Free Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Cake by Emily Brightwell Page B

going to his office. If he had, he’d have sent Alladyce either a message or a telegram. He sent neither.”
    Smythe opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and leaned back in his chair. Betsy noticed. But then she noticed most everything about the coachman. She cocked her head and looked at him speculatively.
    “Do you think he planned on going back to the Frommer house all along, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “And that his telling the family he had to go to his office was only a ruse to leave Ascot earlier than the others?”
    Again Smythe seemed to lean forward, his expression clearly indicating that he wanted to say something, and again he thought better of it.
    “I don’t know,” Witherspoon replied. Absently he plopped another dollop of cream on the small sliver of seedcake left on his plate. “Yet his daughter is convinced he lied about needing to go to his office. She’s sure it was a ruse to get away without offending Andrew Frommer. But if what Mrs. Frommer thinks is true, that means he’d planned to meet his killer there all along….” His voice trailed off as he tried to think of the best way to say what he was thinking. But he couldn’t seem to find the right words. “I mean, it seems to me that—”
    “Of course, sir,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. She knew exactly what he was trying to articulate. “What you’re saying is that he planned to meet his killer and he kept that plan a secret. As a matter of fact, he connived to get the privacy he needed for the meeting. Therefore, the meeting must have either been with someone he didn’t want his family to know about or it must have been about something he didn’t want made public. Is that what you’re trying to tell us, sir?”
    Witherspoon brightened immediately. “Yes, that’s itprecisely. Well, you can see what that would imply, can’t you?”
    “I can’t,” Wiggins said honestly.
    “It would imply that the victim might have something to conceal,” Hatchet said softly. “Secret meetings usually mean both parties have a vested interested in hiding something.”
    “Do you think Ashbury was being blackmailed?” Luty asked.
    Witherspoon licked the last of the cream off his fork. “I’m definitely leaning in that direction,” he answered. “But, of course, if he were being blackmailed, why would the killer murder him?”
    “Maybe
he
was the blackmailer?” Betsy guessed.
    “That’s possible too,” the inspector replied. “But we’ve no evidence either way. Oh dear, I’m getting way ahead of myself. The only thing we know for certain is that he’s dead. We don’t know for certain that he didn’t go to his office. I mean, we only have Henry Alladyce’s word, and from what I understand, he benefits from Ashbury’s death.”
    “You think this Alladyce feller is lyin’, then?” Luty asked eagerly.
    Witherspoon shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I suppose it’s possible. But it didn’t strike me as likely. He was actually quite candid with us. He gave me a long list of people who didn’t like the victim. Of course, if he’s the killer, that could have been a ruse as well. What better way to throw the police off the scent than by giving them false information.”
    “He gave you a list of people, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries clarified.
    “Oh yes.” Witherspoon eyed the bowl of sugared quince. “According to Alladyce, there were quite a numberof people who disliked the victim rather intensely.”
    At hearing this, everyone at the table went to full attention. Even Wiggins. They all gave the inspector their complete concentration.
    “Really, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries encouraged. “A whole list? That might make your task much more complicated. But then again, perhaps it will make it easier.” She desperately wanted to get the names out of him, and the only way to do that was to keep him talking.
    “Yes, that’s just what I was thinking,” he agreed. He licked his lips, picked a crumb off his plate and popped it