Why Shoot a Butler Read Free Page A

said Mr. Amberley.
    "I don't know about that, sir," said the constable stiffly. "I'll speak to the sergeant."
    He withdrew, and Mr. Amberley strolled over to the wall to inspect a poster describing the delights in store for all those willing to purchase a ticket for the annual police concert.
    The door at the end of the room which had the word PRIVATE painted forbiddingly on the frosted glass opened to admit the egress of a burly individual with very fierce moustache and a red face. "Well, sir, what can I do for you?" said this personage in a voice calculated to strike awe into the hearts of malefactors.
    Mr. Amberley turned. "Evening, Sergeant," he said.
    The sergeant abandoned his severity. "Well, Mr. Amberley, sir!" he said. "I haven't seen you down in these parts, not for six months. I hope I see you well, sir? Anything I can do for you?"
    "Oh, no!" said Mr. Amberley. "But I thought you'd like to know there's a dead man on the Pittingly Road."
    The constable, who had gone back to his place by the desk, gasped at this, but the sergeant took it in good part.
    "You will have your joke, sir," he said indulgently.
    "Yes," said Mr. Amberley. "But this isn't my joke. You'd better send someone along. I'm at Greythorne when you want me."
    The smile faded. "You're not serious, sir?" said the sergeant.
    "Perfectly. Sober, too. A man in an Austin Seven, shot through the chest. Very messy."
    "Murder!" said the sergeant. "Good Lord! Here, sir, just a moment! Where did you say you found him?"
    Mr. Amberley returned to the desk and demanded a sheet of paper. Supplied with this he drew a rough diagram. "Where that accursed place Pittingly is I don't know, but the car is approximately at this point, about a mile from the turning into this town. I stopped to ask the way to Greythorne and found the fellow was dead. Probably murdered. I'd come with you, but I'm an hour late for dinner already."
    "That's all right, sir. You'll be at Greythorne for a day or two, I take it? There'll be an inquest - but I don't have to tell you that. Get on to Carchester, Wilkins. You didn't happen to notice anything particular, did you, sir? Didn't pass anyone on the road?"
    "No. It's pretty foggy, though. The man wasn't cold when I touched him, if that's any use to you. Good night."
    "Good night, sir, and thank you."
    The constable held out the telephone receiver, and while the sergeant reported to headquarters he stood rubbing his chin and staring at the door which had swung to behind Mr. Amberley. As the sergeant hung up the receiver he said blankly: "Well, he's a cool customer and no mistake."
    "That's Mr. Frank Amberley, Sir Humphrey's nephew," said the sergeant. "He's a very clever young man, that's what he is."
    "Walks in here as bold as brass talking about dead men on the road like as if they was as common as dandelions," said the disapproving constable.
    "So they are to him," replied the sergeant severely. "If you ever read the papers, my lad, you'd know all about him. He's a barrister. Going a long way, he is, by all accounts."
    "Well, he can't go too far for me," said the constable. "I don't like him, Sergeant, and that's a fact."
    "You send Harper in to me and stop mooning around the place," commanded the sergeant. "There's plenty don't like Mr. Amberley, but that isn't going to bother him."
    Meanwhile Frank Amberley's car had shot off in the direction of the High Street. From Upper Nettlefold he had no doubt of his way and he reached Greythorne, a substantial stone house standing in grounds that ran down to the river Nettle, in little more than ten minutes.
    He was met in the hall by his cousin, a mischievous damsel of eighteen, who demanded to know what had happened to him.
    He pulled off his coat and cast Miss Matthews a withering glance. "Your short way," he said scathingly.
    Felicity giggled. "You are an ass, Frank. Did you get lost?"
    "Very." He turned as his aunt came out into the hall. "Sorry, Aunt Marion. Not my fault. Am I too late for