Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death Read Online Free PDF

was a subtle interrogation when Clive Morton looked in. He was a tall man with greying blond hair that was swept back, lotioned and in need of a cut. Dressed in a blue blazer with grey flannel trousers, a white Oxford shirt and a Savage Club tie, he clearly saw himself as the public face of his firm.
    ‘Canon Chambers,’ he began. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you since the funeral? I trust my secretary has been catering for your every need.’
    Miss Morrison interrupted. ‘He was asking about a will.’
    The solicitor appeared surprised. ‘I didn’t know that was your department?’
    ‘On behalf of Mrs Staunton . . .’
    Clive Morton already appeared to suspect Sidney’s motives for coming. ‘I see.’
    This was the man that Pamela Morton had wanted to leave. Sidney felt uncomfortable with the knowledge. ‘I was just passing when . . .’
    ‘He was not that fond of paperwork, our Stephen. He could be rather slapdash. Don’t think he bothered about a will. He didn’t even have the courtesy to leave a note explaining why he had done such a dreadful thing. Poor Mrs Hughes . . .’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘Our cleaner. She found him.’
    ‘So there was definitely no explanation for what he did?’
    ‘There’s not much need to explain something that dramatic. He downed enough whisky to give him the courage and off he went.’
    ‘Had you been partners for long?’
    ‘Just coming up to five years. We read law at Trinity and got back in touch after the war.’
    ‘So you were friends?’
    ‘Most of the time. We did have the odd contretemps but nothing too serious. Although it has to be said that Stephen could be bloody moody. The charming Ulsterman who drinks too much and then tells you it’s all hopeless; you know the type . . .’
    Clive Morton’s presence dominated the room. Miss Morrison gave a little nod and left. She seemed upset. ‘If you’ll excuse me . . .’
    Sidney pressed on. ‘Did he have a temper?’
    ‘Oh, he had a temper all right. I remember I once remarked that it was rather amusing that a man with a German wife should have to initial all his paperwork “SS”. He went berserk!’
    ‘I can imagine that he would.’
    ‘Never one to take a joke, our Stephen.’ Clive Morton moved towards the drinks table and began to open a bottle of sherry. ‘Would you like a drink, Canon Chambers? It’s nearly lunchtime and it’s been sticky round here recently, as you can imagine.’
    ‘I shouldn’t . . .’
    ‘Go on . . .’
    ‘A small whisky perhaps.’
    ‘Oh,’ Clive Morton paused. ‘I had you down as a sherry man.’
    ‘Most people do . . . but I’d prefer whisky if that’s possible.’
    ‘How do you have it?
    ‘Neat, please, from the decanter.’
    ‘Stephen was very partial to the whiskey; the one spelled with an “e”. I’m more of a gin and tonic man. I’m sure Miss Morrison will bring in some ice. She knows I need a bit of fortification before lunch.’
    Sidney took a sip of the whisky that had been poured from the decanter. It tasted exactly as it did at home. ‘Is this from Stephen Staunton’s supply?’
    ‘I wouldn’t know. Miss Morrison stocks the cupboard. We normally offer a gin or a sherry. If a client is particularly upset we do have some medicinal brandy. Stephen, however, stuck to his whiskey.’
    Sidney was no aficionado but he had spent enough time with his friends in the Ulster Rifles to recognise that he was not experiencing Stephen Staunton’s favourite blended whiskey. There was no smoky aroma, no fruity sweetness redolent of vanilla and bitter toffee. In short, it was not Bushmills.
    ‘Of course, Stephen used to drink far too much,’ Clive Morton continued. ‘And it always gets to you in the end. I’ve seen it in so many friends, especially those who couldn’t settle down after the war. They come home and can’t explain what they’ve been through. So they drink to cheer up, the alcohol depresses them, and then they drink even more to