Читать книгу Murder of a Lady - Robert McNair Wilson - Страница 3

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Mr. Leod McLeod, Procurator Fiscal of Mid-Argyll, was known throughout that county as “the Monarch of the Glen”. He deserved the title, if only because of the shape and set of his head and the distinction of his features. A Highlander, full length, in oils, dignified as a mountain, touchy as a squall, inscrutable, comic in the Greek sense. When at ten o’clock at night he came striding in, past the butler, to the smoking-room at Darroch Mor, even Dr. Eustace Hailey gasped, giving, by that, joy to his host, Colonel John MacCallien.

“I must apologize, gentlemen, for disturbing you at this unseasonable hour.”

Mr. McLeod bowed as he spoke, like a sapling in a hurricane.

“Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you. Yes. Yes, I will. Dear me, is it ten o’clock?”

John MacCallien signed to his butler, who moved a table, furnished with decanters and siphons, closer to his visitor. He invited him to help himself.

“That’s too kind of you. Well, well...”

Mr. McLeod poured what seemed to Dr. Hailey a substantial quantity of whisky into a tumbler. He drank the whisky, undiluted, at a gulp. A sigh broke from his lips.

“Believe me, gentlemen,” he said in solemn tones, “it is not lightly that I have troubled you. I heard that Dr. Hailey was staying here. It seemed to me that the gravity of the case and our remoteness from help gave me title to lay his skill under contribution.”

He moved uneasily as he spoke. Dr. Hailey observed that his brow was damp.

“There’s been murder,” he said in low tones, “at Duchlan Castle. Miss Mary Gregor has been murdered.”

“What!”

“Yes, Colonel MacCallien, it’s too true. Murdered, poor lady, while sleeping in her bed last night.” The Procurator Fiscal’s hand was raised in a gesture which expressed condemnation as well as horror.

“But, it’s impossible. Mary Gregor hadn’t an enemy in the world.” John MacCallien turned to Dr. Hailey. “Even tramps and tinkers turned to bless her as she passed them, and with good reason, for she was constantly helping them.”

“I know, Colonel MacCallien, I know,” Mr. McLeod said. “Who is there in Argyll who does not know? But I state the fact, there she lies, murdered.” The man’s voice fell again. “I have never seen so terrible a wound.”