Andrews, the butler, had been sent to request Warrick’s presence in the breakfast room. I glanced restively at my watch, then put the timepiece away in my waistcoat pocket and resumed reading the local newspaper.
It was filled with the gruesome details of another brutal murder. This made four in the past month. Beastly business.
Someone entered the breakfast room. I made him wait while I finished perusing an editorial that rather snidely demanded to know where our constabulary was while these innocent people were being torn limb from limb.
Paul Vaughan, a retired major who had acquired the position of detective chief inspector, was a good enough man, but he was better suited for arresting poachers and settling property disputes than solving crimes. I always assumed his position in the a
