Read Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time for Free Online

than he was. The two of them had made it to Acton just in time to see the inspector and Constable Barnes disappearing into a redbrick monster of a house. They’d ducked under the thin branches of an evergreen tree, but they hadn’t dared stay in that spot as it was far too small to be a decent hiding place, and with each passing minute they’d risked being seen. But there’d been nary a doorway, stairwell, or garden shed that could conceal them from the eyes of any nosy neighbors or wandering policemen. So they’d split up. Each of them had set off in a different direction with the sole purpose of going into the first pub they came to and seeing if the news of the murder had made its way out into the community at large.
    But the only customers in the White Lion Pub were himself and an old man sleeping in the corner. Even the publican was of a morose nature, which might explain the lack of custom in the place. Then again, despite being “on the hunt,” as it were, he wasn’t feeling particularly cheerful himself. He couldn’t stop worrying about Betsy. She’d not said that anything in particular was bothering her, but twice now he’d come across her staring out the window with a sad, wistful expression on her pretty face. Both times, he’d asked it she was all right and both times she’d assured him she was just fine. But he knew she wasn’t. He and Betsy were close. She’d trusted him with the secrets of her past and he’d shared his with her. But he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. Something important.
    “You ready for another?” the barman asked.
    “This will do me, thanks,” Smythe replied. He glanced at the door. It was firmly closed. No one, it appeared, was in any hurry to come here for a pint. He’d give it another ten minutes and then he’d head off to find Wiggins. On such a gray and miserable day, he suspected the footman’s luck wasn’t much better than his.
    But he’d have been wrong. At the Boars Head Pub, Wiggins motioned for the barman. “Can we ’ave another one over ’ere.” He pointed to his companion’s empty glass.
    “That’s right nice of ya,” the young man replied. His name was Johnny Cooper and when he’d walked through the door, he’d been white as a sheet.
    One look at the frightened expression in the lad’s eyes had put Wiggins’ instincts on full alert. This was someone who’d been scared to death by something and the only really frightening incident that Wiggins knew of in the area was a murder at Humphreys House. He’d waited till his quarry had ordered a pint, noticed that he hadn’t spoken to anyone else in the pub, and then made his move.
    Wiggins dug more coins out of his pocket as the barman slid another pint in front of Cooper, took the money, and then moved down the counter to serve another customer.
    “I don’t usually drink in the afternoons,” Cooper said defensively. “But I tell ya, seein’ the old man all slumped over like that was such a shock. The only dead body I’ve ever seen before was my old gran, but that was at her funeral. This was different. It was strange, if ya know what I mean. Especially when we heard they was sending for the police and that it was murder been done. None of us knew how to act or how we was supposed to feel.”
    “Were you the one that found ’im?” Wiggins asked.
    “No, I only got a glimpse from the doorway, but that was enough.” He shuddered slightly.
    Wiggins took a sip of his beer and stared at Johnny over the rim of his glass. He was a lanky fellow with wispy blond hair and a long, narrow face. He claimed he was the gardener at Humphreys House, but Wiggins suspected Cooper was more a lad-of-all-work rather than a proper gardener. Even with the color back in his face, he didn’t have that rough complexion that spoke of hours outside in the weather.
    “Must ’ave been awful,” Wiggins muttered. He wasn’t sure how many questions to ask. He didn’t want the lad accidentally