Murder of a Snob by Roy Vickers Page A

couldn’t. There were reasons.” Already she had grasped that it was useless talking to Crisp like that. “The fact is, I had some diamonds which my mother left me. And I asked Lord Watlington, and he said he’d very kindly sell them for me. And so he couldn’t give me the money at our last meeting because he didn’t know how much they’d fetch. And I didn’t want it sent by post, because Arthur opens everything, and he’s awful with money. That’s reasonable enough, isn’t it?”
    It might be reasonable, thought Crisp, but it wasn’t true.
    â€œI wish you’d let me have it, now you know it’s nothing to do with the murder.”
    â€œTake it, if you wish,” said Crisp indifferently, handing it to her. “But you can’t cash it, you know. The banks stop payment at death.”
    â€œThen I shan’t get a penny?” It was a horrified whisper.
    â€œOh yes, in time! Provided you can satisfy the executors. Of course, they’ll probably want you to prove the bit about the diamonds before they pay.”
    Benscombe suspected her of intending to throw a faint. With a deft compromise of police officer and dancing partner, he removed her.
    â€œThat’s a side-line, isn’t it, sir?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t see where she fits in,” answered Crisp absently. “Mother’s diamonds, eh! It might be worth while finding out whether Fenchurch knows anything about that five hundred. You can look after that yourself as soon as you get the chance.”
    He glanced at the copy of Ralph’s confession.
    â€œThis confounded fellow has made a mess of the Regulations. We can’t ignore the confession unless we’re satisfied it’s a hoax. It may or may not be a hoax, but your hunch that it’s genuine has been scuppered by Querk.”
    Benscombe looked sheepish.
    â€œThere’s still a chance, sir. Assume that the confession is substantially true—”
    â€œBut it isn’t. He says he struck through the wig, and he didn’t.”
    â€œ Substantially true, sir, though inaccurate in detail. I’m thinking of the Sefton-Lyle case. Sefton confessed that he had shot Ashwin. But the bullet was found in the garden, Ashwin having pretended to be hit. And it was Lyle who shot Ashwin nearly an hour later.”
    â€œTwo bangs and two bullets!” grunted Crisp. “Here we have one blow only. And that blow killed Watlington. Also, what about the time?”
    â€œI’m assuming a deliberate lie in the matter of time. That would rope in your theory, sir, that he is trying to protect Miss Lofting.”
    â€œNo luck, boy! Watlington’s wife has corroborated the time from that bench in the garden. Cornboise left the study at five fifteen—was out of the place in his car a few minutes later, and did not return until after six thirty.”
    â€œBut look here, sir! Given that Cornboise is lying and Querk telling the truth, the murderer must have entered the library almost as soon as Querk left it. That points to Miss Lofting, which is absurd.”
    Crisp chuckled.
    â€œAttractive girls don’t commit murder, do they, laddie!”
    â€œIf they’re really attractive, they don’t have to,” grinned Benscombe. “I was going to say that, if you have Cornboise in again and let him see you know he’s lying—then with Querk’s evidence up your sleeve—”
    â€œA rotten place to keep your evidence. We don’t need all that diplomacy. We’ll put Cornboise in a bag with Querk and shake ’em up together until something drops out. Trot ’ em in.”
    Querk did not trot. He had by now imposed upon himself the stance of a man who is attending a funeral.
    â€œI am glad, Chief Constable,” he said with a hush in his voice, “that you have taken me at my word. I always feel—bless my soul!” He broke off as Benscombe appeared