Why Shoot a Butler Read Online Free PDF Page B

the deceased butler. As she stepped into the hall Felicity said: "Good evening, Collins," and hearing the name Amberley looked him over quickly.
    The valet was in no way remarkable. He had a lean, somewhat unhealthily pale face and kept his eyes discreetly lowered.
    Felicity was speaking sympathetically to the man about Dawson's murder. She thought that since he had worked with the butler for several years he must feel his loss considerably and was consequently a little dashed by his calm answer.
    "You are very kind, miss," Collins said. "A very tragic affair, as you say. But though naturally I should not wish such a thing to have happened, Dawson and I were never what one could call really friendly."
    He moved towards one of the doors that opened on to the hall, and feeling rather snubbed Felicity followed him. She gave him her cousin's name, and for a moment the veiled eyes lifted to Amberley's face. They were cold eyes, expressionless, uncomfortably remorseless. They were swiftly hidden again. The valet opened the door and announced the guests.
    Joan and her fiance and a large man with a handsome,full-blooded countenance, were gathered round the fire. Amberley was introduced to the large man and sustained a crushing hand-clasp. Basil Fountain was boisterously pleased to welcome visitors to the house. He was one of those men who radiated goodwill. Amberley could understand and appreciate his friend Corkran's revulsion. Fountain's personality was indeed hearty, but under it lay a certain irritability which flared up under small provocation. He bustled about, offering drinks, Dulling up chairs, chaffing Felicity in the most cheerful way, but when his step-sister did not immediately obey leis command to bring her friend near to the fire he spoke roughly, with a flash of temper that was as uncontrollable as it was transient.
    He was soon smiling again. He said: "You know Corkran, don't you? He's going to become one of the family, as I've no doubt he told you," and laid an affectionate hand on Anthony's unresponsive shoulder.
    He was obviously of a hospitable nature. He pressed refreshment upon his guests, offered cigars and cigarettes, and brought Felicity a cushion. Not until he was perfectly satisfied that everyone was quite comfortable did he broach the subject which must necessarily be engrossing the greater part of his attention. He turned to Amberley and said simply: "I'm particularly glad you came over with your cousin tonight. I understand it was you who found poor Dawson."
    "Yes, I found him, but I'm afraid I can't tell you much about it," Amberley replied.
    Fountain clipped the end of his cigar. There was trouble in his face; he looked all at once like a man who cannot shake off the memory of a bad nightmare. "I know," he said. "He was shot, wasn't he? You didn't see anyone or find anything? Any clue, I mean."
    "No," Amberley answered. "Nothing."
    Joan leaned forward. "I wish you would tell us just what you saw," she said. "The police gave us such a bald account, and we feel in a way responsible, because he was our servant."
    "Yes, tell us what you can," said Anthony, "and then no more." He smiled across at Joan. "It's no use worrying so much, darling. Much better not think about it."
    Fountain looked at him with quick impatience. "It's not easy to forget the murder of one of your own staff," he said. "You take it very lightly, but he was not your servant. It is a most horrible thing to have happened." He gave a little shiver. "I can't get it out of my mind. The fellow being done to death like that —-cold-bloodedly!" He seemed to feel Amberley's gaze upon him and looked up. "You think I'm taking it too hard? Perhaps I am. I don't deny it has upset me." He struck a match and held it to the end of his cigar; Amberley saw the flame quiver. "I can't make out what happened," Fountain said jerkily. "The police spoke of road-bandits. Was he robbed?"
    Corkran, one eye on Joan's pale, anxious face, chose to be flippant.