or Other Fine Bookstores
in Your Area!
or Other Fine Bookstores
in Your Area!
| Chapter One |
| Dr. Bartholomew Slocum was definitely dead. Inspector Gerald Witherspoon stared morosely at the body slumped over the huge mahogany desk and fervently wished he were home sitting in front of a roaring fire instead of standing in a gloomy Knightsbridge surgery. From behind him, he heard Constable Barnes clear his throat. Witherspoon thrust the image of a cozy fire and a glass of port out of his mind and remembered his duty. Straightening his spine, he moved determinedly toward the body. Aware of the two pairs of eyes staring at his back, witherspoon leaned forward and examined the dead man. It was not a chore he relished. The fact was, he was rather squeamish about dead people, but as corpses were, this was rather a nice one. At least it wasn't covered in blood. He heard an impatient shuffle of feet behind him, and that brought him back to the problem at hand. "Hmmm," he muttered thoughtfully, trying to sound both wise and official. "This gentleman is definitely dead." "Yes, we know," said Dr. Sebastian Hightower somewhat irritably. "That is, of course, why I summoned the police." "Hmmm, yes." Witherspoon turned and smiled faintly at the portly man standing next to constable Barnes. Hightower didn't return his smile. He gazed impatiently from beneath thick brown eyebrows and pointedly picked up his watch chain. "The doctor was obviously reading when death occurred," Witherspoon said. "See how his head is resting on that book. Except for the rather peculiar way his arms are flopped out, one on each side, you'd think he was merely taking a nap." "Well he isn't napping," snapped the doctor, glaring at Witherspoon, "He's dead and the circumstances are very suspicious." |
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