Unnatural Causes Read Online Free Page B

once had it made him want to change his job. But he was damned if he was going to discuss Pooley with Celia Calthrop.
    Across the room his aunt’s eyes met his. She said quietly: “What exactly do you want my nephew to do, Miss Calthrop? If Mr. Seton has disappeared, isn’t that a matter for the local police?”
    “But is it? That’s our problem!” Miss Calthrop drained her glass as if the Amontillado had been cooking sherry, and automatically held it out to be refilled. “Maurice may have disappeared for some purpose of his own, perhaps to collect material for his next book. He’s been hinting that this is to be something different—a departure from his usual classical detective novel. He’s a most conscientious craftsman and doesn’t like to deal with anything outside his personal experience. We all know that. Remember how he spent three months with a travelling circus before he wrote
Murder on the High Wire?
Of course, it does imply he’s a little deficient in creative imagination. My novels are never restricted to my own experience.”
    Justin Bryce said: “In view of what your last heroine went through, Celia darling, I’m relieved to hear it.”
    Dalgliesh asked when Seton had last been seen. Before Miss Calthrop could answer, Sylvia Kedge spoke. The sherryand the warmth of the fire had put some colour into her cheeks and she had herself well under control. She spoke directly to Dalgliesh and without interruption.
    “Mr. Seton went to London last Monday morning to stay at his club, that’s the Cadaver Club in Tavistock Square. He always spends a week or two there in October. He prefers London in the autumn and he likes to do research for his books in the club library. He took a small suitcase with him and his portable typewriter. He went by the train from Halesworth. He told me that he was going to make a start on a new book, something different from his usual style, and I got the impression he was rather excited about it although he never discussed it with me. He said that everyone would be surprised by it. He arranged for me to work at the house for mornings only while he was away and said he would telephone me about ten o’clock if he had any messages. That’s the usual arrangement when he’s working at the club. He types the manuscript in double spacing and posts it to me in instalments and I make a fair copy. Then he revises the whole book and I type it ready for the publishers. Of course, the instalments don’t always connect. When he’s in London he likes to work on town scenes—I never know what’s going to arrive next. Well, he telephoned on Tuesday morning to say that he hoped to post some manuscript by Wednesday evening and to ask me to do one or two small mending jobs. He sounded perfectly all right, perfectly normal then.”
    Miss Calthrop could contain herself no longer. “It was really very naughty of Maurice to use you for jobs like darning his socks and polishing the silver. You’re a qualified shorthand typist and it’s a dreadful waste of skill. Goodness knows, I’ve enough stuff on tape waiting for you to type. However, that’s another matter. Everyone knows my views.”
    Everyone did. There would have been more sympathy with them if people hadn’t suspected that dear Celia’s indignation was chiefly on her own account. If there was any exploiting to be done she expected priority.
    The girl took no notice of her interruption. Her dark eyes were still fixed on Dalgliesh. He asked gently: “When did you next hear from Mr. Seton?”
    “I didn’t, Mr. Dalgliesh. There was no call on Wednesday when I was working at Seton House but, of course, that didn’t worry me. He might not telephone for days. I was there again early this morning to finish some ironing when Mr. Plant rang. He’s the caretaker at the Cadaver Club and his wife does the cooking. He said they were very worried because Mr. Seton had gone out before dinner on Tuesday and hadn’t returned to the club. His