Annie Haynes - Inspector Stoddart's Murder Mysteries (4 Intriguing Golden Age Thrillers)

"You would have had time to keep your appointment with Dr. Bastow?"

"Undoubtedly I should. But I had so many other things to think about that I entirely forgot about it. I had besides, as I said before, phoned Dr. Bastow that I was prevented from coming, so that he would not be expecting me."

It did not sound a particularly convincing explanation, and the coroner looked at the witness consideringly.

"Your domestics would testify to the time of your return, I presume?"

Sanford Morris shrugged his shoulders.

"I keep a man and his wife, who were probably in bed before I let myself in. They are off duty at ten o'clock."

"I see. Now, Dr. Morris, we have heard you spoken of as a man with a dark beard. Today you are clean-shaven."

Dr. Morris's expression was one of amazement, mingled with some natural irritation.

"I have been thinking for some time of shaving. I did so. It is not, so far as I am aware, an offence to be clean-shaven."

"Or most of us would have to plead guilty. Can you tell us anything about the secret of which Dr. Bastow speaks in the unfinished letter found after his death?"

Sanford Morris shook his head.

"I have not the slightest idea. Certainly he never spoke or wrote of it to me."

"One more question. Do you know whether Dr. Bastow kept any papers relating to this research work of yours and his in the Chinese box that used to stand before him on the writing-table?"

Dr. Morris shook his head.

"I have no idea what was in the box. I never saw it open to my knowledge."

There was a great hush as Sanford Morris left the box, and the coroner, at the request of Inspector Stoddart, adjourned the inquest for a fortnight to give the police further time to pursue their inquiries and for the development of certain clues in their possession. At the word clues all eyes turned to Sanford Morris, just then taking his place at the solicitors' table.

Obviously he was entirely unaware of or absolutely indifferent to the scrutiny to which he was subjected. Glancing round, he bowed gravely to Miss Lavinia Priestley who was gazing at him through her raised lorgnette . Closing them now with a snap she deliberately looked Morris in the face, and turned her head away.

Hilary, sitting between her aunt and Sir Felix Skrine, shivered and grew pale, as she met his glance. The significance of that shaven face had not escaped her.

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"My dear boy, it must be so." Sir Felix Skrine spoke compassionately, but his tone was decided. "This house would be too large for you and Hilary alone, in any case. There is, besides, the fact that whoever takes the practice is sure to want the house also. I am very sorry, Fee, but as your father's executor I am bound to make the best arrangements I can with regard to the practice. I heard yesterday from a man who I think will probably buy it; he has a wife and family, and of course the house will be a necessity. There's no help for it, Fee."

The boy turned his head restlessly about.

"I don't see why Hilary shouldn't marry Wilton at once. Then he could keep on the practice and I could live with them," he said sulkily.

He was lying on his invalid couch in his favourite window looking out on the street. Sir Felix Skrine had been explaining to him the necessity for selling the house and the practice. For the purchase money would add considerably to the income of Hilary and her crippled brother.

Sir Felix had a worried look and there were two little vertical lines between his brows that were quite new, as he looked at Fee's discontented face.

"My dear Fee, I hardly know what to say," he said gently. "Wilton has no money to buy the practice. And his engagement to Hilary, which you speak of as a recognized fact, was forbidden by your father, who dismissed Wilton on this very ground."

"Dad would have come round," said Fee positively. "He might be a bit cross at first, but he always let us do as we liked in the end. Dad would never—"

His voice broke and he drew out a rather grubby handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously.

"I am very sorry, Fee, but don't you see I am bound to respect the wishes he had plainly expressed? I cannot make up my mind that he would have changed his, and act accordingly."

Skrine laid his hand sympathetically on the boy's shoulder.

Fee responded by pulling himself as far out of reach as the narrow confines of his couch would allow.

"And once the change from Park Road is made I feel sure you will be both healthier and happier," Sir Felix went on. "You know that I have a house in Warwickshire, in a lovely part of the country. Scenery and air are alike delightful. Well, there is quite a good-sized cottage just outside my gates. It is empty and it has a nice garden. I am having both house and garden put in order and I feel that you and Hilary will be happy there."

"I am sure I shan't!" Fee returned obstinately. "I hate the country."

"I quite agree with you, Fee," Miss Lavinia interposed, entering the room. "You and I are regular town mice. I should have thought you were too, Sir Felix. What are you doing—advocating these children living in the country?"

"Only for a time," Sir Felix said easily, explaining the whereabouts of his cottage.

Miss Lavinia nodded her head with a certain amount of approval when he had finished.

"Well, it does not sound exciting. But the country is healthy, though as a rule it is as dull as ditch-water," she conceded. "Yes, I think your cottage might do, Sir Felix. I will take Hilary down for a run to see it. Then, I shall just stay to settle them in, and be off to Algiers. I have had quite an exciting invitation from a friend of mine who got sick of trying to make both ends meet in England, went off to Algeria and married an Algerian or Turk or whatever they call the creatures. A Sheikh-like sort of person, you know. She has been ill lately, too much Sheikh, I suppose, and is craving to see a fellow countrywoman. It is an old-standing promise that I should pay her a visit some day; now she claims it. Most inconvenient, of course. But those old friends generally are. You say this cottage of yours is in Warwickshire, Sir Felix? About ten miles from anywhere, I suppose?"

"It is not so very far from Warwick," Sir Felix said cheerfully. "And ten miles is nothing in these days of cars, you know, Miss Priestley."

"It won't be much of a car that Hilary and Fee will be able to afford," the lady rejoined.

"I always have a car down there, and it will be at their disposal," Sir Felix rejoined easily. "The cottage is just outside the gates of my house, Heathcote, you know."

Miss Lavinia pursed up her lips as though she intended to whistle.

"O—h! I see!" she ejaculated in a tone that spoke volumes.

Sir Felix smiled.

"I am seldom there nowadays. My work keeps me in town, of course. But I run down for a week-end when I can. My wife was very fond of Heathcote. It is really because of its association with her that I have kept it on. My first instinct was to get out of it as soon as possible; but I simply could not when I remembered how she loved it. Now I am very glad that I did not, for it enables me to offer the cottage to my dear friend's children."

Miss Lavinia did not look particularly impressed.

"Well, as I said before, I will run down with Hilary and see what I think. I can get out of the Sheikh person if needs be. Lady Skrine did not die at Heathcote, did she?"

"No; she died in London—would come back when she began to be worse. She never believed in any doctor but John, you know. She is buried in Heathcote Churchyard, though. The loveliest churchyard in England, she always called it."

"Hm! Well, I haven't any taste in churchyards myself," concluded Miss Lavinia. "But I will let you know what I think of the place, Sir Felix."