Murder of a Snob Read Online Free

paused to rivet Crisp’s attention. “It was removed after death and replaced. I missed that point the first time.”
    â€œ After death? You’re sure of that?”
    â€œI oughtn’t to say I’m sure, but I am. The ring is a very tight fit. He would probably have needed soap to coax it off himself. Soap was not used. A small knife was used—as a shoe-horn is used—possibly that little pearly knife on the table. The flesh is perceptibly cut in two places, but the incisions have not bled.”
    The powder was applied, but with negative result. The ring had been wiped clean.
    The table had been dealt with for finger prints. Across the blotting pad opposite the swivelled chair, covered with a maze of notes in pencil, was a sheet, torn from a writing pad, all four sides of which were dotted with embossments of a crest—a two-headed serpent.
    â€œHave the notes on that blotting pad typed out,” ordered Crisp.
    Laid on an oilskin cloth and ticketted were the contents of the deceased’s pockets. A gold cigar case, a slim wallet containing notes, a toothpick, several pencils, a bunch of keys, a gold watch and chain, with a key on the end of the chain.
    Crisp glanced from the key to the wall safe, then picked up watch and chain and applied the key to the safe, hoping to find a significant document.
    He at once found what he sought—indeed, the safe contained nothing but a long envelope with a printed address to a firm of solicitors. He picked it up, found that it had been lying on a similar envelope, empty, with the same printed address. On the back of the topmost envelope was a liberal blob of red sealing wax.
    Crisp took the sealed envelope by the edges.
    â€œTry this for a finger print.”
    This time the powder gave a clear result. The prints were immediately photographed.
    Next, Crisp examined the sealing wax on the envelope. Imprinted was the crest of the two-headed serpent. To make sure, he dropped wax on a writing pad and applied the signet ring. The imprints were identical.
    He ran his fingers the length of the envelope. It certainly was very slim—if indeed it was a significant document.
    It seemed to contain a single folded sheet.

Chapter Two
    Inspector Sanson, who was superintending measurements, approached Crisp.
    â€œWe’ve taken the prints of Harridge’s waiters and of the three resident servants,” he reported. “There’s a lady and two gentlemen staying in the house—”
    â€œTake those, too,” ordered Crisp, and added: “As soon as your log is ready bring it to me in the little room behind this.”
    Crisp strode on to the terrace. Benscombe was at the west end.
    â€œThe old girl is still knitting,” he reported. “I think she’s watching points, sir. That bench is at the crossing of four avenues. She doesn’t catch the eye herself, but she can see this terrace and the side of the house. By the way the hedges run, she could probably see anyone coming to the house from the garden.”
    â€œRight! I’ll tackle her myself.”
    As he crossed the strip of lawn and entered the nearest avenue, the woman placed her knitting in a large canvas handbag. Crisp noted that she was probably about sixty, that her dress, though dowdy, was by no means shoddy. She was a big woman and even stouter than she had appeared to be when seen from the window of the morning-room. Yet her face was thin and boney, her skin excessively wrinkled, so that her large, well-shaped eyes created the eerie effect of having been filched from a younger woman.
    â€œGood evening,” she said in the tone of one who has been kept waiting. She shifted her position on the bench, to make room for him.
    Crisp echoed her greeting and sat beside her. Unexpectedly, she opened the canvas bag and took out the knitting she had just put away.
    â€œD’you mind telling me,” he asked, “what you are doing here?”
    â€œI