The Stately Home Murder Read Online Free PDF

you’ll leave that suit of armor alone or else …”
    What the alternative was no one ever knew. At that moment Michael Fisher managed to lift the visor.
    He stared inside.
    A face stared back at him.
    It was human and it was dead.

3
    The information was not exactly welcomed at the nearest police station. In fact, the Superintendent of Police in Berebury was inclined to be petulant when he was told. He glared across his desk at the head of his Criminal Investigation Department and said:
    â€œYou sure it isn’t a false alarm, malicious intent?”
    â€œA body in a suit of armor,” repeated Detective Inspector CD. Sloan, the bearer of the unhappy news.
    â€œPerhaps it was a dummy,” said Superintendent Leeyes hopefully. “False alarm, good intent.”
    â€œIn Ornum House,” went on Sloan.
    â€œOrnum House?” The superintendent sat up. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. “You mean the place where they have all those day trippers?”
    â€œYes, sir.” Sloan didn’t suppose the people who paid their half crowns to go round Ornum House thought of themselves as day trippers, but there was no good going into that with the superintendent now.
    â€œWhereabouts in Ornum House is this body?”
    Sloan coughed. “In the armory, actually, sir.”
    â€œI might have known,” grunted Leeyes. “In that sort of setup the armor is always in the armory.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWho said so?”
    Sloan started. “The steward.”
    â€œNot”—heavily sarcastic—“not the butler?”
    â€œNo, sir. He’s gone down to keep guard. The steward—his name’s Purvis—came to telephone us.”
    â€œAnd,” asked Leeyes pertinently, “the name of the body in the armor?”
    â€œHe didn’t say, sir. He just said his Lordship was sure we would wish to know.”
    The superintendent glared suspiciously at his subordinate. “He did, did he?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Leeyes took a deep breath. “Then you’d better go and—what is it they say?—unravel the mystery, hadn’t you, Sloan?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œThough I don’t want any touching of forelocks, kowtowing or what have you, Sloan. This is the twentieth century.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œOn the other hand”—very silkily—“you would do well to remember that the Earl of Ornum is a Deputy Lieutenant for Calleshire.”
    â€œI shan’t forget, sir.” Even though it was the twentieth century?
    â€œNow, who have you got to go with you?”
    â€œOnly Detective Constable Crosby”—apologetically.
    Leeyes groaned. “Crosby?”
    â€œSergeant Gelven’s gone on that training course, if you remember, sir.”
    The Criminal Investigation Department at Berebury was a very small affair, all matters of great criminal moment being referred to the County Constabulary Headquarters at Calleford.
    The superintendent snorted gently. “I shouldn’t have thought Crosby could unravel knitting let alone some masochistic nonsense like this.”
    â€œNo, sir.” But it would have to be Crosby because there wasn’t anyone else.
    â€œAll right,” sighed Leeyes. “Take him—but do try to see that he doesn’t say ‘You can’t do that there ’ere’ to the Earl.”
    Detective Constable Crosby—raw, but ambitious, too—drove Inspector Sloan the odd fifteen miles or so from the police station at Berebury to the village of Ornum. The village itself was clustered about the entrance to the park—and it was a very imposing entrance indeed. Crosby turned the car in between two magnificent wrought-iron gates.
    The gates were painted black, with the finer points etched out in gold leaf. If the state of a man’s gate was any guide to the man—and in Sloan’s working experience it