Mrs. Jeffries and the Best Laid Plans Read Online Free Page A

exactly the way the murderer had planned it.
     
    “Oh dear, the guests should be arriving any moment now. I suppose the luncheon will have to be cancelled.” Leeson, the butler to Lawrence Boyd, looked anxiously toward the main house. He was standing on the gravel pathway leading to the studio. A fireman stood at the front door and another two were on the roof of the small building, checking that the fire hadn’t spread to the rafters. Tendrils of smoke drifted on the wind and the air smelled like burning wood, but the fire itself had been put out before it could do too much damage.
    Leeson sighed and wished he didn’t have to deal with this mess. It simply wasn’t fair. He was a butler, for goodness sake. Now he was going to have to go and tell the guests that Mr. Boyd was dead and the luncheon cancelled. He wondered if he ought to invite them to eat before they left. What did etiquette dictate in these circumstances? They had been invited and there was plenty of food. Perhaps Mrs. Rothwell would know what they ought to do. After all, she wasn’t just the housekeeper; she was a distant relation to Mr. Boyd. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He’d let her make the decision.
    He breathed easier and turned his attention to the clump of people standing on the small terrace by the back door of the main house. Miss Clarke, the typewriter girl, was speaking to one of the maids, and Mrs. Rothwell was standing next to the cook. Leeson moved toward the fireman standing by the studio door.
    “We’re almost finished here,” the fireman said as he approached.
    “Poor Mr. Boyd. What a terrible thing to have happened, but I suppose if Miss Clarke hadn’t seen the smoke and raised the alarm, it might have been much worse. We were all gone.”
    “If she’d not raised the alarm, the building would have been completely burned.” The fireman adjusted the chin strap to his helmet. He glanced through the open door of the studio to the body lying on the settee. “But before you do anything else, you’d best get a policeman here and be quick about it.”
    “A policeman?” Leeson was dreadfully confused. “But you said the fire was out. Why do we need a policeman?”
    “Because your Mr. Boyd is dead, but it wasn’t the fire that killed him.”
     
    “At least this one is in your district, sir,” Constable Barnes said to Inspector Gerald Witherspoon as their hansom cab headed for Bayswater. Barnes was a smart old copper with steely gray hair, a ruddy complexion, and weak knees. He’d been on the force for more years than he cared to recall but now found himself in the enviable position of working almost exclusively with Inspector Gerald Witherspoon. “That’s a bit of a relief.”
    Witherspoon had a pale, bony face, thinning brown hair, and deep-set blue eyes. He pushed his spectacles up his long nose and looked at Barnes. “Why is it a relief? Is there something about this case that I ought to be concerned about?”
    Barnes tried to think of a diplomatic way of putting the situation. “Well, sir, I only meant that Inspector Nivens can’t grouse that you’ve stolen this one from him. It’s in your division, sir, so by rights you should be the one to take it.”
    “He’ll still complain.” Witherspoon shrugged philosophically. “But there’s nothing I can do about that.”
    Barnes grabbed the handhold as the cab lurched forward. “You can get there first, sir. I know you don’t like running to the chief inspector and telling tales, but you could let him know that Nivens has threatened to ruin you. If you get that established right away and make sure a formal complaint is lodged in his record, it might make Nivens think twice before he tries making any mischief.”
    Witherspoon waved his hand impatiently. “We mustn’t blow it out of proportion, Constable. He was very upset about the Odell matter and if you look at it from his point of view, we did interfere in the case.”
    “We kept an innocent man from