Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict by Emily Brightwell (lightest ebook reader txt) 📕

much sense, am I?” Smythe

apologized. “Sorry, let me start at the beginnin’.” He gave

them the information he’d gotten from Blimpey, being

sure not to mention that Blimpey was his source. He took

his time and spoke carefully, making certain he gave them

every little detail he’d heard about Keith Muran and John

Addison. He finished by telling them about his trip to Merriman’s Metal Works and what he’d overheard from the workers in the courtyard. “So that’s why I want to go back

out tonight. There’s bound to be a bellboy or footman from

the hotel that can tell us more about Addison.”

“And you think Addison is a likely suspect?” Mrs. Jeffries

asked.

“Addison ’as been tryin’ to get his hands on Merriman’s

since before Mrs. Muran was murdered, and now that she’s

dead, he’s got his chance,” Smythe explained. “Keith Mu-

ran is probably goin’ to sell to him. I think the workers resent Muran. He wouldn’t even stop to talk to ’em today.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Ruth said softly. “Caroline Muran

was a wonderful employer and very much loved by her

workers. She thought their welfare was just as important as

her profits.”

“Maybe you can find out if John Addison has a gun,”

Wiggins suggested. “Mind you, that’s actually ’arder to

find out than it might sound. I didn’t ’ave much luck with it

today.”

“Well it doesn’t sound like Mr. Muran is followin’ in his

late wife’s footsteps,” Mrs. Goodge commented.

“When someone is murdered, one of the questions you

have to ask yourself is who benefits from the victim’s

death.” Smythe took a quick sip of tea. “It seems to me that

John Addison is right at the top of the list. Buyin’ Merriman’s will keep him from goin’ bankrupt.”

Mrs. Jeffries shook her head in disbelief. “I find it hard

to believe that someone would commit murder to get their

hands on a business.”

“So do I,” Betsy agreed.

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“I don’t,” Wiggins said. “Goin’ bankrupt is a pretty powerful motive, and what’s more, we don’t have us that many suspects, so we ought to ’ang onto the few we’ve got. Cor

blimey, that didn’t come out right.”

“I think we all understand what you mean, Wiggins,”

Mrs. Goodge said. “But after you hear what I’ve learned,

we may have a few more people we can put on our suspect

list. Mind you, though, John Addison does seem to have

benefited nicely from Mrs. Muran’s murder.”

“But perhaps others have as well.” Mrs. Jeffries pushed

the bread and butter toward Smythe.

“Come on, Mrs. Jeffries, we’ve seen people killed for the

strangest of reasons,” Smythe argued. “It seems to me that

wantin’ someone’s factory isn’t much different than wantin’

someone’s money.”

“But a murder would involve so many risks,” she replied.

“John Addison would have to be sure that even with Mrs.

Muran dead, Mr. Muran was prepared to sell to him.”

“Maybe he was sure,” Ruth said.

“Murder is a risky business,” Mrs. Goodge pointed out,

“and most killers think it’s a risk worth taking.”

C H A P T E R 6

Q

“True.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded in agreement. “Let’s hope

the risks this particular killer took will lead us straight to

him or her.” Despite all they’d learned, she’d still not

come up with any reasonable ideas about this case, and

that worried her. Then again, perhaps she was expecting

too much—they had only just begun their investigation.

“Were you able to find out the name of the sacked factory

manager?”

Smythe shook his head and got to his feet. “I ran out of

time. I’ll have a go at that tomorrow and at taking a gander

at the murder scene.”

“Don’t bother. There’s nothing to see exceptin’ a work

hall and a fat lot of empty buildings,” Wiggins said. “I

wasted the whole afternoon there and didn’t find out anything worth knowin’.”

Betsy got up. “I thought you were going to snoop about

the Muran neighborhood today.”

Wiggins grinned broadly. “I did, and I think I might ’ave

found out somethin’ interestin’. But by the time I got finished

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followin’ the ladies to Chelsea and got back to Drayton Gardens, there was no one about.”

“What ladies?” Mrs. Goodge demanded.

“It’s a bit complicated,” Wiggins replied.

“And it sounds like it’ll take more time to tell than I’ve

got.” Smythe grabbed Betsy’s hand and pulled her toward

the hall. “You can tell me everything later,” he told her.

“Mind you don’t stay out too long,” Betsy murmured as

soon as they were out of earshot of the others. “I’m going

to wait up for you.”

“Don’t. You need your rest, lass, and I might be hours.

Anything you hear tonight can keep until tomorrow morning.” He gave her a quick kiss and stepped out into the night.

Betsy closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. She hated it when he went out alone at night. Smythe could take care of himself, of that she was sure, but nonetheless, once the darkness set in, she’d rather have him safely home.

Mrs. Jeffries waited until Betsy took her chair before

asking, “Who would like to go next? Or should we let Wiggins do his explaining before we go any further?”

“His information certainly sounds intriguing,” Ruth

said.

Wiggins smiled self-consciously. “It might be nothing,

but then again, you never know. When I got to Drayton

Gardens this morning, two ladies come strollin’ out the

front door of the Muran house like they owned the place.

So I followed them.” He took a quick sip of tea and told

them how he’d had a feeling the women might be important so he’d trailed them to the tea shop. “I got lucky enough to get a table close to ’em so I heard everything

they was sayin’.” He repeated the conversation he’d overheard. “Then I followed ’em to a little house in Chelsea.”

“What if they were just visiting the Muran house?” Betsy

speculated.

“They might be Caroline Muran’s cousins,” Mrs. Goodge

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

99

added. “My sources mentioned that she had cousins living

in Chelsea. It’s probably these two.”

Mrs. Jeffries said nothing for a moment. “I expect you’re

right. Constable Barnes said there were two women with

Keith Muran when he came and collected his watch from

the Yard.”

“You’ve spoken to Constable Barnes?” Mrs. Goodge

asked.

“Yes. I’ll tell you all about it in a few minutes.” She

glanced at Wiggins. “Are you finished?”

“That’s all I found out.” Wiggins decided not to talk

about the boardman he’d taken to the