Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

don’t think I’ve ever written so fast in my life.”
    “You’ll get even faster the longer you stay on the force.” Barnes smiled in amusement. “Have the house and the grounds been searched?”
    “We searched both as soon as we arrived and saw the victim had been shot,” Bishop said. “But we found nothing. Mind you, here in the house, it was a bit difficult.”
    “Difficult,” Barnes repeated. “How was it difficult? What do you mean?”
    Bishop shifted from one leg to the other. “We did our best but we kept stumbling over servants and guests. They were everywhere, sir. It was very awkward.”
    The constable’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Awkward or not, I assume your search was thorough?”
    Witherspoon came out of the drawing room. He smiled at the young constable. “I’m sure it was very thorough, wasn’t it?”
    Bishop smiled in relief and nodded vigorously. “Yes sir, it was.”
    Barnes resisted the urge to box the inspector’s ears. Ye gods, now the lad would never own up to whether or not they’d actually conducted a rigorous search. Sometimes he wished Inspector Witherspoon wasn’t quite so kind and decent.
    “No sign of the weapon, I suppose,” Witherspoon continued.
    “None, sir.”
    Barnes, who was more than a little annoyed at his superior officer, said, “We’d best get upstairs to view the body, sir.”
    Witherspoon repressed a shudder and nodded, and the two policemen started up the stairs.
    Another constable was standing guard in front of a closed door just off the first floor landing. He snapped to attention. “It’s just here, sir.” He opened the door and ushered them inside.
    As he stepped over the threshold, Witherspoon took a deep breath. He hated dead bodies. Truth of the matter was that oftentimes some of the sights he’d seen had given him the worst nightmares. But he knew his duty, and no matter how unpleasant this might be, he’d do his job to the best of his ability.
    He stopped and looked at his surroundings. The room was both a bedroom and a study. The ceiling was high and the walls painted a soothing shade of cream. A double bed with a carved wooden headboard and a maroon coverlet was on the left-hand side of the long room. Farther down and on the right was a large desk. Witherspoon quickly flicked his gaze past the body sitting propped up in the chair. Opposite the desk was a set of French doors.
    Two brilliantly colored oriental rugs covered the dark wood floor. Shelves, tables, and bookcases lined the walls. On the far side of the room was a fireplace with a green marble mantel and just above it was a huge portrait of a steam engine.
    Witherspoon blinked, sure his eyes must be playing tricks on him. But they weren’t, the painting was a train all right. He saw that there were trains everywhere. Model trains cluttered the tops of tables and shelves, photographs of steam engines and railcars were on the walls, half a dozen timetable books were stacked in a heap on the rug, and a complete toy train set was spread out on the floor next to the desk.
    Finally, the inspector focused his attention on the dead man. Francis Humphreys was slumped forward, looking for all the world like he’d just fallen asleep.
    “We didn’t move the body, sir,” the constable said quietly from behind him. “We’ve all heard of your methods.”
    “Very good, Constable.” Witherspoon took a deep breath and forced his legs to move. Constable Barnes reached the victim first. He lifted the man’s chin and stared at the bullet hole in his forehead. “He hasn’t bled much,” he murmured. “That’s odd. Usually head shots bleed like the very devil.”
    Witherspoon was glad his stomach was empty. “Yes, they usually do.” He looked down at the desk. A copy of Bradshaw’s Monthly Railway Guide was lying by the corpse’s lifeless right hand. His left hand rested on a stack of papers and next to it was a notebook in dark green leather. “Perhaps Mr. Humphreys had sat