Tragedy at Ravensthorpe

J. J. Connington
New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Published February, 1928
Copyright, 1927, 1928, by Little, Brown, and Company
Note
The characters, places, and events described in this book are entirely imaginary and have no connection, either direct or indirect, with any real persons, places, or events.
“Got fixed up in your new house yet, Sir Clinton?” asked Cecil Chacewater, as they sauntered together up one of the paths in the Ravensthorpe grounds. “It must be a bit of a change from South Africa—settling down in this backwater.”
Sir Clinton Driffield, the new Chief Constable of the county, nodded affirmatively in reply to the question.
“One manages to be fairly comfortable; and it’s certainly been less trouble to fit up than it would have been if I’d taken a bigger place. Not that I don’t envy you people at Ravensthorpe,” he added, glancing round at the long front of the house behind him. “You’ve plenty of elbow-room in that castle of yours.”
Cecil made no reply; and they paced on for a minute or more before Sir Clinton again spoke.
“It’s a curious thing, Cecil, that although I knew your father so well, I never happened to come down here to Ravensthorpe. He often asked me to stay; and I wanted to see his collection; but somehow we never seemed able to fix on a time that suited us both. It was at the house in Onslow Square that I always saw you, so this is all fresh ground to me. It’s rather like the irony of fate that my first post since I came home should be in the very district I couldn’t find time to visit when your father was alive.”