Read Murder on the Flying Scotsman for Free Online Page B

had on
his knees. The pieces were round and flat like draughts counters, with inlaid pictures of chessmen so you could play either game. They had little holes in their tops, and pegs underneath to fit
into each other or the holes in the board.
    ‘Gosh, what a spiffing set,’ said Belinda, helping him lay out the men.
    ‘Spiffing?’ His hands were like claws, bony, with long yellow nails, the backs blotchy. They trembled slightly as he handled the pieces.
    ‘I used to say topping, but Miss Dalrymple says spiffing. It means wonderful.’
    ‘You like it, hey? Ivory and ebony it is, and other woods I forget the names of. I had it specially made for me in India.’
    ‘I’ve got an Indian friend at school. Would you, could you please , tell me about India? Deva’s just a girl like me, and she doesn’t remember much.’
    So as they played, he told her about playing chess – with this very set – with a maharajah in a howdah on an elephant, on the way to a tiger hunt in the jungle. He described hot blue
skies, and cool marble fountains, and temples, and festivals where gleaming, glittering gods, garlanded with marigolds, paraded through streets smelling of aromatic spices. Belinda forgot to take
her turn. Soon she gave up even trying to play.
    At the end of a story about a temple monkey which stole his watch right out of his waistcoat pocket, Mr. McGowan said firmly, ‘That’s enough now. I don’t want you suffering
from intellectual indigestion. The pains of the real thing are bad enough.’
    Belinda wasn’t sure what he meant, but there was one more thing she really wanted to know. ‘Couldn’t you just please tell me about the Indian you’ve left your money to in
your will?’
    ‘Little busybody,’ he growled, but his eyes twinkled at her. ‘So they’ve found out, have they? That must have set the cat among the pigeons.’
    ‘Rather! They’re awfully angry, ’cause of him being Indian and ’cause of it being the family’s money.’
    ‘Bah! It belongs to that old miser, my brother Alistair, now, and it’ll be mine when he pops off the hooks. I’ll do with it as I please. Let them earn their own. Now
who’s this, hey?’ he went on, glancing towards the corridor. ‘One of ’em come to try to change my mind?’
    ‘No, it’s my Miss Dalrymple. Oh dear, I’ve been gone an awfully long time,’ Belinda said guiltily.
    Peering through the window, Daisy wondered what on earth the child was doing in there with the misanthrope. Good gracious, it looked as if they had been playing a game together! She opened the
door.
    ‘Come in,’ he said at once, glaring at her beneath peetling brows. ‘Come in, don’t stand there letting the draught in. So you’re Miss Fletcher’s friend,
hey?’
    ‘Miss Dalrymple, this is Mr. McGowan. Mr. Albert McGowan, not Alistair He’s nice.’
    Daisy pulled the door to behind her. ‘How do you do, Mr. McGowan. I must apologize for this young imp’s intrusion.’
    ‘Not at all, not at all. It’s been a pleasure making Miss Fletcher’s acquaintance. Won’t you sit down, young lady? I don’t dislike company, only that tribe of
would-be spongers I’m forced to acknowledge as relatives.’
    With a smile, Daisy returned frankness for frankness. ‘They believe you don’t acknowledge them, sir.’
    He cackled. ‘As little as possible,’ he admitted. ‘The way they treated me when I was in India. No “Dear Uncle Albert, How’s life and is there anything we can send
out to make it easier?” They didn’t even bother to notify me of weddings and births and such.’
    ‘The mean beasts!’ Belinda said indignantly.
    ‘Their loss, my dear. I didn’t have to send wedding and christening presents. Of course, when I came home they found out I wasn’t the indigent younger brother any
longer.’
    ‘I suppose they camped on your doorstep,’ said Daisy.
    ‘Descended like a flock of vultures. All of a sudden I was “dearest Uncle,”’ he spat out, his lined