed formally. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Barnes. Do forgive me for interrupting your meal.”

“We were just finishing, sir. Have a sit down and I’ll pour you some tea. Then you two can have
a nice natter about this murder you’ve been working on.”

She got up, went to the sideboard and took out a pink-and-white flowered china cup and matching saucer, then poured the tea.

Not knowing what else to do, the inspector sat down. “Er, your house is very nice, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Thank you, sir.” She put his tea down in front of him. “Would you like some toast?”

“No, thank you, I’ve eaten.”

“Good.” She smiled at her husband. “A man needs a decent breakfast. That’s what I always tell my husband. Sometimes he rushes off with nothing more in his stomach than a bite of bread.”

“Now Addie.” Barnes chuckled. “I’ve only done that a time or two. I like my food as well as the next man.”

“That’s a time or two too many,” she countered. “I know your work is important, but so is your health. Isn’t it, Inspector?”

“Uh, well, yes, of course.” Witherspoon smiled warily. “I expect it’s been my fault that Constable Barnes occasionally misses a meal. I do sometimes drag him off at the oddest times.”

Adelaide Barnes laughed. “And are you here to drag him off again this morning?”

“Er, yes,” the inspector admitted.

She turned to her husband, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “It looks like I’ve won this wager, now, doesn’t it? I told you he’d be round.”

Barnes laughed. “That you have, Addie, and come Saturday night, I’ll pay up fair and square.”

“You told your husband I’d be round?” the inspector
repeated. “But how could you possibly know that?”

“How could I not know it?” she said as she reached for her husband’s empty plate. “Alfred’s told me all about you.”

“All about me?” The inspector wasn’t certain whether he should be complimented or insulted.

“He’s only said nice things, sir,” she said. She stacked her own plate on top of her husband’s. “That’s how I knew you’d be round. I knew you’d not give up on this murder. I told him you’d be here by noon today. I was right, wasn’t I, Alfred?”

“Yes, dear.” Barnes sighed. “You’re always right.”

CHAPTER 10

Inspector Witherspoon struggled mightily with his conscience as they approached the Cameron house. Despite Constable Barnes’s assurances that he was quite willing to come along and do his bit in the interest of justice, the inspector couldn’t stop thinking about whether this action could damage Barnes.

They reached the front of the house. Witherspoon took a deep breath and turned to Barnes. “Constable, I think you ought to reconsider going in with me. I don’t wish to put you in an awkward position. Inspector Nivens may come along at any moment and I don’t want him getting you into trouble because we’ve disobeyed an order.”

“No, we haven’t, sir,” Barnes said calmly. “We was told that Nivens was now in charge of the case. But if I recall, sir, the Chief Inspector himself said we was welcome to help. Seems to me, sir, that’s what we’re doin’. Helpin’ a bit. That’s all. Come
along now, sir, you’ve a few questions to ask.” Not giving the inspector time to argue the point, he turned on his heel and marched to the front door.

Witherspoon had no choice but to follow.

Hatfield, the butler, let them in, sniffed in disapproval and escorted them into the drawing room. “If you’ll wait here,” he said, “I’ll see if Mr. Cameron is available to see you.” He left them standing awkwardly by the settee.

“Do you think we ought to sit down, sir?” Barnes asked. “It might look a sight better, make him think we’ve a perfect right to be back here if Inspector Nivens…” His voice trailed off as they heard footsteps approaching.

Kathryn Ellingsley, a book in her hand, stepped inside. She started nervously when she saw the two policemen. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here.” Her tone was flustered and she didn’t look well. There were dark circles under her eyes and her fair skin was pale.

“We’ve come to ask a few more questions, Miss Ellingsley,” Witherspoon smiled briefly. “We’re waiting for Mr. Cameron.”

“He’s in the study,” she said, edging back toward the door, “I’ll just get him for you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Witherspoon wondered what on earth was wrong with the girl. She looked like she wanted to bolt. “The butler’s gone for him. We’re sorry to interrupt him while he’s working…”

“He’s not working,” she said quickly, nervously. “Oh, do forgive me, Inspector. I’m not myself today. We’ve had more bad news. My uncle in Yorkshire has taken a turn for the worse.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” the inspector said sympathetically. “Especially at what must already be a most upsetting time for both you and Mr. Cameron.”

