Free Suspects—Nine by E.R. Punshon

the side street near Piccadilly where Olive and Vicky were awaiting his return with a nervousness much relieved when they heard that Flora and her friends had seemed almost as much amused as annoyed at what had happened.
    â€œEspecially,” added Bobby, “when Mrs. Tamar knew you weren’t going to charge for her next hat.”
    â€œI thought,” said Vicky complacently, “that would take the coconut.” With slow conviction she added, “A new hat free, for nothing, would fetch any one. It would me. You, too, Olive.”
    â€œI’m getting,” said Olive with passion, “to hate the sight of hats.”
    â€œNow, now, dear,” protested Vicky, “you mustn’t say things like that. It isn’t—Right. Now, is it?”
    With that she took her leave and Bobby suggested going out somewhere to get some food, of which he felt both he and Olive stood in need after so much excitement.
    A brief argument followed. Olive, on the ground of expense, opposing a firm negative to the restaurant Bobby suggested and putting forward a rival suggestion of an egg on toast and a cup of coffee at the nearest tea shop.
    â€œI should enjoy it much more,” she protested wistfully.
    A compromise was arrived at on the basis of an eighteen-penny table d’hôte at a popular establishment not far away, and there, after Bobby had managed to squeeze in the extravagance of a cup of coffee each before Olive had realized it was not included in the menu, he asked if she had ever heard anything about a case of suicide Lady Alice believed Mrs. Flora Tamar had been responsible for.
    Olive shook her head.
    â€œWe hear such a lot of stories,” she said, “people sit and try on hats all the morning sometimes, talking all the time. Perhaps Vicky might know.”
    â€œLooked to me.” Bobby observed, “as though there were rather a lot of explosive material lying about the Tamar establishment. That Holland Kent chap was carrying on with Mrs. Tamar pretty openly and I’m not sure Tamar wasn’t rather overdoing it in pretending not to notice.”
    â€œI’ve only seen Mr. Tamar once,” Olive said. “He called at the shop. I couldn’t quite make out what he wanted. Vicky said it was to see if Flora was there.”
    â€œWas she?”
    â€œNo. She had been. With Holland Kent. But they had gone.” Olive added, “I don’t think Mr. Tamar struck me as the sort of man likely not to notice things.”
    Bobby thought the same. Then he said,
    â€œIt’s possible he doesn’t care. He seemed to be taking a lot of interest in another girl there.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t make any difference,” Olive said. “I mean, it would be all right for him, but it wouldn’t make any difference to how he would feel if he thought any one else was trying the same thing with Flora. And Flora would think it fun.”
    â€œOnly fun?” Bobby asked and Olive made no answer. Bobby went on: “It all looked a bit nasty to me and what’s more, Tamar’s getting anonymous letters offering to tell him something he ought to know if he’ll leave a hundred pounds in one-pound notes at a place called Weeton Hill.”
    â€œWeeton Hill?” repeated Olive in a startled voice.
    â€œYes. Why? Do you know it?”
    â€œLady Alice asked me once where it was,” Olive answered, looking still more troubled. “She knew I used to have a week-end cottage in Epping Forest and she thought it was near there.”
    â€œIs it?”
    â€œNo, it’s a long way further on, only more towards the river, I think. People go there sometimes to picnic and for the view, but it’s lonely and out of the way.”
    â€œDeserted sort of place at night?” Bobby suggested.
    â€œOh yes, though there’s a road quite close—two roads, really, because of a side turning just before you reach the hill. Mr. Tamar