The Catherine Wheel

Miss Silver coughed and smiled.

“A long time ago, Chief Inspector.”

“Oh well, we don’t any of us get any younger. He’s done pretty well for himself, hasn’t he? Does you credit. Well, as I was saying, March has had his eye on this place for some time. It’s got an old smuggling history. Then it changed hands. Recently it’s changed again-come back to the family that used to own it. But the manager has stayed on. Nothing in that, you may say-nothing against the man, except that he’s half Irish, half Portuguese.”

Frank Abbott gazed down into the fire. Lamb’s dislike of foreigners never failed to amuse.

The Chief Inspector allowed a bulging gaze to rest for a moment upon his profile, and continued in a louder voice and with a quite portentous frown.

“That’s not his fault, of course, and nothing against him so long as he behaves himself. He’s a British subject, and he’s got an English wife. Nothing against either of them. That’s the trouble. There’s nothing March can get his hands on to anywhere, but there’s a kind of feeling about the place-it may be just the old smuggling history, or it may be something new. Well, that’s as far as the drug business goes, but now there’s something more. All these jewel robberies-you’ll have seen about them in the papers-it’s not so easy for them to get the stuff out of the country, because everything’s being watched. We got just one small shred of a clue after the Cohen affair the other day. You remember old Cohen woke up and fired at the men. He hit one of them, and the others carried him off. We were pretty hot on their trail, and they left him for dead by the side of a country road. We picked him up, and he wasn’t dead-not then-but he died before we could get him to the hospital. He was muttering to himself. One of the constables had his wits about him and listened. He couldn’t make head or tail of most of it, but he did get two words, and he had the sense to report them. They were ‘old Catherine.’ Well, the i

There was a silence. Miss Silver looked thoughtful.

Frank Abbott had not sat down. He stood against the mantelpiece, tall, slim, and elegant; his dark suit faultlessly cut, his handkerchief, his tie, his socks, discreet and beautiful; his fair hair mirror-smooth. No one could have looked less like a police officer, or the hardworking efficient police officer that he was. He had a cult for Miss Silver, at whose feet he was content to sit, and a sincere and affectionate respect for his Chief, but neither of these feelings prevented him from considering that their encounters had a high entertainment value.

Miss Silver coughed and said,

“In what way do you think that I can assist you?”

Lamb said bluntly, “You could go and stay at the i

“On what pretext? It does not sound quite the kind of hotel for a lady travelling alone.”

Lamb gave his jovial laugh.

“Oh, we’ll make that all right. Now look here, there’s something very odd going on. The man who owns this i

Frank Abbott turned his cool, pale eyes upon the Chief Inspector.

“He may be just throwing a party,” he said.

“March says none of the Taverner family have been on speaking terms with each other since anyone can remember. The only exceptions are Luke Taverner’s descendants. Luke was old Jeremiah’s fourth son and an out-and-out bad lot. He left quite a lot of scallywag disreputable children and grandchildren, most of them with no right to his name. March says they turn up in every shady business in the county. The only legitimate and fairly reputable one is a young fellow called Al Miller who is a porter at Ledlington station, and he’s none too steady-likely to lose his job, March says. Well, one of the other lot is barman at the Catherine-Wheel. Nothing against him, but he comes of bad stock. If you could get into the i

Miss Silver gazed at him with mild attention.

“Who are they?” she enquired.

Lamb opened a drawer and rummaged.

“Where’s that paper, Frank? Oh, you’ve got it. There you are, Miss Silver. Geoffrey Taverner-travels for a firm called Hobbs and Curtin-all sorts of jims for making housework easy- perfectly respectable people. His sister, Mildred Taverner-old maid ru

Miss Silver gazed mildly at the sheet of paper with all these names on it and said, “Dear me-”

The Chief Inspector laughed.

“You’re wondering how they’ll mix over a week-end. Well, there’s one that won’t. John Higgins won’t go near the place, though he’s said to be sweet on a girl who works there and an aunt of his is married to the manager, Castell. The girl is Castell’s niece or something. Regular family affair, you see.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I was wondering why Mr. Jacob Taverner should have asked all these people for the week-end.”

Lamb sat back easily.

“Well, you know, there mightn’t be anything in it at all. He’s a rich man, and he hasn’t anyone to leave his money to. So far as the police are concerned, he’s got a clean sheet. I don’t suppose he’s sailed any nearer the wind than a lot of other people who have got away with it and made their pile. He may be wanting nothing more than to have a look at his relations and make up his mind which of them he’ll put into his will. That’s one possibility. There are others of course. Maybe he’s got a finger in the smuggling pie. Maybe he thinks a family party wouldn’t be a bad cover-up for anything that might be going to happen down that way. Maybe he’s just got interested in the family history. I don’t know, but I’d like to. I want these people sized up, and when it comes to that kind of job-well, we all know you’re a wonder at it.”

Miss Silver smiled graciously, but with restraint. A truly excellent man, the Chief Inspector, but sometimes just a little inclined to be patronising. At such moments she was apt to, as it were, recede and become the governess again. Lamb may or may not have felt a slight touch of frost upon the air.

Miss Silver coughed, glanced at the paper in her hand, and addressed him.

“Is Miss Jane Heron young?”

He nodded.

“Yes, bit of a girl-ma