Mrs. Pargeter's Plot Read Online Free Page B

Had Mrs Pargeter had any interest in the subject, she might have recognized from its size and colouring, or from the fact that its hind limbs were 25 per cent longer than its forelimbs, that she was looking at a South American marmoset, a member of the
Callitrichidae
family, from the suborder
Anthropoidea
of the Primate order. However, nothing could have interested her less, so she neither knew nor cared.
    Around the creature’s neck was a padded crimson velvet collar, to which had been attached a silver chain. The loop at the end of the chain had been slipped round the leg of a heavy oak dresser. Scratches on the wood and surrounding carpet suggested that the monkey had tried to break free, but without success.
    Its reaction to Mrs Pargeter’s entrance was one of excitement rather than fear. Here, it seemed to feel, was not a threat, but a potential saviour – or even playmate. This suggested that the animal was accustomed to human society, and had possibly been someone’s pet.
    The monkey rose up on its hind legs – clearly a party trick for Mrs Pargeter’s benefit – and chattered in an almost human manner. One thin-fingered hand tugged pitifully at its chain, while the dark eyes looked up appealingly into hers. ‘Set me free,’ it seemed to be saying. ‘Set me free.’
    â€˜In your dreams, sweetheart,’ said Mrs Pargeter, as she left the room.
    Hedgeclipper Clinton was by Reception when she emerged from the lift into the foyer. He gave her a smile of unctuous sincerity.
    â€˜There’s a monkey in my room. Could you deal with it, please?’ said Mrs Pargeter, as she passed through into the dining room.
    The Greene’s Hotel ‘Full English Breakfast’ was extremely full. No refinement of bacon, egg, sausage, tomato, grilled mushroom, fried bread, sauté potato, kidney or black pudding was omitted from the piled plate into which Mrs Pargeter tucked. Some mornings, in a momentary pang of righteousness, she asked the waitress not to include the fried bread, but this morning was not one of them. She had the tingling feeling of beginning to be involved in an investigation, and needed to keep her strength up.
    Opposite her in the sumptuous setting of the
fin de siècle
dining room, sat a thin-faced, earnest-looking man in his thirties. He wore an anonymously smart charcoal suit and sober tie. His right hand, slightly nervous on the crisp linen, toyed with the handle of his coffee cup.
    â€˜Sure you won’t have anything else, Mr Merriman?’ asked Mrs Pargeter, after a delicious mouthful of sausage, egg and sauté potato.
    â€˜No, really, thank you,’ Nigel Merriman replied. ‘I breakfasted earlier.’
    Mrs Pargeter loaded her fork with another consignment of bacon, egg, tomato and fried bread. ‘Well, you won’t mind me, I hope?’
    â€˜Of course not.’
    She gestured permission with her heaped fork. ‘You talk while I eat. Seems a fair division of labour.’
    â€˜Yes.’ He allowed himself a prim silence while he collected his thoughts and Mrs Pargeter munched contentedly. ‘What I’m really after . . . is anything you might know that could help in Mr Jacket’s defence.’
    The fullness of Mrs Pargeter’s mouth excluded all responses other than an ‘Mm.’
    â€˜At the moment I’m afraid my client’s situation does look rather grim.’
    The mouth was by now decorously empty. ‘Oh? You mean he actually had some connection with the dead man?’
    â€˜I’m afraid so.’
    Mrs Pargeter wiped the side of her mouth with a napkin. ‘Who was the stiff then?’
    Nigel Merriman could not suppress a slight wince at the colloquialism before replying, ‘A bricklayer and part-time villain called Willie Cass. Worked with Mr Jacket till relatively recently, but was dismissed when found to be selling on bricks and other materials his employer had paid