Free The Dylan Thomas Murders by David N. Thomas

the way through his reading.
    â€œWhen Dylan had finished, one of de Walden’s daughters read some Wilfred Owen. She went on a bit too long, and the party were even more restless. De Walden sensed the mood needed changing and announced that he’d fly some peregrines. There was loud applause. I think people were just bursting with energy after the dreary war years, and poetry wasn’t what they wanted. We all went outside except Dylan, who sulked in the Library, drank champagne and ate American chocolate.
    â€œWe trooped down to the Hawk House on the lower lawn. De Walden instructed one of the falconers to send the peregrines up. One of the more drunken guests had come out wearing an old German army helmet, the sort with the spike on top. I think it was part of de Walden’s military collection in the Great Gallery. De Walden took it from him, and ordered a servant to the kitchen for a cut of sirloin which he then impaled on the spike. He sent the peregrine away, put on the helmet and called the bird back. It came swooping down at tremendous speed. I was absolutely terrified, and some of the women were screaming. I didn’t know if de Walden was simply brave or too drunk to notice the danger. Anyway, it turned out fine, and the peregrine took the meat cleanly off the spike.
    â€œTwo years later, the autumn of 1946, de Walden was at home. He was expecting friends to call the next morning to buy some young peregrines. There was one that he wasn’t sure about, worried it was still a little hood-shy. At the inquest, the butler said that de Walden had decided to go outside and take a last look at the young bird. It was around four in the afternoon and the light was fading. He went out on his own so nobody knows what really happened. Perhaps it was the bad light or an inexperienced bird. Who knows?
    â€œWhen de Walden hadn’t come back to dress for dinner, the butler went out to search for him. He told the inquest that he found de Walden on the ground, and the peregrine beside him, both dead. The coroner deduced he’d been trying the German Helmet Call Off, that the bird had mis-judged it badly and collided with de Walden’s head. Its talons had ripped away the side of his face, and the force of the impact had broken his neck. Since then, of course, that particular call off has been banned.”
    â€œAnd Dylan, when did he know about Florence and de Walden?”
    â€œJanuary,1947. He arrived here one day without warning. He was carrying his little doctor’s bag, in which he kept the odd clean sock and change of shirt, not much else. When we went upstairs that night, I had to lend him one of my father’s old nightshirts – Dylan would never come to bed naked. Anyway, the bag was mostly full of letters. He said he’d been away, had returned to Caitlin at Oxford, there’d been a huge row and he’d walked out, heaping all the letters that had come for him into the bag.
    â€œWe went for a long walk along the Aeron, had lunch at the Red Lion in Talsarn and then walked up to the Halt to catch the train home. Sixpence in third class, as I remember. Dylan spent the rest of the afternoon fast asleep upstairs. He came down about five, played with Waldo for a while, fetched a flagon of beer and then emptied his letters on the table. While I cooked dinner, he opened and sorted them into rather untidy piles. I was just about to serve up when I heard a great whoop. I ran into the front room. Dylan was waving a cheque in the air, and shouting ‘Bugger me for a saucepan.’
    â€œIt was a letter from Howard de Walden’s solicitors. Dylan had been named as a beneficiary in de Walden’s Will. There was a cheque for £5,000, as well as a sealed envelope which de Walden had instructed his solicitors to send to Dylan along with the legacy. The envelope simply read: ‘To Dylan, with affection, Lord Cut-Glass.’
    â€œHe opened the envelope tentatively, as if