Murder Adrift Read Online Free PDF

superfluous ceremony.
    The offices were modern and airy and the faint scent of wine pervaded them as well. Littlejohn halted at a door marked
Counting House Inquiries. Enter.,
and following the instruction found a young girl occupying a cubby-hole a little larger than a sentry-box and filing her nails. She took his card, read it with no sign of emotion, and disappeared leisurely into the interior.
    â€˜Mr. Todd will see you. . . .’
    Kenneth Todd, with his greying hair carefully cut andplastered down on his head, his washed-out blue eyes and his lined face, was nondescript. He looked older than his years. He had been stated to be 47; he looked nearer 60. Which was perhaps not to be wondered at, if, as seemed to be the case, he was devoted to his business and little else, had been under his mother’s thumb until late in life, and had borne the burden of his spendthrift brother’s misdoings into the bargain.
    Todd wore a well-cut grey suit and a white shirt, both of which emphasised his sallow complexion, and he was perfectly groomed. Not a hair out of place. One would imagine him to be thorough and finicky in all he did. Everything neatly in its place, every move carefully thought out, not much imagination, and little, if any, humour.
    â€˜Good morning, Littlejohn. Please take a seat. I won’t be a minute . . . ’
    He put his head round the door of an adjacent room in which a typewriter was clacking busily. He gave instructions to someone unseen and shortly afterwards a girl with her legs showing almost to her waistline entered with a decanter of wine and glasses on a silver tray.
    â€˜A glass of wine . . .?’
    He poured out a glass for each of them with the precision of long practice and then sat down behind his desk, crossed his legs, and sighed.
    It was a pleasant, red, full-bodied wine very different from the
vin ordinaire
in which the firm was said to specialise. Todd drank without any fuss. None of the tricks of squinting at the colour, sniffing the bouquet and smacking the lips around the first mouthful. Littlejohn guessed that the wine had been served ready decanted to keep the label secret. Todd seemed the sort who kept the doings of his left hand hidden from his right.
    It was all done in a methodical, careworn way and Littlejohn began to wonder how long they were going to be before they got down to brass tacks.
    â€˜You are doubtless in possession of details of my brother’s murder . . .?’
    It came out suddenly, à propos of nothing much.
    â€˜I have all the police reports, sir.’
    Todd rose and paced up and down the room as though carefully weighing his words and wondering how to express them. Then, suddenly, like a man at the end of his tether under prolonged pressure, he resumed his seat and began to talk.
    â€˜You know, then, that my brother led a rather . . . a rather strange life. One might even call it wild or irresponsible. He had many queer friends. . . . I’m sorry if I seem to speak thus of the dead, but you will doubtless come upon the information one way or another, if you haven’t heard already. You may as well have it from me.’
    He filled up their glasses again, more, it seemed, for something to do than anything else.
    â€˜My brother, although a director of the family firm, did little to further our interests. He was a spendthrift. He almost ruined us once. My mother had to sell her jewellery. . . .’
    Todd had grown quite uninhibited already about his brother’s character and history. He seemed set on taking advantage of the interview to get the resentment of years off his mind.
    â€˜He would never have remained on our board if my mother had not insisted. For almost no services whatever he drew a small salary, director’s fees and interest on his shares. He had no dignity or consideration for our family.’
    â€˜He was married?’
    â€˜Yes; and treated his wife badly. She is a refined woman of great integrity and