Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,24
“To his billiards playing friend?”
“Yes. William Saggers. The poor chap was housebound, owing to a riding accident of his own. My father felt it his duty to maintain his weekly visit.” His lordship gazed into the distance, no doubt revisiting those tragic days. “Even in his final hours he showed concern for the man. I can recall him saying how William would miss his calling and asking us to make sure the man wasn’t left alone. Sadly, we were unable to fulfil that dying wish.”
When no more was forthcoming, Jonty observed, “That’s sad,” then waited. Too much pressing might risk their host become suspicious about their interest in that night as opposed to the one after the treasure had been found.
“It was a sad time, all round. We invited William to the funeral, although we expected he’d not be in a position to take up the invitation. My mother included a letter saying how much father had appreciated the man’s friendship to which the reply came that William had himself died, the day before, having suffered a heart attack when he heard the news of father’s death.”
“A desperately hard time you all had of it,” Orlando said, with a charming solemnity. No wonder his hostess was smitten with him.
“Not a time I would wish on my worst enemy. I would have represented the family at William’s funeral, but we never received an invitation and I didn’t wish to press. I assume they may have felt my father indirectly responsible for the man’s death.” Henry shrugged. “A harsh viewpoint, perhaps, although understandable.”
The lack of invitation was an interesting point: talking to William’s family, if they could be located, could prove useful. Alas, having created an opening, Jonty would have to wait for further discussion on the matter. A young gamekeeper arrived, begged his lordship’s pardon and asked if he could consult him urgently on the matter of rabbit traps which had appeared in the woods. Henry apologised to his guests and left them to their thoughts.
“That’s a better start than we could have hoped for,” Jonty observed, as they set off to walk the field, even though they’d agreed it would likely achieve little. “The mysterious friend who died. More than a friend, do you think? Someone who took the news so badly they suffered a broken heart?”
“You’re thinking that the weekly billiards session was a lovers’ tryst?” Orlando, who’d picked up a walking stick as they left the house, swished at a clump of grass. “There’s certainly something suspicious about a man who can still play billiards despite his hunting accident. An accident so bad he couldn’t be expected to get out of the house to his friend’s funeral.”
“You’ll have to see what Beatrice knows on that front.” Jonty paused, but Orlando didn’t rise to the bait. Clearly the investigational seed had firmly gestated. “Establish whether she knows where we can find any surviving members of William’s family.”
“Yes, although if the men were lovers the fact is hardly likely to be admitted. I’ll have to watch for a subtle hint.” Orlando swatted with his stick again, evidently enjoying the sensation. “It could provide a motive for Lord Michael’s death, though, if somebody were sufficiently disgusted at the situation to strike out. I suppose that if there were any chance that one of the family had killed him then Henry wouldn’t have wanted us involved?”
“I think you suppose correctly. Otherwise why not let sleeping dogs lie? Careful with that!” Jonty side-stepped the sweep of the stick stick as deftly as if it had been an opposition three-quarter.
“Sorry. It’s rather pleasing.” Orlando tucked the offending object under his arm.
“Talking of hints, I don’t know if you noticed that Beatrice dropped a rather heavy one that Herron wasn’t trustworthy. Shame that he’s no longer alive for us to interview.”
“His will would be easily available, though,” Orlando pointed out. “If he had been in possession of the treasure, he could have bequeathed it.”
“And make it obvious he’d stolen it?” Jonty sniffed. “We’d be better off asking Applecross if he knows anything about the man and his reputation. Rumours run wild in any profession so if there are any stories about him—or indeed anyone else—unloading Roman goods of dubious provenance onto the market at about the right time, those stories are likely to have persisted.” He halted, by an uneven piece of ground. “There seems to be little point in us leaping from tussock to tussock. I can’t believe we’ll spot anything that other folk