After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jack politely.
    ‘No. He was a metal-worker and wood-carver. You should see the work he did in the chantry in Whimbrell Heath.’ He sighed deeply. ‘The chantry was Mr Lythewell’s labour of love, his life’s work. Not the Mr Lythewell who’s here, you understand, but his father. He’s been dead a long time and sorely missed, if you ask me. Young Mr Lythewell,’ he added, ‘never had the gift. He just runs the firm.’ He sighed heavily. ‘This is him, now. What does he want, I wonder?’
    ‘Ah, Cadwallader, there you are,’ said Mr Lythewell. ‘I’d like you to come and have a word with Miss Winterbourne.’ He nodded briefly to Jack. ‘Can you excuse us?’ He lowered his voice. ‘This could be an important commission, Cadwallader. Miss Winterbourne’s the headmistress of Rotherdean and she’s planning a refurbishment of the school chapel.’
    ‘All right,’ said Cadwallader grudgingly. ‘I suppose I must if you want me to.’ He turned to Jack. ‘I’ll see you later, young sir. It’s been a pleasure talking to someone who appreciates proper art.’
    Betty Wingate was gratifyingly pleased to learn that Bill was a chief inspector at Scotland Yard. ‘Are you really a policeman? You don’t look like one.’
    Bill, who out of sheer force of habit, had run through a mental description of Betty Wingate (light brown hair, blue eyes, freckles, height about five foot two inches, age early twenties) felt relieved that his inward reflections hadn’t betrayed him as hopelessly official.
    ‘What does a policeman look like?’
    Betty Wingate hesitated. ‘More formal?’ she hazarded. ‘Sort of intimidating, I suppose.’ She paused. ‘Who’s that man you were with? I thought he looked like a foreigner, but he’s English, isn’t he?’
    Bill laughed. ‘Major Haldean? He’s English, right enough, despite looking like the gypsy king.’
    ‘You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you?’ asked Jack, arriving beside them. He looked round and shook his head. ‘Whew! I thought I was never going to get away. That Cadwallader bloke has to be one of the most adhesive characters I’ve ever come across. He’s threatened to nab me later on.’
    ‘Henry Cadwallader?’ said Colin Askern. ‘Bad luck. He’s a permanent fixture at Whimbrell Heath. I’ve known him all my life.’
    ‘He didn’t mention old Mr Lythewell, did he?’ asked Betty, with seeming innocence.
    ‘He did touch on him, yes,’ said Jack ‘Why?’
    Betty giggled and glanced at Colin. ‘You explain.’
    ‘Henry Cadwallader worshipped old Mr Lythewell,’ said Colin wearily. ‘He’s a complete bore on the subject. According to him, every aspect of the firm and every painting we commission should be something that old Josiah Lythewell would approve of. He worshipped the ground old Lythewell trod on and he’ll never let anyone forget it.’
    ‘Why?’ asked Jack.
    ‘It’s like something out of Dickens,’ said Betty. ‘He’ll tell you all about it, unless you’re very lucky. I was very sorry for him until I found out he testifies to it at chapel and what-have-you.’
    ‘Sorry for him?’ repeated Colin. ‘He wallows in it.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Apparently Cadwallader used to be a proper little street urchin, a real Artful Dodger type, and old Lythewell caught him picking his pocket one day. Well, instead of handing him over to the police, Lythewell took him under his wing instead.’
    ‘That was good of him,’ said Betty. ‘You’ve got to admit it, Colin.’
    ‘I suppose it was, but I’ve heard the story so often, and always in the context of how wonderful Mr Lythewell was and how appalled he’d be at the changes I want to make, that it’s worn a bit thin. What on earth did you say to him to make him so friendly, Haldean? He usually disapproves of the young.’
    ‘I compared his painting to Burne-Jones and, as a result, he looks on me as some sort of soul-mate.’
    Colin laughed. ‘No wonder he was all over you.