A Change of Heir Read Online Free PDF Page A

century, if you want to know. Only he spelt it Gadbury, with a u .’
    ‘And what did he do?’
    ‘He was an astrologer, as a matter of fact. But right at the top of his profession.’
    ‘You’re not right at the top of yours, are you, Gadberry, old chap?’
    Not unnaturally, this impertinence outraged Gadberry. It came into his head that he ought perhaps to hit Comberford on the jaw. But he doubted whether he could do this effectively without putting down his suitcase – and even, in common fairness, without inviting Comberford to do the same. This seemed awkwardly elaborate. Moreover it was dawning on Gadberry that conceivably he was taking rather a liking to this objectionable person. He didn’t at all know why. Perhaps it was simply that, whatever the man was up to, it wasn’t any of those boring and unacceptable proceedings that Gadberry had been envisaging. Moreover Comberford was a rogue. He couldn’t but be a rogue. In fact he was a crook. Only crooks disguise or undisguise themselves in public lavatories. Gadberry was interested.
    ‘At the top of my profession?’ he repeated. ‘Of course not. If I were, I wouldn’t be taking up with a small-time conman like Nicholas Comberford. Would I, now?’
    ‘Well, here we are.’ Comberford had stopped before rather an imposing flight of steps. He didn’t seem at all offended. ‘It’s not too bad. Same sort of place as the one we’ve come from, but a good deal classier. The old girl booked me into it, of course. She has classy tastes. Indeed, you might say she has a lavish sort of mind. Thinks big, as it were. Which, of course, is the key to the situation. Now, then – in we go.’

 
     
4
     
    It was an obscurely fateful moment. Sensing this, George Gadberry hesitated. This second hotel, he noticed, was very much like the first. Round here there were scores of these respectable and colourless places. It was hard to associate them with anything that might be called dirty work. Yet he was now sure that the man calling himself Nicholas Comberford was a dangerous companion. He was attracted to him because he felt that they shared certain common assumptions. But they weren’t, perhaps, very salubrious assumptions – so that his own prudent course, even at this late hour, would be to turn round and make a bolt for it. Unfortunately it was a late hour, if only in the sense that an impressive hall porter, followed by a subordinate functionary of the same sort, was coming down the steps with the evident intention of relieving Comberford and himself of their suitcases. The new hotel was evidently a plushy sort of place. Comberford, in addition to his less definable attractiveness, was clearly in on the gravy. Gadberry thought of the few remaining pennies and sixpences in his own pocket. The thought of Mrs Lapin, who had let him go and certainly wouldn’t want to see him again. He handed over his suitcase and climbed the steps.
    ‘The food,’ Comberford said, ‘is surprisingly good. I wonder if the old girl knew that? Anyway, there’s time for a drink or two, and then we’ll have a spot of lunch.’ He turned and gave some direction to the hall porter, with the result that the suitcases were spirited away. ‘I have my own sitting-room, as a matter of fact. Her mind works that way. Everything laid on. Convenient for our little chat, wouldn’t you say? But first we’ll just sit down here and have a spot. Waiter’ – Comberford made a commanding gesture – ‘two dry Martinis!’
    Gadberry felt increasingly unnerved. Settling down in the corner of the lounge, and beneath the shade of palms luxuriant beyond the ambition of the Chester Court, he stole a good look at his companion. He was again visited by the disturbing sense that the man was familiar to him – disturbing because his memory, or seeming memory, was of somebody he rather liked but distinctly didn’t trust. But who on earth could it be? The puzzle annoyed him, and annoyance prompted him to