Mad About the Boy? Read Online Free PDF Page B

Tim any more, but a lifeless caricature of a man with a pistol in his right hand and a small bloody hole matting the hair behind his right ear. It was such a tiny hole to let out a whole life.
    The door opened and Smith-Fennimore walked quietly into the room. He looked at Sir Philip, Haldean and Stanton before his eyes slid reluctantly to Preston.
    â€˜I didn’t believe it,’ said Smith-Fennimore softly. His voice trailed off and he reached out to touch Preston’s hand. He seemed stupefied. ‘Why?’ he demanded, a break in his voice. ‘Why did he do it?’
    Haldean gave him the note. ‘He left this. It is his handwriting, I suppose?’
    Smith-Fennimore took the note, his face grim. ‘Yes, that’s his writing. I’d know it anywhere.’ He read the few lines and sighed. ‘He says it’s because of money.’ He looked up. ‘Money? What did he need money for? I’d have given him money. Anything he needed.’ He shook his head, dazed. ‘Money never mattered. He knew that.’
    No, thought Haldean, money wouldn’t matter to Smith-Fennimore. Tim had mattered, mattered a lot. He’d seen them race together at Brooklands with Tim acting as Smith-Fennimore’s riding mechanic. Tim was a brilliant driver but he couldn’t afford a car. It took an awful lot of money to keep up with the Brooklands crowd.
    Smith-Fennimore put the note back on the desk with a shaky hand. He swallowed, and had to make a couple of attempts to speak. ‘We were going in for the Isle of Man race again. He was so damn pleased about it.’ He put the back of his hand to his mouth. ‘So damn pleased.’ He shuddered and made an obvious effort to collect his thoughts. ‘Sir Philip, Isabelle’s looking for Dr Speldhurst. He’s at the ball somewhere.’ He stopped and took a deep breath. ‘As far as I can tell, no one else realizes what’s happened.’
    â€˜I’d better go and help her,’ said Sir Philip. He looked at Smith-Fennimore. ‘Will you give me a hand, Commander, to get the body on the bed?’
    Smith-Fennimore winced but nodded his head in agreement.
    Haldean looked up sharply. ‘You mustn’t do that.’ His uncle gazed at him. ‘You mustn’t move him,’ Haldean insisted. ‘You mustn’t move anything until the police arrive.’
    Sir Philip looked harried. ‘The police? God damn it, boy, we can’t wait for them. He’ll be as stiff as a board in a hour or so and we’ll never shift him.’
    â€˜You still mustn’t move him,’ repeated Haldean. ‘You mustn’t touch anything until the police have had a look.’
    Sir Philip chewed his moustache in vexation, then his face cleared. ‘The Chief Constable’s downstairs. I’ll get him to come up here, Jack, if you’re determined to do things by the book. Will that satisfy you?’
    Haldean nodded. Sir Philip and Smith-Fennimore left the room. Haldean and Stanton stood in silence. There didn’t seem much to say.
    â€˜Lord Lyvenden will have to move rooms,’ said Stanton eventually. ‘Where did Lady Harriet sleep?’
    â€˜In the next room. There’s a connecting door.’ Haldean pointed to the double oak door. ‘You can make it into a suite.’ A fresh thought struck him and he winced. ‘What about Bubble Robiceux? She’ll be downstairs, waiting for him.’
    Stanton grimaced. ‘I suppose we’d better go and tell her.’
    â€˜One of us should stay here in case someone else comes in.’
    Stanton nodded. ‘I’ll go and find Bubble. Poor kid. She doesn’t deserve this.’
    â€˜Take her to her room and let her maid look after her. I’ll ask the doctor to call and see her afterwards. He can give her something to help her sleep.’
    Stanton nodded and left. Haldean leant against the mantelpiece, staring unseeingly