Cast For Death Read Free

flowing foreign hand, mainly for pleasure; he hoped there would be time to meet. Patrick read more into this than was apparent; once before Manolakis had combined business with pleasure and had solved a crime; this time he could be on the trail of another. He replied at once with an invitation to stay at St Mark’s and said he would meet Manolakis when he arrived.
    With the new stretch of motorway open, the journey to London by road was now easier than ever. Patrick sped along in his dark red MGB. He still enjoyed its novelty. After his Rover was stolen and then found smashed beyond repair, he had spent weeks wondering what to replace it with, and had tried out numerous rather sedate saloons before choosing a sports car. There was no need, since he was unmarried, to consider the problem of space. So far, only his sister Jane had had the temerity to tease him about his revised image.
    Manolakis’s plane was due at eleven-forty. Patrick planned to take him in to London straight away, for a general look round before making plans for the rest of his stay. He knew that the Greek had been in direct contact with Detective Inspector Colin Smithers; Patrick hoped to be present when Colin showed his Greek colleague some of the secrets of the Yard, and altogether he looked forward to his friend’s visit. Manolakis doubtless had in mind specific places he wished to see, and Patrick would happily conduct him to others which should not be missed.
    The miles slid by, the car purring along through the spectacular cut above Aston Rowant. Patrick took the turn- off for Marlow to join the M4, and drove down the linking escarpment which by-passed the riverside town behind a blue Mercedes. He followed it round the roundabout outside Marlow and up the road which climbed through the woods to the junction with the Henley road, where he turned left to pick up the motorway. There was a lot of traffic here, going in both directions, and he was forced to crawl behind a van which the Mercedes had managed to pass. As they went in procession past a church and the turning to Maidenhead a black flash, a dog or a cat, suddenly sprang from the side of the road between Patrick’s car and the van in front. There was nothing he could do to avoid it, for if he braked the car behind, already much too close, would crash into him, and he could not swerve away because of the oncoming traffic. He stamped for an instant on the brake but had to release it at once. There was a considerable thud, and Patrick slowed down, pulling in to the side of the road as he did so. The cars behind reformed and sorted themselves out as he got out and walked back along the road to see what he had hit.
    The dog, for that was what it was, had been flung on to the verge by the force of the collision and now lay motionless on the grass. It was a black poodle, and it was dead. The law obliged you to report the death of a dog to the police, and your own morality to tell the owner, but this one wore no collar. Well, the owner could not be far away, having doubtless been exercising his pet on the nearby common. Or her pet. Men, Patrick thought, did not own poodles.
    He laid the dog closer to the hedge, out of range of other motorists, drove on to the roundabout and circled it to turn, then took the road across the common. But there was no sign of anyone whistling or calling; no one seemed to be searching for the poodle. By the time Patrick had found a police station, described what had happened and left his own name and address, half an hour had passed.
    He hurried on towards Heathrow, the bright day dimmed a little by the incident, time short now if he were not to be late for Manolakis.
    The plane had already landed but the passengers were not yet through customs. Manolakis, in a light brown suit and bright blue tie, was among the first through the doorway. He beamed as he greeted Patrick with many warm remarks and much hand-shaking. The flight had been perfect: no bumps; he had seen both