American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

which, at the time when I left, had not been investigated, is that somebody may have murdered her for her money. Damn ’em! I’d have given them an equal amount gladly, if they’d only have let her live to cook for me.

‘In person she was a small woman of perhaps fifty, although she was so wizened and dried-up by nature that she might have been either more or less. In fact, her appearance has never changed since I have known her. She was very small in stature, and, although I think she would have been capable of putting up a stiff fight, she would have been no match, of course, for an ordinarily strong man. Last night, the servants say, she retired to her cottage at her usual time, and nothing was heard of her during the evening. Very early this morning one of the maids went to call her and, receiving no response to her knock, pushed open the door and found the body.

‘The woman had been stabbed, and the place was in a terrible state of disorder; but that part of it you can see for yourself when we get there. I left orders that nobody should enter the building, and that nothing was to be disturbed until I returned. On making the discovery, the maid rushed from the house screaming, and fell on the lawn in a dead faint. I was at once called, and, by the time the maid had regained her senses, I was on the spot. As soon as she had told her story I looked hastily into the woman’s house to verify the facts, and hurried to Boston to secure your services. You are, of course, to do whatever you think best in the matter, and I give you full authority to act in any way you may deem necessary on my premises.’

For a few moments, following the recital, Quincy was silent, knowing well that little further information was to be gained until he should arrive at the grounds and be able to examine the premises in person.

‘How did you come to employ the woman when you had absolutely no knowledge of her, or of her previous state of life?’ he asked, after a time.

‘Why, I told you that I was obliged to have a cook in great haste at that time,’ Lamson protested. ‘She was well recommended as a cook by the employment agency, and consequently I hired her with very little question. I have never had any trouble whatever with her and, in the twelve years, I had come to look on her as being scrupulously honest and trustworthy in every way. But wait, we are nearly there now, and you will soon have an opportunity to judge this matter at first hand.’

Quincy stared unseeingly at the low and dirty wooden buildings which lined the street along which the machine was speeding. The case appealed strongly to him as it had been rehearsed, and he could not suppress a certain intangible feeling that it would grow yet more interesting as it progressed. Of course, he considered, in the case of a murder for the purpose of robbery, at the possibility of which Lamson hinted, the case would undoubtedly degenerate into a mere police routine affair in which he could take no part. But, on the other hand, the very air of mystery which appeared to surround the woman, herself, gave a vague promise of possibilities into which he would be able to dig and search to his heart’s content. He glanced once more at his surroundings, and discovered that they were now in more open country and that the dirty little buildings had given place to the more imposing residences of Beverly’s summer colony. The machine turned abruptly, and he discovered that they were rolling up a curved driveway to what was undoubtedly Lamson’s house.

A much agitated servant hurried up to the machine as they alighted and, after a somewhat doubtful glance at Quincy, reported in a rapid undertone:

‘The police are here, sir, and the medical examiner. I told them of my orders against allowing anybody to enter the cook’s house until you had returned with a detective, and they consented to wait. They are down under the tree by the house now.’

‘All right, Higgins,’ Lamson replied, turning once more toward Quincy. ‘Now, Mr Sawyer, if you will come right down we can all examine the rooms together. I am somewhat surprised that the police consented to await my return. They are usually little inclined to await the convenience of a private detective, are they not?’

‘Unfortunately, they are,’ Quincy replied with a dry smile. ‘The police in a large city would not have done so, under any circumstances; but it is probable that in these smaller towns the police and all other municipal officials are more ready to pay heed to the wishes of their wealthy residents. It is out of respect to you, and through no regard for me, that they are waiting.’

Quincy carefully examined the exterior of the cook’s former place of residence as they approached. It was a pretty little cottage, painted a conservative white and standing in a location considerably removed from the residence of Lamson himself. The cottage was of fair dimensions, containing, he judged, about six rooms; but it appeared dwarfed because of the giant horse-chestnut trees which towered above it on every side. From beneath one of these trees three men arose, and came forward to meet them, Quincy having an excellent opportunity to examine the officials as they advanced.

The foremost of the trio he judged, by reason of the bountiful supply of gold braid sprinkled over his uniform, to be the chief of the local department. The second, who followed at a respectful distance, was evidently a member of the force, while the last, a rather small, dark-faced man in plain clothes, was undoubtedly the medical examiner. As Quincy and Lamson halted before the house, the chief bustled up to them, a smile,