Who Killed Charmian Karslake? Read Online Free PDF Page B

house?”
    â€œNothing at all, as far as we can ascertain.”
    The inspector rose. “I’m very much obliged to you, Sir Arthur. Now, if you please, we will have a look at the scene of the crime and then I shall be glad to have a few minutes’ conversation with the different members of the house-party.”
    â€œThe – the body has been moved, inspector, to the private chapel on the north side of the house. It was removed after Superintendent Bower had made his examination.”
    The inspector’s lips tightened. “H’m! that’s a pity. Still, possibly it was unavoidable under the circumstances. I should like to have a word with your butler, Sir Arthur.”
    â€œBrook? Oh, certainly. He shall take you up to the room.” Sir Arthur opened the door as he spoke. “Ah, there you are, Brook. Take these gentlemen up to Miss Karslake’s room.”
    â€œYes, Sir Arthur.”
    The butler was a man of middle age. Ordinarily no doubt as impassive as most of his kind, today he was shaken out of his usual calm. His face had a mottled, unhealthy appearance. As he turned to precede them Stoddart saw that his eyes looked frightened, that his hands were shaking. He led the way upstairs and down a passage immediately opposite. At the first door they came to a policeman was stationed, and as he moved aside at a word from Stoddart they saw that the door had been broken open.
    The inspector stepped softly over to the bed. Harbord followed. He looked at it for a moment, then he glanced at the inspector.
    â€œShe was not killed here, sir. Not on this bed, I mean.”
    â€œNo, the assassin must have moved her.” Stoddart pointed to a rug before the fire-place. “She was standing over there, I think.”
    Harbord turned his attention to the place indicated. The rug had evidently been kicked aside. On the polished floor beyond there were evident traces of bloodstains.
    The inspector took a tiny pill-box from his pocket and shook it over the blood. After a minute or two he picked it up and signalled to Harbord, who was leaning over the window-sill, microscope in hand.
    He looked round. “No one got out of this window!”
    â€œNo,” said the inspector slowly. “No, I’m afraid they did not.”

CHAPTER 3
    â€œWell, you may say what you like about the police methods of this country, but I do believe in the States we should have laid our hands on the murderer before now.”
    Mrs. Richard Penn-Moreton was the speaker. She, her sister-in-law and hostess, and the latter’s great friend, Paula Galbraith, were in the morning-room.
    Like all the rooms at the Abbey it was rather small, the walls were thick, the windows high up and many paned, with the lead casing and the old grey bottleglass that the Penn-Moretons prided themselves on replacing.
    The present Lady Moreton had a sense of the fitness of things. The old stone walls were untouched, un-desecrated by modern prints or photographs. Some fine old carving surmounted the high mantelpiece, wonderful Gobelin tapestry hung opposite. The oak floor was polished by the elbow grease of centuries. Eastern prayer-rugs took the place of carpets. There were two or three big arm-chairs; and a luxuriously padded chesterfield stood before the fire-place. For the rest, the chairs, like the various occasional tables that stood about, were of oak. A great brass bowl of Parma violets was under the window, and a big bunch of sweet-smelling roses near the open fire-place, in which a bright fire burned, though the night fell hot and airless.
    Lady Moreton was sitting huddled up in one corner of the chesterfield. Usually a bright, sparkling little brunette, tonight all her colour had faded – even her lips were pale – there were deep, blue lines under her eyes. She glanced up at her sister-in-law.
    â€œI don’t know what they would do in your country, I am sure, Sadie,” she said wearily. “But,