Chapter III.
The End of the Line
“I want you to go to Portham-on-Sea, to take up the Reckavile murder, Fletcher,” said Chief Inspector Sinclair.
Fletcher was a youngster in the Service, with quick restless eyes, and an alert face; it was a great opportunity for him.
“I thought they would have to call us in, sir,” he said with a smile.
“It’s about time, too,” growled the older man “there’s the deuce of a fuss over the affair, not that the man was worth much, but he was a peer of the Realm, and a member of the House of Lords, though I don’t suppose he ever saw the inside of the building.”
“I thought perhaps you …” began Fletcher.
“Oh, I’ve got too much on hand already,” interrupted the other. “Besides it will give you a chance, and I know you younger men think I am getting too old for the work.”
There was a grim smile on the face of the old detective, as he noticed a guilty blush which Fletcher tried to hide.
“Well, just sit down and I will give you the main facts as they are known, though you have probably read the newspaper accounts.”
Fletcher nodded.