The Casebook of Newbury & Hobbes Read Free Page A

replied Newbury. “But let’s not alarm everyone just yet. We don’t know anything for certain.”
    Black nodded. “Of course, if he is seriously unwell, then someone must have noticed. No matter how private a man he might be. You can’t hide things in a house like this. Not from everyone. We should speak to the servants, see if anyone has observed any change in his behaviour.”
    “Yes, you’re right,” said Newbury. “Sir Geoffrey told me he’d spoken with them all, and that no one knew where Blakemore might have gone. But this is a different question entirely, isn’t it?” He smiled brightly. “I’ll start with the footmen if you begin in the kitchens.”
    “Excellent,” replied Black. “That way I might be able to charm the cook into rustling me up some elevenses.”
    “It’s not even ten!” said Newbury, with a disbelieving shake of his head.
    “Details,” said Black. “Mere details.”
V
    It was the cook—the portly and generous Mrs Braddock—who turned out to be just the mine of information that Newbury and Black had been searching for.
    Black had spent the two hours following their brief search of Blakemore’s room enjoying varied and enlightening discourse with the four women who inhabited the kitchens, sitting on a stool by the fire while they buzzed around him, readying a cold buffet for lunch and making early preparations for dinner. The pungent scent of herbs and spices filled his nostrils, causing his stomach to rumble.
    Mrs Braddock had a colourful turn of phrase—one that might have caused a less worldly man to blush—but Black could tell she had a kind heart and, rather than embarrassment, he derived a great deal of enjoyment from her outrageous asides.
    “I’d always considered him a bit of an arse,” she said of Blakemore, when finally she found time to take a short break, joining Black by the fire for a cup of tea. She was redfaced and hassled, but still smiling. “Bit aloof, if you know what I mean. As if he didn’t want anything much to do with the rest of us. Up ’imself, like.” She fixed him with a stern gaze, gesturing upward with bunched fingers as if mimicking something unspeakable. “But I was wrong. Very wrong.”
    “You were?” prompted Black.
    She faltered slightly. “Well, I don’t think that I should say any more...”
    “What’s the matter, Mrs Braddock?” asked Black in his most reassuring tone.
    “It’s just... well, I’d be betraying a confidence, is all. That’s the problem with bloody secrets, ain’t it? You’re supposed to keep ’em to yourself.” She looked rueful.
    “Ah. I see your dilemma. But then, there are secrets, and there are secrets, if you follow me?” said Black, conspiratorially.
    “Not really, love. No,” replied Mrs Braddock, with a frown.
    Black sighed. “Mr Blakemore is missing, and quite possibly in need of urgent assistance. Surely, if it results in his safe return, he won’t hold it against you if you’ve told me in confidence whatever it is you’re keeping secret for him.”
    Mrs Braddock slurped noisily at her tea. “Oh well, when you put it like that,” she said, hurriedly, “then I don’t suppose I have a choice!”
    “I’d say not,” encouraged Black, stifling a laugh.
    “It was last week, it happened. It was late in the evening and I’d popped down for a tot of rum.” She cupped her hand around her mouth and leaned closer to Black, as if worried that someone might overhear. “I’m in the habit of takin’ a small measure before bed, you see. Just a snifter.” She sat back, straightening up on the stool and acting as if her little aside had never occurred. “Well, he was bent double by the back door, hacking his guts up. Bloody disgusting, it was. Literally. It was all over the floor.”
    “What did you do?” asked Black.
    “What do you think?” replied Mrs Braddock, incredulous that he should even ask such a thing. “I went to offer my help. He was flushed and disoriented, so I