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

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СКАЧАТЬ was just about to ask you what she was like. Good-looking, was she?"

      "Ay. You would call her that. Like one of they young larches in the copse down Homer way. Tall she was, and a pair of bootiful eyes, I mind. T' young men would be after her soon enough, I reckon."

      "And her hair—light or dark?" the inspector asked, striving to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

      "Well—er, I don't rightly remember much o' that," the old fellow acknowledged. "Lightish like, I should say, and long down her back, not cut off like these young girls nowadays."

      "Her golden hair was hanging down her back," murmured the inspector's first friend, who was evidently by way of being facetious.

      "Still, twenty years ago, or eighteen years ago is not so long but that there must be some people in Hepton who would remember Miss Carslake and know what has become of her."

      "Dare say there are," assented the other man in a listless tone, apparently losing interest in the subject. He picked up his empty glass and looked into it reflectively.

      The inspector took the hint for both his loquacious friends. He got little more out of them, however, except the remark that old Dr. Brett, him as had give up doctorin' and gone to live retired in a house on the Bourton Road—he'd know all there was to know of the Carslakes.

      At any rate there seemed to be little more to be gleaned at the "Moreton Arms." A glance at his watch showed Stoddart that there was time to spare before lunch, and after a moment's indecision he made up his mind to seek an interview with Dr. Brett. If the old doctor had retired, probably time hung heavily on his hands and he would welcome a visitor and a chat over old days.

      Just past the "Moreton Arms" the main street divided itself into two roads, one, that on the right, going on past what was known as the high causeway to the range of hills overlooking the wide level ground that stretched over to Lichfield. These hills running more or less continuously to the Welsh borderland were known as Hepton Edge. The other road ran by the old Vicarage to the nearest town of Bourton. On this road, the very few houses that had been added to Hepton in the memory of living man had been built. To one of these comparatively modern abodes the inspector was directed when he inquired for Dr. Brett.

      The doctor was at home, he was informed by the smiling, white-capped maid who answered the door. Apparently Hepton required no credentials, there was no question of his admission. He was taken at once to a pretty little drawing-room with enough old silver about to make a thief's eyes water.

      Dr. Brett did not keep him waiting long. He was a fussy-looking little man with a bush of white hair and what looked like the remains of side-whiskers, contrasting oddly with his rosy cheeks and pale blue eyes.

      The inspector stood up. "Dr. Brett, I presume?"

      The doctor bowed. "You have the advantage of me. But the maid understood that you wished to speak to me on business."

      "I did, sir." The inspector handed him a card. "You will see, I am from Scotland Yard."

      "Dear, dear, yes—'Detective Inspector Stoddart,'" he read. "Dear me, yes. I suppose you are here in Hepton in order to investigate this shocking affair at the Abbey. But I don't know that I can be of any assistance to you. I have long ago given up practising."

      "So I have heard," the inspector said quietly. "Nevertheless I am here to ask your assistance this morning. I believe you knew a Mrs. Carslake at the Red House?"

      "Knew her! Bless my life, of course I did," the doctor ejaculated. "But sit down, Mr.—Stoddart"—consulting the card again—"and tell me what I can do for you. Poor Eleanor Carslake, I was at her wedding. I brought all her children into the world, and I went to her funeral. Saw her laid to rest in Hepton Churchyard, to my mind the prettiest in England. Dear me, yes, I should say there is no one in Hepton who knows more about Eleanor Carslake than I do."

      He took off his glasses and wiped the dew from them.

      "Now, tell me, what you want to know," he began as he replaced them, "though I cannot conceive why Scotland Yard should make inquiries about Eleanor Carslake."

      "It is not really Mrs. Carslake herself about whom I wanted to ask a few questions. It is really about her daughter."

      "Ah, poor Lotty!"

      In some curious fashion the muscles of the doctor's face began to stiffen.

      "What can I tell you about her?" he inquired abruptly.

      "Really I hardly know," the inspector said frankly. "But perhaps the most important thing I want to know is just where Miss Carslake is at present."

      "And that I am sure I can't tell you," Dr. Brett said decidedly. "I haven't heard of her for years. Two of her brothers were killed in the War and the youngest went out to Australia. I believe he is still there. Lotty—well, Lotty married—a war marriage, you know. It was not happy—was not likely to be—there was a divorce; so much I saw in the paper. But though I wrote to Lotty I got no answer and have never heard a word of her since."

      "Was she to blame for the divorce, or was her husband?" the inspector inquired quietly.

      Brett sighed. "I feared you were going to ask that. I am afraid—I am sadly afraid the poor unhappy child herself was in the wrong. So I gathered from the account in the paper."

      The inspector made a note in his book.

      "Was Miss Carslake very handsome, Dr. Brett?"

      Dr. Brett appeared to reflect a minute. "Not when I saw her last. An ordinary, plain-looking girl, I should have called her."

      "I see." The inspector shut up his book and snapped the elastic round it. Then he looked the doctor squarely in the face. "I am going to be pretty frank with you. Do you think the Miss Lotty Carslake you knew in Hepton could possibly be this poor Charmian Karslake who lies dead at the Abbey?"

      "Bless my soul! I do not think so," the doctor said emphatically.

      Yet the inspector fancied that there was something that did not ring quite true in his voice.

      "This poor thing was an American, wasn't she? And exceptionally beautiful. Now, none of the Carslakes could lay claim to anything remarkable in the way of good looks."

      "Is that so? But this girl might have improved considerably after leaving Hepton, mightn't she?" The inspector watched the doctor's face carefully. "As for being an American, so much was given out in the Press. But I find that practically nothing seems to be known of her antecedents. She was playing small parts—extremely small parts—in New York three years ago, when the illness of one of the principals gave her her chance, and she leapt at once to fame and fortune. But I may tell you in confidence—in strict confidence—Dr. Brett, that we have some ground for thinking that Charmian Karslake had some previous knowledge of Hepton, and that it was this knowledge that made her accept Lady Penn-Moreton's invitation to come down for the ball."

      "Dear, dear, is that so?" The doctor's face looked troubled. "But if she was a Hepton girl it does not follow that she was little Lotty Carslake. I altogether refuse to believe that she was. Carslake's not an uncommon name."

      "Not so common as Brown, Jones and Robinson," Stoddart rejoined. "But I am afraid that I must ask you to come with me to the Abbey now, Dr. Brett. I want to know whether you recognize this СКАЧАТЬ