Free Murders Most Foul by Alanna Knight Page A

mahogany desk, clear from the outset. The tigerskin rug on the floor eyed Faro more kindly than its owner.
    Faro took out his notebook. ‘I have to ask you, sir, if you were at home on Friday evening.’
    ‘Am I hearing you correctly, Constable? Are you having the temerity to ask me for an alibi for a maid’s disappearance?’
    ‘This is a purely routine matter, sir,’ Faro said politely. Himself a mere constable, it was up to DS Gosse to further enlighten Lumbleigh that this was not merely suicide but murder, as he continued:
    ‘This is outrageous, Constable, an intrusion into my private affairs.’ And shaking a fist in the direction of Faro’s face, he added: ‘Let me tell you, I have some influence in this city and I shall complain to my Member of Parliament …’
    Archie Lumbleigh continued to express his anger in no uncertain terms at the idea that all the occupants under his roof were to be interviewed, their movements over the weekend queried and pried into. His face grew redder and redder, his grievances accompanied by the thumping of his fists on the table. At last, realising that the young constable standing there, notebook in hand, was quite unmoved by this tirade, with a snort of exasperation he sat back in the armchair.
    ‘I was at home all evening and my wife will confirm that,’ he said coldly. Breathing a sigh of relief that his visit to Mavis had been during the afternoon, he added: ‘I won’t waste your time and mine by mincing words with you, Constable. The unfortunate girl was a servant here. Of course I did not know her. We are not on intimate terms with employees, they are expected to serve and not be seen.’
    Archie had heard approvingly of servants in Balmoral Castle ducking out of sight as Her Majesty approached. An excellent idea and one he was keen to imitate.
    The door opened to admit Gosse, who, bearing a fragrance of tobacco smoke, introduced himself rather grandly to Archie.
    ‘Detective sergeant, did you say?’ Was Lumbleigh Green not worthy of the attentions of a chief inspector? And Archie looked him over, a glance that suggested Gosse might have been something he picked up on his boot while walking in the garden.
    Gosse explained the circumstances of Detective Inspector Wade’s non-appearance, that he was at present in hospital with a broken leg.
    ‘Indeed, I am sorry to hear that.’ But Archie’s expression told a different story. ‘I will have to take this matter up with my friend who is the chief constable, and I am also on excellent terms with the Lord Lieutenant.’ He paused: ‘Well, man, get on with it.’
    Gosse’s face was a study. Not only had he received a mere shrug on arrival instead of an expected handshake, but neither was the offer of a chair forthcoming. Seething inwardly he took his place at Faro’s side and said:
    ‘It’s about this young woman who went missing, sir.’
    The presence of uniformed policemen in his study still made Archie uneasy but at least the interview promised to be brief if boring. And all the fault of that damned lady’s maid of Clara’s, having instigated a missing persons enquiry the police had been forced to follow up.
    ‘Well, get on with it,’ he repeated shortly.
    ‘This young woman, Ida Watts, was believed to havecommitted suicide, but we now have reason to suspect foul play.’
    ‘Foul play … you mean … murder?’ Archie gulped.
    ‘Yes, sir, that’s about it.’
    Archie sat back in his comfortable chair. Suicide was bad enough, a shadow on his house’s reputation. But murder! His groan, mistaken by sensitive folk for sympathy and shock, was altogether different. In his mind’s eye he was already seeing the news-sheet’s large black letters ‘Murder at Lumbleigh Green’.
    ‘This is intolerable, intolerable.’
    Clara Lumbleigh, curiosity aroused, had entered the room during her husband’s outburst of indignation, and her presence briefly acknowledged, now lingered by the window with her back to them,