Hardcastle's Frustration Read Online Free PDF

displaying a rather daring décolletage.
    â€˜Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ said the woman, carefully appraising the two officers. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any rooms vacant at present.’
    â€˜We’re not here looking for accommodation, madam,’ said Hardcastle, ‘we’re police officers. Is your name Daisy Benson?’
    â€˜Yes, it is.’ A look of concern crossed the woman’s face. ‘Oh my Lord, it’s not about my husband, is it?’
    â€˜Your husband?’ queried Hardcastle.’
    â€˜Yes, my Sidney’s a staff sergeant in the Army Ordnance Corps somewhere at the Front.’
    â€˜No, it’s not about your husband, Mrs Benson.’ Hardcastle wondered why the woman had volunteered so much information so quickly. ‘We want to talk to you about Ronald Parker.’
    â€˜I’m afraid I don’t know anyone of that name.’
    â€˜But you wrote him a letter,’ said Hardcastle tersely.
    â€˜Oh, heavens!’ Daisy Benson glanced up and down the street.
    â€˜You do know him, then,’ said Hardcastle.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Daisy Benson, almost whispering her reply. ‘You’d better come in.’ Her mind was in turmoil as she wondered how the police could possibly know that she had written to Ronald Parker.
    The parlour was a comfortable room furnished with easy chairs, a sofa and a diamond-patterned Axminster carpet that must have cost at least five pounds. Net curtains excluded the prying eyes of the outside world, and a fire burned cheerfully in the grate.
    â€˜What’s all this about Ronnie?’ asked Mrs Benson, having invited the two detectives to take a seat. She sat down opposite them and carefully arranged her skirt.
    â€˜His body was found in the River Thames this morning, near to Westminster Bridge,’ said Hardcastle bluntly.
    â€˜Dead? Good grief, how awful.’ Mrs Benson’s hand went to her mouth as she absorbed the shock of the news. ‘But that’s terrible.’
    â€˜Among his belongings was a letter from you in which, among other things, you expressed a desire to see him again soon. You suggested next Saturday afternoon would be a convenient time. From the date on your letter, I presume that referred to the Saturday just gone.’ Hardcastle sat back and waited to hear what Daisy Benson had to say about that.
    â€˜Oh, how silly of him to have kept that letter.’ Daisy waved a hand in front of her face, clearly flustered. ‘I realized afterwards how silly of me it was to have written it.’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Hardcastle. ‘His wife might’ve read it.’ He was already convinced that Daisy Benson and Ronald Parker had been having an affair.
    â€˜What exactly was your relationship with Mr Parker?’ asked Marriott. ‘Are you a relative, his sister perhaps?’
    Daisy Benson coloured slightly. ‘We were lovers,’ she said, once again lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and confirming Hardcastle’s view. ‘His wife didn’t understand him, you see, poor Ronnie.’
    Hardcastle had heard that well-worn excuse for an affair many times before, but he declined to say as much. It was a familiar reason put forward by philandering husbands and adulterous wives as a fallacious excuse for their behaviour; nor was it the first time that a woman had so openly discussed her love life with him. ‘How long had this affair been going on, Mrs Benson?’
    â€˜About a year, ever since my Sid got posted abroad. He was in Aldershot before that, but then they sent him to France,’ said Mrs Benson. ‘Well, it gets lonely for a girl when her husband’s away and . . .’ She allowed the sentence to lapse, but there was no need for her to elaborate; Hardcastle understood only too well what she meant.
    â€˜Did Mr Parker say anything to you about going to Holland, Mrs Benson?’ Marriott asked.
    â€˜To