Free Richardson's First Case by Basil Thomson Page A

I used to keep out of his way until he’d had time to get over it.”
    â€œDo you know why she should have gone to his shop that evening?”
    â€œI don’t know, but I can guess. You see, he had given her notice to leave her flat for another nearly as good. He had had a good offer for the house and he wanted to close with it. He made me do all the preliminaries, and I can tell you I wouldn’t do it again for a hundred pounds. She made me feel as if I was something that the cat wouldn’t eat. Then the old man went to tackle her himself, and he talked to her straight—threatened to throw her out, he said—and I suppose she went down to the shop to get some of her own back. That’s what it seemed to me. I know he didn’t expect her to come, because he had an appointment with me that afternoon.”
    â€œYou think that a dispute arose between the two and that your uncle was responsible for her death?”
    â€œI don’t know what else to think. I wish I did.”
    â€œWhy are you so anxious to get the executor to advance you money? Do you know that you are inheriting anything from the will?”
    â€œThe will was made years ago when I was a small boy, so my uncle told me. He was always talking about revoking it and making a new one, but he kept putting it off. He did hint to me once that he’d not forgotten me. You see, with his death my little salary for managing his house property came to an end. I thought that the police might just give the executor a hint to hurry up.”
    â€œIt’s not quite so easy as you think. There can be no harm in my telling you what we know. Your uncle’s will made your aunt sole legatee, if she was alive at the time of his death; if not, you were to become sole legatee. If she outlived him her will left everything to your cousin, Lieutenant Sharp. Suppose that a witness came forward to swear that he saw your aunt alive after your uncle’s death?” Beckett was watching him closely. He saw him start and change colour.
    â€œI should say that he was a liar,” said Reece confidently. “But the executor might not: naturally he has to be careful.”
    â€œHas anyone come forward?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou mean that there’ll have to be a law case about it?”
    â€œI shouldn’t be surprised.”
    â€œThen you can do nothing for me?”
    â€œNot as the case stands at present—not unless some new fact comes to light. You needn’t worry about the funeral: the executor will see to that.”
    Herbert Reece left the office in a chastened spirit. He narrowly missed meeting Inspector Foster, who knocked at Beckett’s door five minutes later. As usual his pocket was bulging with reports. “I thought I’d better come round with my reports, sir, and talk to you about them. Yesterday afternoon I had an interview with that young man, Arthur Harris—a rather unsatisfactory interview—about that alibi of his. He stuck to it that on the day of the murder he went down to Oxford in his car and gave the name and address of a friend who was with him. He said that he got back soon after dark—say at half-past five. Of course, that was not an alibi at all if he killed the woman in the course of the evening, but there was something in the way he made his statement that seemed rather fishy. He contradicted himself twice and got his times all mixed up. So I thought I had better see the man whose name he gave me before they had time to make up a story between them. His name is Henry Vivian—a young man whose parents are in a good position living in Pont Street. I asked him if he’d been out motoring with Harris that afternoon. He said yes. I asked him where they’d gone, and he said to Oxford and back. Was he sure? He began to stammer and look sheepish, and I pressed the point. ‘Because,’ I said, ‘it may be very serious for you if you’re telling an