boucher book oct28.pdf - Index of

Elsewhen 63
library?”
The butler’s manner was imperfect; he could not decide whether a hired detective
was a gentleman or a servant. “No,” he said, politely enough but without a “sir.”
“No, it was most unusual.”
“Did you notice if it was locked earlier?”
“It was not. I showed a visitor in shortly before the … before this dreadful thing
happened.”
“A visitor?” Fergus’ eyes glinted. He began to have visions of all the elaborate
possibilities of locking doors from the outside so that they seem locked on the inside.
“And when was this?”
“Just on five o’clock, I thought. But the gentleman called here today to offer
his sympathy, and he remarked, when I mentioned the subject, that he believed it
to have been earlier.”
“And who was this gentleman?”
“Mr. Harrison Partridge.”
Hell, thought Fergus. There goes another possibility. It must have been much
earlier if he was at Faith Preston’s by five. And you can’t tamper with radio time signals
as you might with a clock. However— “Notice anything odd about Mr. Partridge?
Anything in his manner?”
“Yesterday? No, I did not. He was carrying some curious contraption—I hardly
noticed what. I imagine it was some recent invention of his which he wished to
show to Mr. Harrison.”
“He’s an inventor, this Partridge? But you said yesterday. Anything odd about
him today?”
“I don’t know. It’s difficult to describe. But there was something about him as
though he had changed—grown, perhaps.”
“Grown up?”
“No. Just grown.”
“Now, Mr. Ash, this man you claim you saw—”
“Claim! Damn it, O’Breen, don’t you believe me either?”
“Easy does it. The main thing for you is that Miss Preston believes you, and I’d
say that’s a lot. Now this man you saw, if that makes you any happier in this jail,
did he remind you of anyone?”
“I don’t know. It’s bothered me. I didn’t get a good look, but there was something
familiar—”
“You say he had some sort of machine beside him?”
Simon Ash was suddenly excited. “You’ve got it. That’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“Who it was. Or who I thought it was. Mr. Partridge. He’s some sort of a cousin
of Mr. Harrison’s. Screwball inventor.”
“Miss Preston, I’ll have to ask you more questions. Too many signposts keep pointing
one way, and even if that way’s a blind alley I’ve got to go up it. When Mr. Partridge
called on you yesterday afternoon, what did he do to you?”
“Do to me?” Faith’s voice wavered. “What on earth do you mean?”