Free Death by the Mistletoe by Angus MacVicar Page A

dinner-clothes, and that his broad shoulders and lean strong body were shown to some advantage; and the thought came to her that he looked rather distinguished.
    James was shown into a high-ceilinged, cool drawing-room, fragrant with the scent of flowers. And here Eileen made him sit down in a deep armchair, the kindliness of which filled him with instant delight.
    “If ever I have a house of my own,” he told her. “I’ll insist on a chair like this.”
    “Smoke, Mr. MacPherson?” she asked. “We’ll probably have to wait for a while before the others come in from the garden. What a mass of men! But I’m expecting a girl friend at any moment to support me.”
    As James lit cigarettes for Eileen and himself he wondered vaguely who exactly comprised this ‘‘mass of men”; but he was too comfortable at the moment to worry overmuch about the question.
    ‘‘You’re an artist, Miss Campbell?” he ventured diffidently.
    ‘‘Thank you so much!” returned Eileen. ‘‘But if the bitter truth must be told, I merely do fashion sketches for the London Echo . Coats and frocks and … well, you know.”
    James started, and then said:
    ‘‘Ah!”
    He spoke in his most man-of-the-world tone, a tone which, through constant practice, was not for him too difficult of accomplishment.
    ‘‘Jolly fine job, I’ll bet!” he added.
    “Splendid, as far as pay goes. But apt to be monotonous at times. Daddy says I ought to come home and take care of him in Blaan, and lately I’ve been wondering … Since my mother died two years ago he has been lonely.”
    A little shadow dulled the brightness in her eyes. “Thinking of coming to stay with us?”
    “Well … rather.”
    “Great!” exclaimed James with some emphasis, and then, creeping back into the shell of his shyness as he remembered the Rev. Duncan Nicholson’s friendship with Eileen, he added weakly: “Blaan — what a glorious countryside!”
    “And yet so filled with evil things!”
    James’s enthusiasm for the scheme was in a moment forgotten in surprise at her tone.
    “I say!” He impulsively stretched out a big lean hand to grasp her small one. “Can I help you, Miss Campbell? There’s something pretty far wrong, I can see.”
    “There is, but … ”
    Eileen stopped, and the slightest suggestion of annoyance appeared in her eyes. A girl’s deep voice had sounded in the doorway.
    “Good evening! … I walked down from the hotel. I left my car there for a small repair.”
    Eileen rose to greet her guest. Presently, turning to James, she said:
    “This is Mr. MacPherson — Miss Dwyer.”
    James bowed awkwardly. He saw that the girl possessed characteristics different in many respects from Miss Campbell’s. She was tall, fair-skinned and fair-headed. She wore a green frock, which hid no line of her perfectly moulded figure. Her face was broader than Eileen’s, but clean-cut and in a manner imperious. And yet her first smile to James was soft and entirely feminine.
    “Millicent and I are both exiles in London for most of the year,” explained Eileen. “This summer we happened to fix our vacations for the same month. Miss Dwyer — perhaps you know already, Mr. MacPherson — is a niece of Mr. Anderson Ellis.”
    “My uncle was telling me of Mr. MacPherson only last night,” said Miss Dwyer, in her slow, husky voice, “in connection with this terrible murder.”
    Her grey eyes suddenly regarded James intently.
    “You are very clever,” she added.
    Eileen seemed to notice nothing unusual in her friend’s remark; but as the latter continued to gaze into his face James felt a cold chill at his heart. She was beautiful and young, but she had said to him, “You are very clever.” … Just like that.
    There was a sudden stir in the hallway. Professor Campbell entered the room, his ruddy face smiling. Behind him came the Rev. Duncan Nicholson, Mr. Archibald MacLean, Major David Dallas, Dr. Black, Inspector McMillan and Detective-Inspector McKay.