Chapter Sixteen
Mr Fortescue, a dapper man, whose manners were as pristine as his linen, waxed voluble about his discerning clientele. Unfortunately, he also confirmed what Westlake had said. At least about buying the wine, though he was as discreet as Llewellyn about washing the dirty linen of others. He seemed of the opinion that a man whose taste in wine couldn’t be faulted, would be as impeccable in other areas of his life.
‘Mr Fortescue, you don’t seem to understand that this is a murder inquiry.’
‘I understand it very well, I can assure you Inspector,’ was his cutting reply. ‘My client, Mr Westlake, is a gentleman. He wouldn’t dream of being involved in this dreadful business. Now, if I can’t interest you in buying wine, I really must invite you to leave my shop.’ He looked down h
