The Three Snails E-Book

Aidan de Brune

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Another breathtaking novel by the master of mystery Aidan de Brune (Herbert Charles CULL). A dead man and three dead snails. What could it mean if not murder? The story is fast-paced with some surprising twists, well written and great to read. This genuine mystery story takes the reader from one exciting adventure to another with all the adroitness and ingenuity of de Brune’s previous successful books. One is left gasping with suspense as the many clues are unraveled only to be followed by others still more stubborn. An entertaining tale of mystery and intrigue, this book constitutes a must-read for lovers of crime mystery.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER I

INSPECTOR Walter Paull of the Criminal Investigation Branch, Sydney stood in the doorway between the two offices, gazing before him reflectively. Behind him stood a white-faced girl, trying to peer fearfully past the Inspector’s large bulk into the inner office.

The room was barely furnished. By the window stood a large plain sloping desk, in which rested a big drawings board and a large assortment of rulers, paints, inks, etc. Against the wall opposite the door was an ordinary desk, the swivel chair drawn close to the knee’s aperture. In the chair sat a man leaning back, his head lolling to one side and turned so that a considerable portion of his face could be seen from the door. A small book-case and three plain chairs completed the furnishing of the room.

There could be no doubt but that the man at the desk was dead. Yet, Paull hesitated to advance into the room. For some moments he stood scratching his clean-shaven chin carefully; then, carefully keeping his large bulk between the desk he turned.

“Haven’t been in there, Miss–er–You didn’t say what your name was–”

“Anstey, Maude Anstey!”

The girl spoke in low hesitating tones. “No, I haven’t been in there. I couldn’t! I–”

“There there!” Taking the girl by the arm, the inspector led her to a chair in the outer office.

“Just a bit of an accident, I should say. Nothing for you to be frightened about. Now, sit there, m’dear. Have a drink of water? No? Well, well. Now, Miss–yes–Miss Anstey. You rang Police Headquarters? Quite right. Let me see–Yes, twenty minutes ago; Just after you got here this morning, eh? Sharp to time, yes? Ten minutes to ten now; that makes your time to arrive at half-past nine, eh? Thought so–”

The inspector rambled on, waiting for the girl to recover, in some measure, her composure. For a awhile she sat, shaken, and with little choking sobs rising irregularly in her throat. At length she quieted.

“Get here at nine-thirty; don’t you?” repeated the inspector.

“Nine o’clock, sir.” She spoke weakly.

“Never mind the ‘sir.’” The little cupid-bow mouth twisted to an expression of distaste. “Call me inspector, or Mr Paull; I answer to both–Except when I’m at home and the missus is wild. Then to anything she thinks of.”

“Yes–Inspector.”

“That’s right!” The soft podgy hand of the detective patted the girl’s reassuringly. “Feel better, eh? Well, well! You get here at nine, eh? What time does Mr. Delaney get here?”

“About half-past, as a rule; sometimes later.”

“Irregular, eh? Well, you came in here. Got a key to the offices, eh? Thought so. Opened the door and walked in. Now–was that door open when, you arrived? Think carefully. Plenty of time! I’m in no hurry, and he–” Paull shrugged nonchalantly.

“The door was shut, Mr Paull.”

“Didn’t go in there at once?”

“Not for some time. I didn’t think that Mr. Delaney had arrived–and there was nothing for me to do there.” The girl hesitated. “I had a drawing to finish for him by the time he came and–and I was a bit behind with it–”

“So you settled down to work? Finish the drawing?”

“Yes. You’re an artist, eh, like Mr. Delaney? Commercial artist. Heard of him. Good man, they say. Plenty of work here?”

“Quite a lot.” The girl smiled faintly

“Well, well! You went on with the drawing and finished it. Then–well, then–”

“I thought I would tidy up Mr Delaney’s room. He’s–rather untidy, you know, like all men.”

