Free Watson's Choice by Gladys Mitchell Page A

pointedly. ‘As for Miss Campbell, I advise you to leave well alone.’
    ‘Why? Don’t you like the girl, Beatrice?’
    ‘My liking has nothing to do with it. It is your own which would need to be consulted.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t like her at all. But we should not need to see very much of one another. I have my own interests, and naturally she would have hers. And I should not be mean about money.’
    ‘No. She relies upon that.’
    ‘What on earth do you mean?’
    ‘Nothing, except that she has refused to consider marrying Mr Grimston because he is poor and not likely to become rich. It seems to be her only reason.’
    ‘I knew Grimston was after her, poor young devil! No, he’ll never get far. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. The girl’s got sense if she’s turned him down. I’ll try to get him another job, though, when I’ve finished with him for Philip. Fair’s fair, after all. What do you think of Philip, Beatrice? Anglo-Indian children often get off to a bad start. The boy is a nice little chap, intelligent, bright – but delicate, very delicate. Hoping he’ll grow out of it. Nothing like decent English air to build up a delicate boy.’
    ‘Then why are you sending him to school in Switzerland?’
    ‘Oh, that’s Baynes’ idea. Doctor’s orders, if you please! Can’t go against them, though, can I? ’Tisn’t done to know better than the doctor.’
    ‘Is little Timothy going with him?’
    ‘Haven’t decided yet. Seems a bit young at present. See at the end of July. He’ll be turned seven by then.’
    Sir Bohun glanced at the clock, and then took out his watch and compared the two. As he did so, the dressing-bell sounded. Sir Bohun looked contrite.
    ‘Oh, Lord, Beatrice! You haven’t had any tea! I’ll get some sent up to your room. You can have it while you dress. Don’t bother about much war-paint. We shall be a family party to-night.’
    Mrs Bradley went to her room and found her secretary installed in an armchair beside a small table. Laura got up as Mrs Bradley came in.
    ‘I’m parked here because I want to talk to you rather particularly,’ Laura announced.
    ‘It is always a pleasure to see you,’ her employer politely replied. Then she added, ‘It is about Miss Campbell, I imagine.’
    ‘Uncanny,’ said Laura. ‘That’s what it is – uncanny. Tell you what, though: it’s serious, too. The bird Grimston came skulking up to me in the shrubbery – to be exact, the conservatory, where, again to be exact, I was stalling off the amorous advances of that bull-fighting Manoel boy – between ourselves, no Valentino! – and confided that he happened to know that the Campbell was almost certainly dead and that her body was to be found over against the gravel ponds on the heath. I asked him how he knew, and how he had been able to see it in the fog. At that, he merely wagged his head in a daft kind of way, and, giving Manoel a dirty look – my open palm had found a ready mark on that swarthy cheek – he toddled off. I thought you had better know as soon as possible. Personally, I think Grimston’s cuckoo.’
    Mrs Bradley clicked her tongue.
    ‘It is true that Miss Campbell is still missing from this house,’ she said. ‘I will speak to Mr Grimston, and then, if his story remains constant and bears any evidence of being true, well, we have a policeman among us.’
    ‘Gavin? Yes. What does he mean by risking my maiden virtue with the Manoels of this wicked world?’
    ‘He is not in the house?’
    ‘Of course he’s in the house. He’s teaching Philip to play billiards. He’s taken a fancy to the child. Thinks well of his intelligence, I gather.’
    ‘And the boy thinks well of Robert’s handsome manly appearance, I make no doubt. Robert is good with children. I have marked it before.’
    ‘Oh, people always fall for Gavin,’ said Laura offhandedly. ‘I don’t know why I don’t fall harder for him myself. I doubt whether I am cut out for wifehood. I think, after