I Am the Only Running Footman Read Online Free Page B

sakes. A few nights in bed over a period of several months would hardly give anyone but the most naïve of women that sort of encouragement, would it? I did not absolutely say, No, we are not going to be married, but I do think I showed a certain amount of hesitancy over it.  . . .”
    â€œYou left the pub around closing time?”
    â€œAbout ten-forty-five or -fifty. When last drinks were called.”
    â€œDid Ivy stay on or did she leave?”
    â€œThe last I saw of her she was standing in the doorway, hand on hip, coat collar pulled up, looking extremely determined.” He sighed and rubbed his head again. “Shouldn’t have had the last of the Remy, I expect. She told me to more or less bugger off and I did. That’s the last I saw of her, Superintendent.”
    â€œThe Running Footman would have closed shortly after that. She’d have taken a cab to her flat in Bayswater, wouldn’t she?”
    Marr smiled ruefully. “Knowing Ivy, she might have taken the underground. Cheaper.”
    â€œYou came directly home?”
    Marr sighed. “Yes, of course. It’s only a few minutes’ walk. When I got here I called my sister, Marion. Talked for some time, but to no avail. I needed money.”
    â€œYou said money was one of the things you quarreled with Ivy Childess about.”
    â€œThat’s right. I tried to borrow some.”
    â€œBut surely Ivy Childess wouldn’t have had the sort you might need.”
    Marr laughed. “If it has Her Majesty’s face on it, I need it. The odd tailor here and there. A few gambling debts. Ivy would not dip into the money from her uncle’s annuity; told me I should be gainfully employed. Yes, that’s the way she put it: gainfully employed. I have never been employed. Much less gainfully. Work, good Lord.”
    â€œYes, that does seem a dim future.”
    â€œThat sort of irony exactly matches my sister’s. She tells me I’m running through my share of our father’s money with a speed that would have earned me a rowing Blue. Our solicitors do not like to advance me more than a sum which would hardly pay for the liquor.” This reminder of drink sent him back to the table laden with bottles, where he found a measure or two of whiskey and poured it out.
    Jury made another note in a worn pigskin notebook that Racer had in one of his rare moments of largess given him several Christmases ago. Or perhaps it wasn’t largess, just a hint to get to work. “You said you called your sister. Could you give me her number?”
    â€œYou’re not going to bother old Marion with this, are you? Oh, very well.” He raked his fingers through his hair, sighed,and gave Jury the number. “It’s ex-directory, so don’t lose it.” His smile came and vanished in a second. “She’s not going to be happy about corroborating my alibi, if that’s what you call it.”
    â€œYou said ‘after you got home’? Exactly when after?”
    â€œAfter the rest of this, I suppose.” He held up the glass and turned it so that the whiskey ran round it in a little wave.
    â€œCould you be more exact?” Jury asked mildly, quite sure that the man’s offensive carelessness over the girl’s death was pretty much facade. Underneath it, he was frightened, but how much, Jury couldn’t guess.
    He closed his eyes. “A little after eleven, perhaps. Don’t hold it to me, Superintendent. Marion would know. She was sober. Always is, worse luck. Her name is Winslow and they have a place in Sussex, in Somers Abbas. Look, Superintendent. Couldn’t you just leave old Marion out of this?”
    â€œYou want me to be discreet, that it?”
    The clear, wide-eyed look on his handsome face made Marr look as if he’d just come wandering in from larking with a bag of kittens down at the lake. Wonderfully innocent and sly. “Oh, would you? I’d