Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Cake Read Online Free PDF Page B

have?”
    Frommer thought about it for a moment. “Well, let’s see, there’s the butler and the cook, of course. Then there’s a housemaid and an upstairs maid and a ’tweeny…oh yes, and we’ve a scullery maid and a footman as well.” He was counting on his fingers as he spoke. “That makes seven servants, Inspector. Though I fail to see how the number of people I have in my employ has anything to do with Roland’s death.”
    “You’d be surprised, sir,” Witherspoon muttered. In his experience, the more staff there was the more opportunity there might be for a good policeman to find out a great deal about a household. So many people, he had observed, tended to think their servants were like pieces of furniture. Deaf, dumb and existing only to serve. He strongly suspected that Andrew Frommer was this kind of person. No doubt Mr. Frommer would be absolutely stunned to know that amongst his own staff there were people of keen intelligence and perception. “What time did your staff leave Ascot for London?”
    “Right after lunch.”
    “At the same time that Mr. Ashbury left for the train station?” Barnes asked.
    Witherspoon nodded approvingly. That might indeed be useful information to have.
    “Yes, the servants were packing up the coach when Roland and I were chatting in the front garden.” Frommer stroked his chin.
    “When did you and your wife return to London?” Witherspoon asked. “Apparently, from what Mrs. Frommer said to you, you weren’t together.”
    “She was correct about that,” he admitted. “We did come back to town separately. Mrs. Frommer went to visit the vicarage and I came on ahead on the four o’clock. Mary Anne was supposed to take the five o’clock.”
    “You’ve been in the city since late this afternoon?” The inspector mentally calculated how long it took to get from Ascot to London. “Since about four forty-five.” He pulled out his pocketwatch and noted the time. “It’s well after seven, sir. Where have you been?”
    “That’s none of your business” —Frommer blustered—“but you can’t possibly think I had anything to do with Ashbury’s death. I’d no reason to dislike Roland.”
    “I’ve no doubt that’s true, sir. In which case you can have no objection to telling me where you’ve been since four forty-five. It doesn’t take two hours to get here from the station.”
    “Actually”—Frommer cleared his throat—“I did a bit of shopping. That’s why I came on early; I wanted to stop off on Bond Street and see my tailor. Trouble was, fellow wasn’t in, so it was a wasted trip.”
    “What’s the name of your tailor, sir?” Barnes asked.
    Frommer’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you implying you don’t believe me?”
    “It’s merely routine, sir,” Witherspoon put in hastily. “We have to confirm everyone’s whereabouts.”
    “That’s absurd.” Frommer’s eyes snapped angrily anda crimson flush spread up his neck. “I’m a respected member of the community, Inspector. A member of Parliament. I’ll not be questioned like some common criminal. Now, if you don’t mind, sir, I’ll say good day.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
    Barnes looked at the inspector. “What do you make of that, sir?”
    “Difficult to say, Constable.” Witherspoon sighed. “He might be one of those people who feel they’re so important they’re above the rules that govern ordinary people.”
    “Or he might be scared.”
    “Yes, that’s definitely a possibility as well.” Witherspoon shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? We’ll have to confirm his alibi.”
    “How can we do that, sir? He never told us the name of his tailor.”
    “I daresay his wife will,” the inspector replied. “I don’t think she likes him all that much.”
    A wide smile flashed across Barnes’s craggy face, making him appear years younger. “Right, sir, I should have thought of that. Do you think he’ll cause us a bit of