She seemed to relax. “Thank you, sir. You’re most kind. It’s difficult for Brian, of course, considering what’s happened recently, but he was never as close to Uncle Neville as I was. I lived with him before I came to London. To be perfectly frank, I’m very concerned, though Brian tells me I’m making too much of it. But Uncle Neville’s not a young man.”

“You wanted to see me, Inspector?” Brian Cameron strode into the room.

“Yes, I’m so sorry to intrude. Miss Ellingsley has just told me about your concern over your uncle.”

Brian smiled at Kathryn. “I’ve just sent a telegram, dear. They’ll let us know straight away if you need to go up to him.”

“But Brian, I really think I ought to go…”

“Nonsense,” Cameron said briskly. “Neville’s going to be all right. He’s a tough old bird. Besides, my dear, you really must have a bit of a rest before you go up to do sick-room duty. You’ve had quite a trying time lately. We all have.” He turned his attention to the inspector. “Thank you for your concern, Inspector, but I’m sure it’s a bit of a tempest in a teapot. As I’ve told Kathryn, our uncle is quite a sturdy fellow for his years. He’s only got a touch of bronchitis. Now, what can I do for you?”

“We’d like to have a word with one of your staff,” he replied. “The maid, Helen.”

Cameron nodded. “Kathryn, could you run
along and get the girl, please? Ask her to step in here.”

As soon as she’d gone, Cameron asked, “Would you mind telling us why you want to speak to her? I was under the impression that your Inspector Nivens was out there trying to find a burglar.”

Witherspoon was prepared for this question. He’d thought about it all morning. He only hoped his answer made sense to anyone other than himself. “You’re correct, sir. Inspector Nivens is doing just that. The constable and I are only helping to tidy a few things up. We have reason to believe that the maid may have heard someone that night but was too frightened to say anything.”

Cameron raised his eyebrows. “Why on earth would one of the servants be frightened?”

“She’s scared they’ll be back,” Barnes said calmly, before the inspector could say anything. “It’s a common enough reaction,” he continued. “A murder’s been done and young women get frightened. Sometimes they think it’s safest not to say too much. So don’t be hard on the girl, Mr. Cameron.”

“Brian, what on earth are these policemen doing here?” Fiona Hadleigh, her face set in an unflattering scowl, stormed into the room. “I thought we were done with all this. Honestly, are we to have no peace here at all? First Kathryn insists on talking to that wretched Mr. Drummond, though why she feels it’s necessary for a young woman her age to trouble him about her will, I’ll never know. Then you shut yourself up in your study all morning…”

“Don’t upset yourself, Fiona,” he interrupted,
reaching over and patting her on the arm. “Everything will be fine. There’s nothing wrong.”

“Then why are they here?” she pointed in the direction of Witherspoon and Barnes. “I’ll not have you tied up all day answering their stupid questions. You promised to accompany me to Regent Street this morning…”

“It’s all right, dear,” he soothed, giving Witherspoon an imploring look for understanding. “They’re only doing their job. They’ve just a couple of things to clear up with one of the servants and then they’ll be on their way.”

“I should hope so.” She sniffed. “We’ve enough bother here as it is without having policemen under foot all day. I do want your opinion on those curtains I’m thinking of getting for my drawing room.”

“Mrs. Hadleigh,” Barnes asked suddenly, “now that you’re here, there’s a question I’d like to ask you.”

“Again?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnes answered as he dug out his notebook. He flipped it open and leafed through the pages. The inspector wondered what he was up to.

“Ah, here it is,” the constable said. He glanced up at Mrs. Hadleigh. “In your statement, you said you went up to bed at eleven thirty. Is that correct?”

“As well as I can remember, it was about then.” She didn’t sound quite so haughty now. “Why?”

“And when you retired, did you read or write a letter perhaps?” he prodded.

Fiona’s brows drew together. “That’s most impertinent,
but if you must know, I got ready for bed.”

“I see,” Barnes said. He flipped a page over. “According to both Mr. Cameron’s and Mr. Ripton’s statements, they retired at little past eleven thirty.”

“What are you getting at, Constable?” Cameron interrupted.

Witherspoon wondered the same thing, but he trusted that Barnes knew what he was doing.