Free Good Murder by Robert Gott

spread across his face when he said this was not the smile of a man who wished it to be known that he was only joking. It was a smile which eloquently expressed the certainty that he had found his man and that all he had to do now was wait for the evidence against me to mount up.
    ‘I think,’ I said, ‘that I’m going to be sick.’
    ‘Of course,’ he said, and I threw up all over the bed sheets.
    If I had been expecting a sympathetic welcome back at the George, I would have been disappointed. The whole company was gathered in the kitchen, helping prepare for the following night’s dinner. The George did not serve dinner on a Sunday night. Vegetables were being chopped into tiny dice, and bones were being roasted for stock. Tibald said that I looked like shit, and that he hoped my unfortunate introduction to the people of Maryborough wouldn’t put them off coming to his dining room. Adrian snidely muttered something about the inadvisability of getting mixed up with rough trade. Bill Henty said that if I’d been fitter I might have been able to look after myself better. I said that I was going up to my room and that I didn’t want to be disturbed. Peter Topaz, who was hanging around to consolidate his attachment to Annie, no doubt, said that he hoped I felt better soon. I gave him what I calculated to be a withering look, but it is difficult to be withering with only one eye at one’s disposal.
    ‘Sergeant Topaz thinks that I murdered Polly Drummond,’ I announced. I had hoped that this statement would arouse a chorus of outrage and disapproval, and that Topaz would be embarrassed and obliged to defend his absurd accusation before a hostile audience. Instead, my words were met with silence. It was not the silence of the recently appalled, but the silence of those who have just had a suspicion satisfactorily confirmed. Annie Hudson was the first to speak.
    ‘And did you?’
    I could easily have wrung her neck at that point and been sent down for life a happy man. I hadn’t expected Annie to turn on me.
    ‘Thanks very much,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your loyalty and support.’
    ‘There’s no need to get all hot and bothered,’ said Adrian. ‘It’s a natural question.’
    ‘Well, pardon me, Adrian, if I seem a little upset to discover that my own company thinks that I might actually be capable of killing someone.’
    Tibald took a noisy sip from a spoon dipped into a steaming pot on the Aga.
    ‘Given the right set of circumstances,’ he said, ‘we are all capable of murder. This is delicious.’
    ‘Relax,’ said Annie. ‘I don’t think any of us believe you’ve got the balls to commit a murder.’
    ‘You have an offensive remark for every situation,’ I said, and left the room. I was furious with all of them. Only Arthur unequivocally and inoffensively came to my defence. He said that it was perfectly obvious to anyone with half a brain that I did not have the killer instinct. His loyalty was reassuring, and reaffirmed that, of all the members of my troupe, he was the one on whom I could most depend. The cast on my arm felt heavy, and a dull ache began to insinuate itself into my consciousness. I ran a bath but didn’t enjoy it. The effort required to keep the cast dry made me sit uncomfortably. I decided that the next day I would have to confront Fred Drummond. The vehemence of his attack on me made me think that perhaps he was as innocent of wrongdoing as I was. If I could reason with him when he was sober, perhaps we could piece together Polly’s movements that night. Perhaps, too, I could convince him that I had nothing to do with his sister’s disappearance. I was anxious to avoid any further public confrontations with him, and I was sure that unless I got him on side he was capable of inflicting far more damage than a swollen, discoloured eye.
    The next day I borrowed Augie’s bicycle. It was awkward manipulating it with one arm in a sling, but I managed quite well. I rode down Lennox