Inspector Stoddart's Most Famous Cases. Annie Haynes

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      Chapter XVII

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      "Is that you, Harbord?" Inspector Stoddart was sitting at his desk in his private room at Scotland Yard. His head was bent over his case book, and he was apparently immersed in the study of its contents. He barely glanced up when there was a familiar knock at the door.

      Harbord came in gingerly.

      "You sent for me, sir?"

      "Yes." The inspector waited a minute, then he shut up his book with a bang. "Yes, I want you to come with me to West Kensington." Harbord waited in an attitude of attention. The inspector fidgeted about with the papers before him for a minute, then he said suddenly:

      "You will be surprised to hear that the visit I am about to pay is to Basil Wilton." He looked keenly at the younger detective as he spoke. "He is staying with his brother who has taken a furnished house in Kensington—West Kensington to be more correct."

      Contrary to his expectations Harbord did not look surprised.

      "Is he, sir?"

      "I want to talk his story over with him, and see what I can make of it. I should like you to hear what he says."

      "Certainly, sir."

      Stoddart got up and taking a light overcoat from the peg threw it over his arm.

      The house in which Basil Wilton was staying was one of those small houses that look as if they had been built when West Kensington was miles away from London proper, in the wilds beyond Tyburn. By some marvel it had survived when the craze for modern jerry-building surged round. It abutted on no thoroughfare, but was reached by a green door that opened into the little garden from one of those narrow alleys or courts that can only be found by people who know where to look for them. It was a bright-looking little house, though, with its gay window-boxes and the brilliantly coloured flowers in the herbaceous borders round. The detectives went towards the door without delay.

      Basil Wilton watched them coming up the garden path from a window on the ground floor. They walked briskly up to the door and knocked authoritatively. It was opened by a respectable-looking, elderly woman of a dour expression who showed them straight into the dining-room.

      Wilton came to them at once. Stoddart turned to him.

      "I am much obliged to you for giving me this interview, Mr. Wilton."

      "Well, I fancy it was rather a matter of Hobson's choice, wasn't it?" Wilton said with a wry smile as he sank wearily into the big leather arm-chair near the window.

      "I am not very strong yet, you see," he said. "But do sit down."

      The light fell full upon his face as the detective took the seat opposite him, while Harbord sat down farther away.

      "This is all very informal and not perhaps strictly professional," Stoddart began. "And I am sure you understand that you need answer no questions unless you feel inclined."

      "May be taken down and used in evidence against me? That is the correct formula, isn't it?" Wilton questioned in his tired voice. "Fire away, inspector. I have no secrets."

      "What I want to do," the inspector went on, "is to help you, Mr. Wilton. You know that I am in charge of the inquiry into the mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of Mrs. Wilton?"

      "That means you are trying to hang me, doesn't it?" Wilton questioned in that new, weary tone of his.

      "No, it does not," the inspector contradicted abruptly. "It means that I want to hear your story of what happened on the night of your wife's death, or as much of it as you feel inclined to tell me. I think it is quite possible that I may be able to help you and you may be able to help me."

      Wilton shook his head.

      "It's no good, inspector. I did not shoot my wife, and I do not know who did, though I don't expect you to believe me."

      The inspector looked him fairly and squarely in the face.

      "Do you know, Mr. Wilton, it is precisely because I do believe you that I have asked you to see me this afternoon. I want you just to tell me the story of that day's happenings as simply and straightforwardly as you can, and perhaps to answer a few questions which I may put later. It is quite possible that I may find some clue just where you least expect it."

      A gleam of hope came into Wilton's eyes.

      "You are very kind, inspector. I scarcely thought any living creature had faith in me, least of all you."

      "Ah, well! You see you do not know all your friends," the inspector said enigmatically. "Now, Mr. Wilton, if you will just begin at the beginning—"

      "There СКАЧАТЬ