Murder's Sad Tale Read Free Page A

fortune hunter. He had money of his own.”
    “Who called him that?” Coffen asked, reaching for the macaroon plate. “Cooper, was it?”
    “Oh, you know about Mr. Cooper. Well, one doesn’t like to speak ill of friends, but I fear he was not happy when I began to see James, though I never felt that way about Mr. Cooper I promise you, and never led him to believe it. He quite insisted on accompanying me home after our card games. We were just friends, no more.”
    Coffen wasted no time on the niceties of conversation. “Do you think he was sore enough to kill Mr. Russell?” he asked.
    “As to that, I really wouldn’t care to say,” she replied, in a tone that said the words she was too nice to utter.
    Coffen nodded, interested but by no means ready to narrow the field of suspects to one at this early stage. “Where was Mr. Russell from, and how did he come to join the group?”
    “He met Miss Crosby, another of our players, at an exhibition at Somerset House. James was interested in art, drama, music — all the finer things.” She adopted a coy smile and said, “I’m afraid he thought me quite uninformed in those areas, growing up as I did in Manchester. ‘My little savage’ he used to call me. Just funning.”
    “Where did he grow up himself?” Corinne asked.
    “His papa was vicar at Keswick,” she said. “But James left home at an early age.”
    “What age?” Coffen asked.
    “Oh, around twenty, I believe. An uncle who had made his fortune in India died and left him more than a competence. He didn’t call it a fortune. He moved around for a few years, tried different areas to decide where to buy his estate. Then he settled in London, because of the culture, you know.”
    “Didn’t work at all?” Coffen asked.
    Miss Fenwick gave him a chiding look. “Mr. Russell was a gentleman,” she said.
    “Did you meet any of his friends?” Corinne asked.
    “Well — at the whist parties. Other than that, no. We used to go for walks — Bond Street to see the shops. James would insist on buying me some trinket. They are all I have left of him now. And we drove out together, into the country when the weather permitted, but mostly through the good parts of town, picking out our future home. James had a fondness for Grosvenor Square. He rather fancied a certain house there. We often used to stop and look at it.”
    “Which one?” asked Coffen, who liked to get all the details.
    “It was on a corner. Not a large house, for that area. A handsome brick house with an iron fence in front, a black door with a big brass knocker.”
    Other than the size, this could be a description of a dozen houses in the area. “Anything unusual about the house?” he persisted.
    “I didn’t notice anything,” she said uncertainly. “It was rather difficult to tell from the carriage. But what can that possibly matter? It was the neighborhood we liked, and the fact that that one house wasn’t as large as most. We couldn’t afford a huge mansion, and all the servants that would require. James had spoken to an estate agent and found out that little house was being rented out, and thought the owner might sell it. James was going to sell some securities to buy it in cash, though his stocks weren’t doing too well just then. I wanted to pay for half, and let him wait until his investments had gone back up.”
    Coffen’s heart gave a leap of interest at this highly suspicious story. He said, “So you don’t know who his friends were, other than the card parties? You never met any of them at these art and music places?”
    She smiled a sad, doting smile. “I’m afraid we were completely wrapped up in each other. He said he didn’t want to share me,” she added with a simper.
    “What about his family?” Corinne asked.
    “His parents are dead. He had no brothers or sisters, no relatives.”
    “Not even a cousin?” Coffen asked. “What I’m getting at is, who will inherit his money?”
    “Well, as he had no family,