The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) Read Online Free PDF

breakfast tray couldn’t have been tampered with. Therefore his brother had been the last to see him alive - after they’d finished off that bottle together.’
    ‘Surely you can’t believe that? Why, they are devoted to each other—’
    Faro cut short his protests. ‘I’m trying to concentrate only on the facts. What you found when you got to Priorsfield. Namely, Cedric was dead and his brother anxious for you to sign the death certificate—’
    He had hardly finished when the doorbell rang. The two men exchanged glances and, looking out of the window, Faro saw that the caller was Grace Langweil.
    Mrs Brook ushered her into the drawing room. Throwing down her gloves, ignoring Faro, she rushed across to Vince.
    ‘What is all this about? Uncle Adrian tells me that - that you made a great fuss over the - the - certificate for poor dear Papa. And that you refused to sign it. Refused,’ she repeated, eyes wide in astonishment. ‘Now they tell me that you are insisting that there must be a postmortem. Vince - Vince, what in God’s name has got into you? Are you mad or something?’
    Suddenly she broke down sobbing and Vince took her into his arms. But she refused to be comforted and pulling away from him demanded: ‘How could you be so cruel. How could you do this to Mama and me? And to our family who have always treated you with such kindness?’
    ‘It has to be done, Grace.’ Vince’s voice sounded hollow.
    ‘Has to? I don’t understand “has too”. I know about postmortems. Surely you could permit my father’ - she emphasised the words - ‘my father to go to his grave without carving up his poor body. Surely you owe us that much.’
    Over his shoulder Vince gave a despairing glance at Faro who quietly left the unhappy pair. He saw them leave the house together, unspeaking, their faces pale, stony.
    Shortly afterwards he departed on the train to investigate a fraud case near Musselburgh. Its intricacies kept his mind and energies away from the scene he had left at Sheridan Place and when he returned home late that evening, Vince was still absent.
    At midnight his eyes drooped with weariness. It had been a long and gruelling day and he was glad to retire. Sleep was not to be his, however; he was alert at every sound, every footstep or carriage outside the house that might indicate Vince’s return.
    One thought refused to leave his mind. If Theodore was innocent, who then in that apparently devoted family should wish to poison Cedric Langweil? All evidence must incriminate the last person who had poured him a glass of wine, who was apparently the last one to see him alive.
    Faro found himself hoping for a miracle, that the postmortem would prove Vince’s misgivings were wrong, for he knew his stepson too well not to understand the anguish this decision had given him. To go against the whole assembled family of the girl he was to marry and declare that her father and their beloved brother had not died of natural causes.
    Dawn was breaking, the first birds cheeping in the garden, when at last he drifted off into an uneasy slumber.
    At the breakfast table Mrs Brook had a message for him. ‘A lad has just handed in this note from Mr Vince, sir.’
    Detained on a confinement case. Theodore would like us both to present ourselves at Priorsfield at four o’clock this afternoon.
    In happier circumstances Faro would have enjoyed the walk to Wester Duddingston. There were swans gliding on the loch’s mirrored surface and in the pale muted sunshine he stopped at a vantage point to gaze back at where a dwarfed castle crouched like a heraldic beast on a horizon misted with the approach of day’s end. This was his favourite hour, his favourite aspect of Edinburgh.
    A city of dreams and a city of nightmares where the past walked close to the present. Close your eyes and you could sense that the past was alive and that history was still happening.
    As he approached the gates of Priorsfield with its lawns rolling down to