Free Five Red Herrings by Dorothy L. Sayers Page B

Fiscal. And meanwhile I’ll get the Kirkcudbright police on to making a few inquiries.’
    ‘Ay, sir, ’twill be best for them to sort it their end. I’ve a report here fra’ Stranraer I’ll hae to deal wi’ masel’. They’ve detained a young fellow that was boardin’ the Larne boat. . ay, weel, I’ll ring ye again later, Sir Maxwell.’
    The Chief Constable hung up the receiver, and confronted Wimsey with a dour smile.
    ‘It certainly looks as though you were right,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But,’ he added, more cheerfully, ‘now that they’ve traced the man at Stranraer, it will probably all be cleared up this morning.’
    ‘Maybe,’ said Wimsey, ‘but I rather doubt whether the man who fixed that accident up so cleverly would be fool enough to give himself away by making a belated bolt to Ireland. Don’t you?’
    ‘That’s a fact,’ said Jamieson. ‘If he’d wanted to escape he could have taken yesterday morning’s boat. And if he wanted to play the innocent, he could do it better at home.’
    ‘H’m!’ said Wimsey. ‘I think, you know, the time has come to talk of many things with Farren and Gowan and Waters — only he’s disappeared — and, in fact, with all the good people of Kirkcudbright. A little tactful gossip, Sir Maxwell, by a cheerful, friendly, inquisitive bloke like myself, may do wonders in a crisis. Nothing unusual in my making my morning round of the studios, is there? Nobody minds me. Why, bless you, I’ve got some of ’em so tame, they’ll let me sit round and watch ’em paint. An official personage like you might embarrass them, don’t you know, but there’s no dignity about me. I’m probably the least awe-inspiring man in Kirkcudbright. I was born looking foolish and every day in every way I am getting foolisher and foolisher. Why, even you, Chief, let me come here and sit round on your official chairs and smoke a pipe and look on me as nothing more than an amiable nuisance — don’t you?’
    ‘There may be something in what you say,’ agreed Jamieson, ‘but you’ll be discreet, mind. There’s no need to mention the word murder.’
    ‘None whatever,’ said Wimsey. ‘I’ll let them mention it first. Well, toodle-oo!’
    Wimsey may not have been an awe-inspiring person to look at, but his reception at Farren’s house did not altogether justify his boast that ‘nobody marked him.’ The door was opened by Mrs. Farren, who at sight of him, fell back against the wall with a gasp which might have been merely surprise but sounded more like alarm.
    ‘Hullo!’ said Wimsey, breezing cheerily over the threshold, ‘how are you, Mrs. Farren? Haven’t seen you for an age — well, since Friday night at Bobbie’s, but it seems like an age. Is everything bright and blooming? Where’s Farren?’
    Mrs. Farren, looking like a ghost painted by Burne-Jones in one of his most pre-Raphaelite moments, extended a chill hand.
    ‘I’m very well, thank you. Hugh’s out. Er — won’t you come in?’
    Wimsey, who was already in, received this invitation in his heartiest manner.
    ‘Well — that’s very good of you. Sure I’m not in the way? I expect you’re cooking or something, aren’t you?’
    Mrs. Farren shook her head and led the way into the little sitting-room with the sea-green and blue draperies and the bowls of orange marigolds.
    ‘Or is it scarves this morning?’ Mrs. Farren wove hand-spun wool in rather attractive patterns. ‘I envy you that job, you know. Sort of Lady of Shalott touch about it. The curse is come upon me, and all that sort of thing. You promised one day to let me have a twirl at the wheel.’
    ‘I’m afraid I’m being lazy today,’ said Mrs. Farren, with a faint smile. ‘I was just — I was only — excuse me one moment.’
    She went out, and Wimsey heard her speaking to somebody at the back of the house — the girl, no doubt, who came in to do the rough work. He glanced round the room, and his quick eye noted its curiously forlorn appearance. It was not untidy, exactly; it told no open tale of tumult; but the cushions