THE CRIME AT TATTENHAM CORNER (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes

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СКАЧАТЬ when I saw him, possibly more, certainly not less."

      "The cause of death?"

      "Evidently the man had been shot through the lower part of the face. For anything more we must wait for the post-mortem." He added a few technical details.

      Harbord waited outside with Major Vincent and the superintendent.

      "Sir John Burslem," he repeated thoughtfully. "A financier, you say. I seem to remember this name in some other connection."

      "He was a big gun in what is called high finance," Major Vincent told him. "It is said that no international deal, no great scheme of Government stock was launched without his advice. For himself, he was head of the great firm of Burslem & Latimer, the iron and jute merchants, Wellmorton Street, and of Burslem & Co., diamond merchants of South Africa, besides being director of Heaven knows how many companies. Sir John Burslem's name spelt success to any undertaking."

      "And will this"—Harbord jerked his head backward—"mean failure?"

      The major shrugged his shoulders. "Heaven knows! One's imagination fails to picture the world of speculation without Jack Burslem, as he was generally known. But here's the valet, Ellerby, I expect," as a car stopped.

      An elderly man got out and came towards them. He was looking white and shaken.

      "Gentlemen," he began in a quaking voice as he got near them, "they say that he—that Sir John has had an accident. He—he can't be—dead!"

      "That is what we have brought you here to ascertain, Mr. Ellerby," Major Vincent said, a touch of pity in his tone as he thought of the ordeal that lay before the man. "You will be able to tell us definitely. The clothes at any rate you will be able to recognize. The face has been—in the water for some time and is terribly swollen."

      The man looked at him, his mouth twitching. "I should know Sir John anywhere, sir," he said, his manner becoming more composed. "I couldn't be deceived about him. It is an impossibility."

      Stoddart went in with him. Harbord stood with the other three at the door. They heard a cry of horror, then a hoarse sob, and Ellerby's voice, broken now:

      "Oh, it is Sir John, sure enough! Oh, yes, his poor face is all swollen, but I could swear to him anywhere. There is the dress coat I put on him yesterday evening, and his shoes, and his eyeglass on his cord, and his wrist-watch. Oh, it is Sir John safe enough. And what are we going to do without him? And her poor young ladyship—and Miss Pamela?"

      He came out wiping his eyes openly.

      "You identify the body positively as that of Sir John Burslem?" Major Vincent questioned authoritatively.

      "Oh, yes, sir, there is not no doubt possible." Ellerby's careful, rather precise grammar was forgotten now in his excitement and his own real grief. "I could tell without looking at his face," he went on, "for there's just the things I put out for him last night, little thinking. And her poor ladyship with a big party today going to the races!"

      "The races—by Jove!" Stoddart looked at his watch and then at Harbord. "Of course that accounts for all the traffic on the road; it's Derby Day!"

      "You are right, sir."

      The valet put away his handkerchief and steadied his voice. "It seems but the other day that poor Sir John was telling us to put our shirts on Peep o' Day—'Best colt Matt Harker ever trained,' he says, 'and a dead cert for the Derby; maybe the last we'll have before the tote comes in,' Sir John said, 'so get the best you can beforehand.' And we did, all of us, at Sir John's own bucket shop."

      Stoddart's face altered indefinably. "I hope you didn't build on the colt winning, Mr. Ellerby."

      "That I have, sir." The man looked at him half fearfully. "All my own savings and my wife's I have put on, and I borrowed my sister's too. It is a tidy lot I stand to win when Peep o' Day passes the winning-post! Though poor Sir John will never lead her in now."

      "Nor anyone else as the winner of the Derby," Stoddart said gravely. "Don't you realize what that"—with a nod at the barn—"means to all of you who have put your money on Peep o' Day?"

      Ellerby began to tremble. "No, sir, I don't. But we got our money on right enough. Sir John, he said it was as safe as if it was in the bank."

      "So he may have thought, though in a gamble there is often a slip betwixt the cup and the lip," Stoddart said dryly. "But don't you know that an owner's death renders void all his horses' nominations and entries. Peep o' Day is automatically scratched. If Sir John Burslem had died one minute before the race was run, and, not knowing, Peep o' Day's number had gone up, he would be disqualified. Today will be a grand day for the bookies. The favourite scratched at the last minute. You get your money back though, but we must wire at once for the sake of the poor devils who are putting on, on the course. Harker's the trainer, you said."

      "Yes, sir," Ellerby stammered, his face working painfully. "Matt Harker said that Peep o' Day was the best three-year-old he had ever had in training. He carried all the stable money."

      "Well, it is to be hoped Harker hedged a bit," Stoddart said slowly. "For Peep o' Day won't run to-day. And I wonder, I wonder—"

      Chapter II

       Table of Contents

      Surely, surely, no hour had ever been so long! Sophie Burslem twisted herself round in bed once more. It was morning. Of course it was morning. The sun was streaming through her open window. She could hear the pleasant, familiar sounds of everyday life, but the sound for which she was waiting and watching did not come. At last she caught the echo of voices, distant at first, then nearer. One of the gardeners was talking on the terrace beneath the window.

      "Ay! if Peep o' Day brings it off and I ain't no manner of doubt that he will, seeing Sir John himself he said to me, 'You like a bit of a gamble sometimes, I know, Germain. Well, you will have the safest gamble of your life if you put your shirt on Peep o' Day. Best colt I've ever had,' Sir John said. Well, my missus and me we drawed our nest-egg out o' the post office, an' we put it on Peep o' Day, months ago, and we got 100 to 8 then. I reckon we will be made folks tomorrow."

      "I am wishing I had done the same," another voice chimed in, "but I thought there's many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip, and so I waited until this morning, and now I'll only get starting price, and they're saying it will be odds on. So 'tain't any good backing Perlyon for a place as I had reckoned on doing. 'Tis sure to be place betting."

      "Ay, ay," the first speaker assented. "I had a tip for Perlyon myself, but—"

      The voices died away in the distance. As Sophie Burslem lay for a moment perfectly still on her pillow, two tears welled up in her eyes and rolled miserably down her cheeks. Peep o' Day! Peep o' Day! Those poor men had put their savings on Peep o' Day. And now Peep o' Day would never win the Derby!

      A minute more and there came the sound for which she had been waiting—a tap at the door. She pulled the lever that raised the latch and her maid came in with her tea. She set it on the table beside the bed.

      "It's a lovely morning, my lady. And Sir John was saying yesterday that fine weather was all that Peep o' Day wanted. He likes to hear his hoofs rattle, Sir John said. And if it had been heavy going it would have been all against him."

      "Yes," СКАЧАТЬ