Detective and mystery stories; England -- Fiction; Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction
“I can’t help you there, I’m afraid,” answered Gregg frankly. “There
was an old servant of hers who took up dressmaking and to whom she
always went when she wanted anything of the sort. I believe she had
some arrangement with her, too, by which she used to send her cast-off
dresses to sell on commission. I used to go and see the woman every
now and then and she’d give me the latest news of Mrs. Draycott. She
worked for her, but she’d no reason to love her and she liked the boy
and was ready to do him a good turn. But she only saw Mrs. Draycott at
intervals and knew none of the people with whom she foregathered.”
“You can think of no one yourself who owed her a grudge?”
“There must have been plenty, but I don’t know of any one in
particular. I’ve told you my reason for wishing to keep out of her
clutches. She failed with me, but she probably succeeded with others.
There’s motive enough, if you want one.”
“Blackmail!” said Fayre thoughtfully. “It seems incredible, but the
idea has its possibilities. In that case, there ought to be papers of
some sort among her effects.”
“They’re all in Miss Allen’s hands now,” volunteered Gregg. “And
what’s more, she’s in town. She’s been going through some things her
sister kept at the bank and she wrote to me yesterday to say that
there were some old letters of Baxter’s that she thought I might like
to have and offering to send them to me. From something she’s found
she’s got onto the fact that I know where the boy is and she proposes
to make over to him what money her sister left. As straight as a die,
Miss Allen is, and I’ve written to thank her. It seems that she
thought he was in the hands of Baxter’s people until now. You might go
and see her, but she’s not the kind to give her sister away.”
“I’m calling on her to-morrow, but, as you say, it’s hardly a subject
one can broach.”
His heart sank as he remembered the papers Miss Allen had told him she
had burned and the hot flush that had risen to her cheeks when she
spoke of them.
Gregg buttoned his coat preparatory to departure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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