Free Swan Song by Edmund Crispin

Burton. ‘Impossible murders, for the present, must wait their turn.’
    They were sitting before a blazing and hospitable fire in the small front parlour of the ‘Bird and Baby’. Mudge had parted from them, with notable reluctance, at the door, in order to pursue his duties in less congenial circumstances; and Adam, Elizabeth, Sir Richard Freeman, and Fen were now toasting themselves to a comfortable glow. Outside, it was still attempting to snow, but with only partial success.
    â€˜Darling, my nose is so cold,’ Elizabeth complained to Adam. ‘And everything’s really very tiresome. What is going to happen about the production?’
    â€˜Oh, it’ll come off – though later than we thought, I fancy. George Green can sing Sachs. I doubt if it will set the rehearsals back very much – not more than a week, anyway; if that.’ Adam drank his beer; it was cold enough to make him shiver a little.
    â€˜Professor Fen’ – Elizabeth adopted her most politic charm – ‘would you be prepared to let me interview you for a newspaper?’
    Fen made a feeble attempt to show disinclination. ‘Oh, I don’t know . . .’ he mumbled.
    â€˜
Please
, Professor Fen. It’s in a series. I’m hoping to do H.M., and Mrs Bradley, and Albert Campion, and all sorts of famous people.’
    â€˜Well, this is a surprise,’ said Fen, carefully avoidingAdam’s eye. A certain uneasiness of manner became apparent. ‘But all these people are rather more able than I am . . . Well,’ for the moment, he was evidently rather subdued, ‘what exactly did you want to know?’
    â€˜Just tell me something about your cases.’
    In the absence of an appropriate introductory fanfare, Fen coughed impressively. ‘The era of my greatest successes,’ he began, but was interrupted with singular brutality by Sir Richard Freeman.
    â€˜Now,’ the latter remarked firmly, ‘if we’re all warmed up, let’s get back to the Shorthouse affair . . . It’s very childish to sulk, Gervase . . . So far the central character has been, to me at any rate, somewhat of a cipher. What was Shorthouse like, Langley?’
    Adam considered. ‘In appearance – stout, not very tall; rather small eyes; self-confident; a bit of a hypochondriac, particularly about his voice; age between forty and fifty, I should say.’ He paused and drank some beer. ‘As regards character – well, I must admit I didn’t like him. I scarcely think anyone did. He was a trouble-maker – and his love-life wasn’t exactly idyllic, I may add.’
    â€˜There goes C. S. Lewis,’ said Fen suddenly. ‘It must be Tuesday.’
    â€˜It is Tuesday.’ Sir Richard struck a match and puffed doggedly at his pipe.
    â€˜You seem to smoke the most incombustible tobacco,’ Fen commented. ‘The era of my greatest successes –’
    â€˜In what way a trouble-maker?’ Sir Richard pushed at the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe and burned his fingers. ‘Can you give us an example?’
    Adam narrated in some detail the events of yesterday’s rehearsal.
    â€˜We were all a trifle nervous,’ he concluded, ‘about what was going to happen this morning. You see, Edwin had said he was going to phone Levi and try to get Peacock replaced. Consequently . . .’
    He stopped hastily.
    â€˜Ah.’ Fen slowly nodded his head, mandarin-like. ‘That’s the word. “Consequently”. It appears –’
    â€˜It appears,’ said Sir Richard, interrupting him, ‘that Peacock would have a motive for murdering Shorthouse.
Did
Shorthouse telephone Levi, by the way?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Adam, ‘but I very much doubt it. If he had, I should have weighed in on Peacock’s side, and we should have had a general explosion of artistic temperament.’
    â€˜You chivalrous