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

hanging,” Barnes protested.
    “Of course we did and we acted properly in doing so, but our proving Odell innocent meant that Inspector Nivens lost his only homicide conviction.”
    Barnes realized that being diplomatic wasn’t going to be very useful. “He’s out for blood, sir. Take my word for it; Nivens is going to do everything he can to ruin you and your reputation. You must take care.”
    The inspector said nothing for a moment. “I appreciate your concern, Constable, but I won’t complain against the man. Not until he actually does something to me.”
    “By then it might be too late, sir,” Barnes said earnestly. He had to get Witherspoon to understand how much damage Nivens could and would do.
    “We’ve no time to worry about Inspector Nivens at the moment. Tell me what you know about this murder.” The inspector was tired of both his constable and even his household constantly warning him about Nivens. Why just this morning his housekeeper had mentioned watching out for the fellow. Honestly, they were all making far too much of a few idle threats made in the heat of the moment.
    Barnes knew when to shut up. He whipped out his little brown notebook and flipped it open. “The name of the victim is Lawrence Boyd. He’s a banker.”
    “How was he killed?”
    “The report didn’t say. It only gave his name and address: 14 Laurel Road, Bayswater.” Barnes looked out the window. “This is a posh neighborhood, so I expect he’s someone with either money or connections, probably both. Oh good, we’re almost there. We’ve turned onto his street.”
    Lawrence Boyd lived in a large four-story house made of white stone and red brick. There was no fencing between the house and the road, merely a strip of lawn with newly dug flower beds at each corner. On each side of the black doorway, there was a large brass lamp. A police constable stood guard by the front door. He hurried toward them as they climbed out of the hansom.
    “I can see why they called us in so quickly,” Barnes muttered. “Rich people hate murder. It’s so very inconvenient for them.”
    “Yes, I daresay, you’re right,” Witherspoon murmured. Murder amongst the wealthy was always very tiresome. It had been his experience that the more money people had, the less inclined they were to cooperate with the police.
    “Good day, sir.” The constable directed his remark to the inspector and then nodded respectfully at Constable Barnes. “I’m Constable Tucker. We’re very glad you’ve arrived. If you’ll come this way, I’ll take you around to the body.” He started toward the side of the house.
    “I’m Inspector Witherspoon and this is Constable Barnes,” the inspector said as they trailed after the constable.
    “I know who you are, sir, and in keeping with your methods, Constable Maxton and I have made sure that nothing has been touched,” Tucker said eagerly. “Once we got here and saw the body, we didn’t even let the fire brigade muck about any more than was necessary to insure the fire was out. But actually, they had the fire already out, so it wasn’t so much a matter of them mucking about as it was picking up their equipment and leaving. But we made sure they were careful not to move things about any more than they had to, sir.” Tucker smiled proudly at the inspector.
    “Er, yes, that was very good thinking on your part,” Witherspoon murmured. By now, they had rounded the building and come to the back garden. By London standards, it was huge. The lawn was ringed by flowers beds and thick bushes, behind which was a wood fence that stood at least eight feet high. At the far end of the garden was a small wooden structure that was larger than a shed but smaller than a conservatory. Two policemen were standing by the open door. Tendrils of smoke drifted up from the small open window. Witherspoon wrinkled his nose as an ugly, burning scent assaulted his nostrils.
    “Ugh, that’s not very pleasant.” Barnes made a