Detective and mystery stories; Forensic scientists -- Fiction
“That’s right. Want the best brains we can get.” He nodded his heavy
head at Reggie. “What do you make of it?”
“I don’t wonder you find it harassing,” Reggie said.
“Harassing! That’s putting it mildly. I’ve lost more sleep over it
than I want to think about.” He became aware that Reggie was studying
him. “Doctor, aren’t you?” he laughed ruefully. “I’m not a case, you
know.”
“I apologize for the professional instinct,” Reggie said. “But it
does make me say you ought to see your doctor, sir.”
“My doctor can’t tell me anything I don’t know. It’s this scandal
that’s the matter with me. You wouldn’t say I was sentimental, would
you? You wouldn’t take me for an innocent? Well, do you know, I’ve
been in business thirty years, and I’ve never had one of my own
people break faith with me. That’s what irritates me. Somebody in my
own office, somebody close to me, selling me. By God, it’s maddening!”
“Whom do you suspect?” said Reggie.
Kimball flung himself about, and the chair creaked. “Damn it, man,
we’ve had all that out over and over again. I can’t suspect any one.
I won’t suspect any one. But the thing’s been done.”
“As I understand, the only people who knew the scheme were yourself
and Sandford, your secretary?”
“I’d as soon suspect myself as Sandford.”
“Yesterday three thousand pounds in notes was paid by somebody, who
didn’t give his name, into Sandford’s account,” said Lomas.
“Great God!” said Kimball, and rolled back in his chair, breathing
heavily. “That’s what I wouldn’t let myself believe.”
“Have you got any brandy, Lomas?” said Reggie, watching his pallor
professionally. Lomas started up. Reggie reached out and began to
feel Kimball’s pulse.
“Don’t do that,” said Kimball sharply, and dragged his hand away.
“Good Lord, man, I’m not ill! No, thanks, Lomas, nothing, nothing. I
never touch spirits. I’ll be all right in a moment. But it does
rather knock me over to find I’ve got to believe it was Sandford.” He
struggled out of his chair, walked to the window, and flung it up and
dabbed at his forehead. He stood there a moment in the raw air, took
a pinch of snuff, and turned on them vigorously. “There’s no doubt
about this evidence, eh? We can’t get away from it?”
“I’m afraid we must ask Sandford for an explanation,” said Lomas.
“Most unpleasant thing I ever did in my life,” Kimball said. “Well,
there’s no help for it, I suppose. Still, he may have a perfectly
good explanation. Damn it, I won’t make up my mind till I must. I’ve
always found him quite straight--and very efficient too. Cleverest
fellow I ever had about me. Send for him then; say I’ll be glad to
see him here. Come now, Lomas, what do you think yourself? He may be
able to account for it quite naturally, eh?”
“He may. But I can’t see how,” Lomas said gloomily. “Can you?”
“I suppose you think I’m a fool, but I like to believe in my
fellows,” said Kimball, and they passed an awkward five minutes till
Sandford came.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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