Appleby and the Ospreys Read Free

at the big basket he carries. And that sort of landing-net thing.’ Judith appeared amused by the spectacle of so complete an angler. ‘But, John, why do men who go fishing always wear deerstalker hats? It seems to mix things up.’
    ‘It’s to stick a good variety of their dry flies in, as you can see. All sports have their superstitions. Every seasoned angler believes that there is just one fly that the trout will currently go for, and that he has only to find it and cast it.’
    ‘And cast it, I suppose, when he is himself up to the knees in the stream. Did you notice his waders?’ Judith had been much amused by this unexpected appearance. ‘Shall we stop the car, and stroll after him, and make admiring noises when he catches anything?’
    ‘Certainly not. Broadwater might very reasonably regard it as an impertinent intrusion.’
    ‘Or we could talk to him about coins.’ This suggestion being also unfavourably received, Judith drove on silently for some minutes. ‘Coins,’ she then said, ‘must have rather the same sort of fascination for a collector as diamonds and emeralds and precious stones in general. Unlike pictures or statues or even books, they can be tucked away in a very small space and gloated over.’
    ‘Infinite riches in a little room.’
    ‘That kind of thing. And I have no doubt that a rare and very ancient coin can be worth enormously more than its original face value.’
    ‘Most certainly – and there may be a special fascination in that. Do you think, Judith, that if we had been much more prestigious guests than we were – minor royalty, say, or something like that – we might have been invited to gloat?’
    ‘It’s possible. But – do you know? – I believe I’ve heard that Lord Osprey makes something of a mystery of where the collection is kept. It won’t be in a kind of strong room with the pricier family silver. It will be somewhere more fanciful than that.’
    ‘I doubt it. Osprey doesn’t strike me as a fanciful type. In fact, my dear, you get these odd ideas as a kind of reflection from my long association with the more recherché kinds of crime.’ Appleby fell silent for some minutes after this, and when he spoke again it was in what seemed a random and inconsequential way. ‘I was a much better policeman, you know, than I am the country gentleman you’ve turned me into in my ripe old age.’
    ‘You do hanker, John – don’t you? And it isn’t for your final eminence as the top bobby in London. It’s for the position of the promising young man in the CID.’
    ‘That’s deplorably obvious, I’d say.’
    ‘And it’s why, every now and then, you still run into mysteries accidentally on purpose.’
    ‘No doubt. But I don’t think the Ospreys are a promising hunting ground. In fact they drop out of our lives here and now – until you decide it’s time to ask them to lunch or dine.’
    ‘One never knows,’ Judith Appleby said.
     
    One never does. Ten days later, and at an early hour, Appleby was called to the telephone.
    ‘Detective-Inspector Ringwood speaking. Sir John Appleby?’
    ‘Good morning, Mr Ringwood.’ Appleby had repressed an impulse to say something like ‘I ain’t done nuffink’, or even ‘It’s a fair cop. I done it, sure enough.’
    ‘I’m deeply sorry to have to tell you, Sir John, that his lordship is dead.’
    ‘What lordship? And why are you ringing me up about it?’
    ‘As one of his close friends, Sir John.’ The unknown Ringwood sounded cautiously reproachful. ‘At Lady Osprey’s urgent request, Sir John. She assures me you were that.’
    ‘Lady Osprey overstates the case, Mr Ringwood. She could hardly overstate it more. If Lord Osprey has hanged himself, or been strangled by a demented butler, or anything of that sort, of course I’m sorry to hear of it. But I don’t see that you have any occasion to communicate with me. Distraught women – or men, for that matter – frequently make senseless suggestions to the