The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [87]
“Indeed, it is,” Gloria Morgan smiled wryly. “I curse him, too, even though he has been dead for half a century, for it is upon him that my father has modelled himself, although I would hope that Colonel Hawker’s only shortcoming was his devotion to fishing and shooting.”
“Hawker was surely the finest game shot of all time,” Sherlock Holmes answered dreamily. “Not content with killing twenty-four snipe consecutively on one day, without missing a shot, he used to practise on bats around Longparish Hall at dusk, and, according to his books, with equal success.”
“As my father does, especially when we have guests staying.” There was no mistaking the contempt in her voice.
“I digress,” Holmes said. “Please continue.”
“As I have already said, my father has endeavoured to build his own reputation upon that of Colonel Hawker’s. A fine shot, an excellent fly fisherman and a dashing horseman, understandably he has attracted the attention of other women. I would add, at this stage, that my parent’s marriage has not been a happy one. One woman in particular, is a wealthy widow by the name of Eva Dann, who currently owns Longparish, the property most coveted by my father. There have, for some years, been whispered rumours of their relationship, and my mother has had to suffer the ignominy of it. For my sake, she clung to her marital status and rights, doubtless much to my father’s chagrin.
“So, faced with the prospect of her remaining indefinitely at Winchcombe, and thereby depriving him of the opportunity to marry his mistress and acquire Longparish, he murdered her.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Alas, no, but I have not a single doubt in my mind that he killed her.”
“Then tell me everything you know, setting out your story as it happened, trying not to overlook the smallest detail, however irrelevant it may seem to you.”
“My mother had resigned herself to living beneath the same room as my father, no matter how unpleasant that may have been. One of her interests was horticulture, and on fine days she would spend her time in the gardens. Her other love was literature. There is a small library in the Hall and, after dinner each evening, she would go there to read until she retired about ten o’clock. Lately, she took to locking herself in the library because, on those occasions when my father had been drinking heavily, he would go and vent his vile temper on her. Thus, by locking the door, she ensured herself of the tranquillity she required to immerse herself in her reading.”
“And it was in the library where she met her untimely death?” There was a gentleness in Sherlock Holmes’s voice as he asked the question.
“Yes”, Gloria Morgan stifled a sob. “The night before last. Dinner was an uneasy meal for my father was in an uncertain temper on account of having shot badly that day. Afterwards, my mother retired to the library as was her usual routine. I am not sure of my father’s movements, possibly he went down to the gamekeeper’s cottage to discuss with Randall the task of destroying a colony of moles which are currently rendering the lawns and borders an unsightly mess.”
“And the gamekeeper?”
“Randall is a hateful man. He reminds me of the stoats and weasels which hang rotting and stinking on his vermin gibbet. He is the most hated man for miles around. Several cats and dogs, belonging to the villagers, have died in his traps and snares, or eaten the poison which he lays for foxes in the game preserves. The safety of his pheasants is paramount, the greater the slaughter on shooting days, the more prestigious his role becomes amongst the guests who shoot at Winchcombe.”
“A decidedly unpleasant character, by all accounts,” Holmes mused.
“Second only to my father. On the night in question I was somewhat later retiring than usual. As I passed the library about eleven o’clock, I noticed that a light still burned beneath the door. Fearing lest my mother might have fallen asleep in her chair, or perhaps become ill, I knocked on the door. After several knockings, and receiving no response, I hastened to summon Jenkins, the