Free Who Killed Charmian Karslake? by Annie Haynes

borderland were known as Hepton Edge. The other road ran by the old Vicarage to the nearest town of Bourton. On this road, the very few houses that had been added to Hepton in the memory of living man had been built. To one of these comparatively modern abodes the inspector was directed when he inquired for Dr. Brett.
    The doctor was at home, he was informed by the smiling, white-capped maid who answered the door. Apparently Hepton required no credentials, there was no question of his admission. He was taken at once to a pretty little drawing-room with enough old silver about to make a thief’s eyes water.
    Dr. Brett did not keep him waiting long. He was a fussy-looking little man with a bush of white hair and what looked like the remains of side-whiskers, contrasting oddly with his rosy cheeks and pale blue eyes.
    The inspector stood up. “Dr. Brett, I presume?”
    The doctor bowed. “You have the advantage of me. But the maid understood that you wished to speak to me on business.”
    â€œI did, sir.” The inspector handed him a card. “You will see, I am from Scotland Yard.”
    â€œDear, dear, yes – ‘Detective Inspector Stoddart,’” he read. “Dear me, yes. I suppose you are here in Hepton in order to investigate this shocking affair at the Abbey. But I don’t know that I can be of any assistance to you. I have long ago given up practising.”
    â€œSo I have heard,” the inspector said quietly. “Nevertheless I am here to ask your assistance this morning. I believe you knew a Mrs. Carslake at the Red House?”
    â€œKnew her! Bless my life, of course I did,” the doctor ejaculated. “But sit down, Mr. – Stoddart” – consulting the card again – “and tell me what I can do for you. Poor Eleanor Carslake, I was at her wedding. I brought all her children into the world, and I went to her funeral. Saw her laid to rest in Hepton Churchyard, to my mind the prettiest in England. Dear me, yes, I should say there is no one in Hepton who knows more about Eleanor Carslake than I do.”
    He took off his glasses and wiped the dew from them.
    â€œNow, tell me, what you want to know,” he began as he replaced them, “though I cannot conceive why Scotland Yard should make inquiries about Eleanor Carslake.”
    â€œIt is not really Mrs. Carslake herself about whom I wanted to ask a few questions. It is really about her daughter.”
    â€œAh, poor Lotty!”
    In some curious fashion the muscles of the doctor’s face began to stiffen.
    â€œWhat can I tell you about her?” he inquired abruptly.
    â€œReally I hardly know,” the inspector said frankly. “But perhaps the most important thing I want to know is just where Miss Carslake is at present.”
    â€œAnd that I am sure I can’t tell you,” Dr. Brett said decidedly. “I haven’t heard of her for years. Two of her brothers were killed in the War and the youngest went out to Australia. I believe he is still there. Lotty – well, Lotty married – a war marriage, you know. It was not happy – was not likely to be – there was a divorce; so much I saw in the paper. But though I wrote to Lotty I got no answer and have never heard a word of her since.”
    â€œWas she to blame for the divorce, or was her husband?” the inspector inquired quietly.
    Brett sighed. “I feared you were going to ask that. I am afraid – I am sadly afraid the poor unhappy child herself was in the wrong. So I gathered from the account in the paper.”
    The inspector made a note in his book.
    â€œWas Miss Carslake very handsome, Dr. Brett?”
    Dr. Brett appeared to reflect a minute. “Not when I saw her last. An ordinary, plain-looking girl, I should have called her.”
    â€œI see.” The inspector shut up his book and snapped the elastic round it. Then he looked the doctor squarely in the face. “I am