WHO KILLED CHARMIAN KARSLAKE? (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes

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СКАЧАТЬ it sounds like an assumed name."

      "The sort of name an actress assumes," Stoddart added. "Well, so long, Alfred, we shall meet again at the Abbey."

      Harbord turned in at the old lych-gate leading to the churchyard, while Stoddart proceeded with his saunter up the narrow street, looking from side to side at the names over the shops, Thompson, Dickenson, Grey, Walker, and other stranger names probably indigenous to the district, Frutrell, Furniger, Thorslett, but no Karslake.

      Evidently there was little business doing this morning. Of customers very few shops had any sign. In many cases, white aproned or black aproned, the tradesmen stood at their doors passing the time of day with the passersby or exchanging remarks with their next-door neighbours.

      Stoddart guessed rightly that nothing but the terrible occurrence at the Abbey would be talked of for many a long day at Hepton. He made his way to the upper part of High Street, and after a lingering glance round turned in at the "Moreton Arms." The bar was at the right-hand side of the red-bricked passage. A hubbub of conversation arose from within, hushed as Stoddart stood at the door. He went forward to the counter where a buxom-looking barmaid was serving out foaming frothy glasses of ale.

      "Good morning, miss," he said politely, as she glanced at him. "A sherry and bitters, please."

      She served him quickly and went on to a tall, stout-looking man, who had followed him in. This individual was evidently something of a stranger, like Stoddart himself.

      As he ordered a pint of Bass's best, he said cheerfully:

      "Terrible affair that at the Abbey?"

      "Terrible!" the barmaid assented, with an uneasy glance at Stoddart.

      The newcomer looked at him too. "You have heard of it maybe, sir?"

      "I have," Stoddart told him in a noncommittal tone. At present he was uncertain whether the reason for his presence at Hepton was known or not.

      Quite evidently this new-comer desired to be friendly. "Can't understand a woman being shot in her own bedroom, and the murderer getting away with it. Can you, sir?" turning suddenly on the detective.

      Stoddard took a long pull at his drink before answering, then he said slowly:

      "Has he got away with it? Has it been proved that the murderer was 'he' at all?"

      The hand with which the barmaid was manipulating the big brass taps obviously trembled.

      The rubicund stranger paused in the very act of raising his glass and stared at the detective.

      "I say, sir, does that mean—"

      Stoddard smiled grimly. "It does not mean anything but a plain statement of fact. Miss Karslake is quite as likely to have been shot by a woman as by a man. By the way, I hear she was a stranger hereabouts."

      "That she was," said the newcomer, who seemed to be constituting himself the spokesman of the assembly.

      "We are not much for going up to London, we Hepton folks, and this was the first time she ever come here."

      "Was it?" Stoddart questioned.

      "Why, of course it was," the burly one said positively. "Who has been getting at you?"

      "Nobody." Stoddart looked round. "But I thought I had heard of people named Karslake living in Hepton and she might have been a connexion."

      "What be 'e a saying Karslakes. Course there is Karslakes in Hepton. 'Tain't spelt like this woman's though."

      The interruption came from an old man cowering down in the chimney-corner seat and holding out his trembling old hands to the heat.

      Inspector Stoddart turned to him. Here was what he had been trying to find—one of the forefathers of the hamlet.

      "You have known Karslakes in Hepton, sir," he said, with a deferential air to which the old man was quite unaccustomed.

      "'Ees, 'ees, sir," he quavered. "So do many of these 'ere folks too. Only our Karslake, 'taint spelt like this 'ere pore thing's. Karslake, I understand hers was—spelt with a K like. While ours was Carslake, spelt with a C. That's what made folks not recognize the name. But if it were spelt different folks wouldn't be unlike, would they?"

      "I suppose not," the inspector said slowly. "But now these Carslakes spelt with a C, are there any of them left in Hepton?"

      "Now, no, sir." The old man shook his head. "The last of 'em, Mrs. Lee Carslake, she lived at the Red House, a bit out o' town that were. Everybody knowed her—a widow woman—her man had been a doctor over at Peysford Green, and when he died she come back to live at Hepton. Hepton born and bred she was. Father was Lawyer Herbert, buried at back o' church he is. Ay, Hepton born and bred were Mrs. Lee Carslake."

      "Had she any children?" the inspector inquired in as conversational a tone as he could manage.

      "Ay! Chillen, yes. Of course she had." The ancient scratched his head. "A matter of four or five boys and then the youngest, the purtiest little wench ever I see."

      A little girl! The inspector felt that he was striking oil at last.

      "What was her name?" he asked abruptly.

      "Her name?" the old man repeated. "Well, now, it was Missy Carslake I called her, when I spoke to her, which wasn't often. Her mother, I have heard her call her Angel or someut like that."

      But other memories were waking.

      "Mrs. Lee Carslake. The Red House," said a little man who had been standing at Stoddart's elbow ever since he came in. "I never thought of her when you began to talk about Karslakes. An' yet I used to do bits of gardening jobs for her, time gone by. Her little wench, I heard her mother call her Lotty time nor I can remember."

      "Lotty!" The inspector thought a minute. "That will be short for something, surely. A pet name you might say."

      "Ay, like enough! But I don't know what it might be," the first speaker went on. "I never heard her spoken of as anything but Miss Carslake; Charlotte the word may be."

      Charlotte and Charmian. The inspector's heart felt perceptibly lighter. Things were beginning to shape themselves much as he had expected.

      "Where are they now, Mrs. Carslake and her daughter?" he questioned. "I presume they have left Hepton."

      "Ay. They are not here now," the old man quavered. "A matter of going on for twenty years it is now. Mrs. Carslake, she never left it, I should say. Carried out of her house she was and into the old church and put in aside of her father, back o' the church. That's how Mrs. Carslake left the Red House. She didn't never leave Hepton."

      Stoddart took another drink before he went on.

      "And Miss Karslake, what became of her?" he asked at last.

      The old gentleman scratched his head. "Don't know as I ever heard. Went away from Hepton, she did, with her brothers, before her mother was cold in her grave you might say. Ondaycent other folks called it. Word came back to Hepton that one of the lads, the youngest, was killed in the War. But Miss Lotty, I never heard what come o' Miss Lotty. Maybe she got married. Fine, upstanding, personable sort of СКАЧАТЬ