Let's Talk of Murder Read Online Free

“Wine, coffee, tea, brandy?”
    “Fine, whatever you’re having.”
    “Are you sure? That would be hock and soda water, to cleanse the palate. I had rather a - er, lively time last evening. Drank a little too much. One of my many vices,” he said, again with no air of apology.
    “Hock and soda water. Excellent!” Hock? What was it? A sort of German wine, was it not?
    “Fletcher!” Bryon ignored the pull chord at his elbow and bellowed, “Fletcher!” until the butler appeared at the doorway.
    “A glass for my guest. And take Abu with you. Give him a bath. I’m sure the hound has fleas.” The dog, on cue, sat up and applied his right paw to his ear and scratched vigorously. This was enough to make Prance nudge to the far end of the ottoman.
    Fletcher took the dog’s collar, scowled and dragged him, barking and snapping, from the seat. Man and dog disappeared, the man to return in a moment with a glass on a round, brass tray. Byron prepared the drink, equal parts of hock and soda water.
    “To your very good health, Sir Reginald,” Byron said, lifting his glass.
    Prance sipped and found the drink, at least in Lord Byron’s company, enchanting.
    “I believe you’re a friend of Lady deCoventry,” Byron said, studying Prance from under his infamous eye lashes.
    “Yes, we’re friends and neighbors.”
    “A beautiful woman. I should like to meet her.” He examined Prance with a long, level look. “Or would I be poaching on your territory? That is something I never do—by design at least.”
    Woman? Surely he should have said lady? “Oh no! No indeed. We’re friends, no more.”
    “You find it possible to be friends, no more, with a woman like that?” Byron said, and laughed in disbelief. “I take off my hat to you.” He playfully removed an imaginary hat. “But truly I’m not quite as bad as folks say, you know. I occasionally allow a friend’s lady to seduce me, but I never go after ‘em.”
    “A meeting might be arranged,” Prance said, with a thought of how this would annoy Luten. “Actually I have come on a rather important errand. For His Royal Highness,” he added.
    “About that shot outside Hertford’s place last night, I expect,” Byron said, with diminished interest.
    “Just so. The prince has asked Lord Luten to look into it. As he is laid up with a busted ankle, I’m assisting him.”
    “Much ado about nothing,” Byron said, with a careless wave of his hand. “The man was certainly drunk. The shot missed me by miles.”
    “Missed you? Then you think you were the target?”
    “So I and any sane person, which excludes the prince, would assume,” he replied blandly.
    “But if it was some jealous husband or lover—why attack you when you were with the prince? Much safer to get you alone on a dark street.”
    Byron massaged his chin a moment, then nodded. “You have a point there, Prance. Prince-icide is a serious offence against the law, no matter how well justified on humanitarian grounds. As I’ve been out of town for some weeks visiting the Oxfords at Eywood and have not made any mortal enemies since returning a few days ago, perhaps I was not the target after all. Truth to tell, I had forgotten the little incident last night.”
    Forgotten an attempted murder! What a life the man led! Those near-treasonous aspersions against the prince were shot off very calmly as well. Prance could only stare.
    “It might very well have been an attempt on Prinney’s life. He don’t want for enemies, but if a man could miss a target that size, he must either have been drunk, blind, or an infernally bad shot.”
    They discussed the matter for a few moments. Byron had not gotten a look at the man, could not even confirm that it had been a man. He had not seen the shadow. To judge by his nonchalant comments, he was so accustomed to being shot at that he had hardly bothered to look. “If I can be of any further help, don’t hesitate to call.”
    His business done, Prance rose. He