Free Death in the Stocks by Georgette Heyer Page B

straight to Eaton Place? . . well, never mind: what's happened?… something to do with what?' The lazy look faded; he listened intently to the quacking noise, which went on for quite some time. Then he said: 'All right, sir, I'll bring him round as soon as we've finished here.' The voice quacked again, and the Superintendent was almost certain that he heard the words: 'flat-footed policemen'. However, Giles merely said: 'In about twenty minutes, then. Good-bye,' and laid down the receiver. He raised his eyes to the Superintendent's face, and said: 'My father wants to see you, Superintendent. He tells me he found a letter from Arnold Vereker waiting for him at the office this morning, which he thinks you ought to see.'

Chapter Seven

    The offices of Carrington, Radclyffe & Carrington were on the first floor of a house at the bottom of Adam Street, facing down the length of Adelphi Terrace. The head of the firm occupied a large, untidy room overlooking the river through a gap in the adjacent buildings. When tiles ushered Hannasyde into this apartment on Monday morning, the head of the firm was seated at an enormous desk, completely covered with papers, muttering fiercely at the shortcomings of his fountain pen. The head of the firm was a well-preserved sixty, with grizzled and scanty hair, a ruddy complexion, and the same humorous gleam which lurked in his son's eyes. In other respects father and son were not much alike. Giles was tall and lean, and never seemed to be in a hurry; Charles Carrington was short, and of a comfortable habit of body and lived in a perpetual state of bustle. It was a source of surprise to those not intimately acquainted with him that he should be a lawyer. Those who knew him best were not dismayed by his odd mannerisms, or his inability to find anything. They knew that although he might convey the impression of being a fussy and rather incompetent old gentleman, he had still, at sixty, a remarkably acute intellect.
    He looked up when the door opened, and, as soon as he saw his son, held up an ink-stained hand, and barked: 'You see. What did I tell you? They always leak. What on earth should put it into your mother's head to give me one of the infernal things when she knows perfectly well I never could stand them, and never shall - Look at this! Take the confounded thing away! Throw it out of the window - Give it to the office boy! And you needn't tell your mother I'm not using it!'
    'All right, I won't,' said Giles, removing the pen. 'This is Superintendent Hannasyde from Scotland Yard.'
    'Oh, is it?' said Mr Carrington, carefully wiping his fingers with a piece of pink blotting-paper. 'Good-morning. Investigating my nephew's murder, aren't you? Well, I wish you joy of it. Ill-conditioned young cub! Don't stand! Don't stand! Take a chair! Take a chair! Giles, push those deeds on to the floor, and let the Superintendent sit down.'
    He began to hunt amongst the dusty heap of documents on his desk, remarking that in this office you had only to lay a thing down for a minute for it to disappear completely. The Superintendent, surveying the general disorder with an awed gaze, made a sympathetic murmur, and wondered whether there was the least hope of discovering Arnold Vereker's letter in the welter on the desk.
    But Mr Carrington, having thrown one bundle of papers at his son, with the Delphic utterances 'Section 35 of the Act; they'd better settle it out of court;' and dropped two used envelopes vaguely in the direction of the waste-paper basket, pounced upon a sheet of closely written notepaper, and scowled at it, rubbing the tip of his nose with his forefinger. 'This is it,' he announced. 'You'd better have it, Superintendent. May mean nothing; may mean a lot. Here, Giles, you take a look at it! What did the fellow think I could tell him that he didn't know already? Arnold all over! Wasting my time with his rubbishy questions! But I don't like to hear this about Tony; what's the wretched child about to