“Leaves things about and–“ Paull grimaced. “Poor devils, men!” A slow chuckle came from the thick throat. “Ever thought what an untidy world this would be, if it weren’t for the women, Miss Anstey? No? Well, take my word for it. So you went in there.” He pointed to the inner office.

“I opened the door.”

“Didn’t go in?”

“Ah well, perhaps as well.”

He paused a moment. “Where’s the ‘phone? Ah, here on your desk.”

“There’s two–one in Mr Delaney’s room. There’s a switch here. I take, calls and put them through to him.” The girl illustrated as she spoke.

“Quite neat,” Paull nodded. “So you didn’t go in, there? Rang us up from here? Good! Now about yourself, m’dear. Feel all right, now? Able to stay here for a time? Good! May want to ask you some questions, later. I’ll have a little look around, first. He raised himself from the low chair on which he was seated and strolled to the inner room, the girl watching him fearfully. At the door he turned.

“By-the-bye, Miss Anstey. Been long here?”

“Just over six months.”

“Clerk, or–”

“Apprentice artist.” The girl spoke quickly. “I’m here to gain experience in commercial work.”

“Ah! Hm!” Paull nodded; “Well, if anyone calls, or telephones, just say that Mr. Delaney’s engaged, and will be for some time. That’s true–as true as ever will be. Get their names and make a list of them. Get me?”

The girl nodded. Paull turned to the inner room. Just within the door he hesitated, glancing about him inquisitively, yet not allowing, his eyes to rest on the dead man. Nothing in the room appeared to be out of place. There were no signs of a struggle. He took a few steps forward and peered over the dead man’s body at the desk. On the blotting pad lay a large sketch, covered by a sheet of paper.

Again Paull scratched his chin. There was an atmosphere in the room he could not understand. The man had been murdered. From where he stood the detective could plainly view the swollen distorted face, the big powerful frame. It seemed impossible that a man of that build could be done to deaths without putting up a fight. Yet–

Nothing in the room had been disturbed. He bent to the ground close to: the desk, examining the linoleum under the deed man’s feet: A few marks showed, but nothing out of the common. Then Delaney had died swiftly; almost unknowingly, as he sat alone before his desk.

The sounds of someone in the outer office brought the detective to his feet. He went to the door. Miss Anstey was at the counter, talking to a tall, thin man; carrying a bag.

“Ah, doctor! Thought you wouldn’t be long after me.” Paull ambled to the counter and lifted up the flap.

“Come in. I want your opinion on things before anything–or–well, you know–is moved.”

He preceded the doctor into the inner office and stood on one side while the medical man made his examination. In a few minutes the doctor turned, shrugging.

“How long, Dr. Carter?”

“About twelve to fourteen hours!”

“Hm! Eight to ten o’clock last night!” Paull mused a moment; then turned in the doorway. “Miss Anstey, what time did you leave work last night?”

“Five o’clock, Inspector.”

“And Mr. Delaney was still here?”

“Yes.”

“Said he was going to work late?”

“He usually, did, Mr. Paull.” The girl hesitated. “He never did much work in the daytime–drawing, I mean. Used to be in and out; rarely at his desk. Late in the afternoon he would commence work. I nearly always left him here. He would go out to dinner about six and then come back and work on.”

“Late?”

“Till about ten o’clock–sometimes later.”

Paull nodded. He turned again to face the doctor. “Cause of death?” he asked casually.

“Want me to tell you?” The medical man pointed to the thin cord embedded in the flesh of the neck. “That’s plain–strangulation–and by someone who knew what they were doing.”

Paull stepped to the side of the dead man and bent to examine the cord.

“Nothing out of the ordinary here; doctor. Stuff you can buy in any shop, almost. Still–”

“Want that cord, Inspector?” Dr. Carter placed his bag on the desk and opened it.

“Hmmm–Yes.” Paull frowned. “The cord’s not worth much; but the knot now, that’s interesting. Can you–”

“Course!” A few deft movements and the cord came away from the flesh. The doctor handed it to the detective, who placed it on the desk. “That all you want from me?”