Free The 12.30 from Croydon by Freeman Wills Crofts Page A

talked in a loud and cheery voice. But Weatherup had no ‘come back’. Charles’s conversational efforts were still-born even as he uttered them.
    The study into which he was presently shown was a small room, panelled in black oak. In one of its two windows stood a table desk, for though Andrew had long since given up the attempt to work, he liked to pretend he had not. Otherwise the furniture was homely and comfortable. The carpet was thick and mossy, the leather-covered chairs were deep and well sprung, and the few prints on the walls were treasures.
    In one of the arm-chairs sat the master of the house. He seemed to Charles even more fragile than the last time he had seen him, now several weeks past. Certainly Andrew was ageing very rapidly. Like most semi-invalids, he had ups and downs. Sometimes he was able to be about and enjoyed a drive into Cold Pickerby or even a journey to Town, at others he would sit moping in his room, neither going out nor seeing callers. To-day unfortunately seemed one of his bad days.
    ‘Well, Nephew Charles,’ he said, in his thin, reedy voice, holding up his hand flabbily to be shaken, ‘this is an unexpected honour to an old man, but I’m sure there’s a good reason for it.’
    ‘I hope it’s not so bad as all that, uncle,’ Charles said cheerily, shaking the hand. ‘How are you keeping to-day?’
    ‘It wasn’t to ask me that that you came out all this way this afternoon,’ the old man returned in his somewhat complaining tone. ‘You don’t claim it, I’m sure?’
    ‘I don’t,’ Charles admitted, smiling broadly. ‘I told you I wanted to see you on a little matter of business, and so I do. But that doesn’t say that I’m not interested to know how you are.’
    ‘I don’t suppose it does. It’s always a pleasure to meet with disinterested kindness. Well, Charles, what’s it all about?’
    ‘You haven’t told me how you are yet,’ Charles persisted with his ready smile.
    ‘That’s true, that’s true. Didn’t you ask Weatherup?’
    Charles laughed outright. ‘Weatherup’s a good man for whom I’ve a lot of respect, but even you wouldn’t call him informative. I could get more out of an oyster.’
    ‘Well, well, well; I’m very well, if you must know. And while we’re on this matter of health, how are you yourself?’
    ‘Oh, me? Fine, thank you! I’ve just come from York; the Chamber of Commerce lunch. A lot of the men were asking about you.’
    ‘I hope you relieved their heartfelt anxiety.’
    ‘I said I was calling in on my way home, and they told me to remember them to you: Digby and Holt and Grainger and some others.’
    ‘I’m deeply touched: almost as much as they must have been.’
    ‘The old boy from Bathwick was there. Took too much and made a hell of a fool of himself as usual,’ and Charles went on to describe the function.
    Andrew was interested, as Charles had hoped he would be. He knew the older members of the chamber and had attended many a lunch with them himself. As Charles also had hoped, he forgot his suspicions and chatted about old times in a maudlin way. But soon he came back to the present.
    ‘But you haven’t told me what you came for, Nephew Charles,’ he went on. ‘It wasn’t to talk about your lunch in York, now was it?’
    ‘No,’ Charles admitted. ‘You’re right; it wasn’t. It was something a good deal more personal and less pleasant. It’s about the business, uncle, and I’m sorry that it’s bad news.’
    Andrew was now listening carefully. He made no reply, but sat waiting with an expression half sly, half silly.
    ‘I’m sorry to say,’ went on Charles, ‘that I’ve got into the same boat as nearly all my neighbours. Expenses are up and profits down with the lot of us. You heard about Bender & Truesett’s dividend, I suppose?’
    ‘Yes. Bender’s no fool. What have they been playing at?’
    Charles decided to make the most of this. ‘Bender’s certainly no fool, as you say,’ he agreed.