Mrs. Jeffries Stands Corrected Read Online Free PDF

waved a hand dismissively. “That don’t matter. The cabbies’ll know where it is.”
    “How quickly can you find out?” Betsy asked.
    “Be back before breakfast,” he replied, giving the maid a cocky grin. “And then we can get crackin’; right, Mrs. Jeffries?”

    Smythe was as good as his word. As they sat down to breakfast the next morning, he rushed in through the back door, paused to pat Fred, who was bouncing at his feet, and then announced that the Gilded Lily Pub was on the corner of Minyard Street and Bonham Road. “It’s less than ’alf a mile from Scotland Yard,” he finished as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
    “So where do we start?” Wiggins asked excitedly.
    “I think you should get over to the area and start talking to the street boys and costermongers,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “See what you can find out about the victim.”
    “Do you want me to have a go at the shopkeepers in the area?” Betsy asked.
    Mrs. Jeffries regarded her thoughtfully. “No, I want you to find out where Haydon lived and then nip round to his home and see if you can make contact with someone from his household. See what you can find out.”
    “But he was murdered at the pub,” Betsy protested.
    “Yes, but Dapeers was at a celebration with his friends and relations,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “So we must find out as much as we can about everyone present and see ifany of his relatives or acquaintances had a reason to murder him. The best way to do that is to learn what we can about him and his household. As we all know, it’s usually those nearest and dearest to us that are the most dangerous.”
    “What about me?” Mrs. Goodge asked. “I’ve only got one name to go on, and Dapeers was only a publican. I don’t think my sources are goin’ to know much about the man.”
    Mrs. Jeffries understood the cook’s dilemma. Mrs. Goodge had a veritable army of tradespeople who trooped through her kitchen. Costermongers, delivery boys, rag-and-bones men. She also had a wide network of friends from her many years of cooking for the cream of London society. But unfortunately, in this case, Mrs. Goodge was right. It was highly unlikely that any of her sources would know much about a common pub owner. Or would they? “I’m not so sure about that,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Perhaps you will find out something. You must try.”
    “I don’t know, Mrs. Jeffries,” Mrs. Goodge said sadly. “He’s only a pub owner. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s not like he had half of London snooping about and watching him when he was alive. Probably no one gave a toss about his coming and goings. It’s not like he’s anybody important now, is it?”
    “Would you like to go out and ask a few questions, then?” the housekeeper said.
    “Certainly not,” Mrs. Goodge retorted, shocked at the very notion of leaving her kitchen. “I’m staying right here. You just be sure that this lot”—she swept her arm around the table—“gets me some names. My sources may not know anything today about that murder, but they’re all just as nosy as we are. A few well-chosen words and I’ll have ’em out on the streets learning all sorts of interesting bits and pieces.”
    “That’s the spirit, Mrs. Goodge.” Smythe reached for his tea. “Luty and Hatchet’ll both be right narked. You know how Luty ’ates to miss a murder.”
    “What about Hatchet?” Betsy added. “He’s just as bad.”
    “I wonder if we shouldn’t send them a telegram,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. “We could use their help.”
    “Of course we must send a telegram,” Mrs. Goodge agreed. “If Luty misses another murder, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

    The Dapeers house was much grander than Witherspoon expected. The tall, redbrick structure was located on Percy Street, off the Tottenham Court Road. “I must say, he lives in rather a large house for a publican,” Witherspoon muttered. He glanced around the elegant drawing room,