CHAPTER 34Randal March was called to the telephone in the middle of his wife’s tea-party. As he had been buttonholed by old Lady Halbert who knew more people who had undergone operations than anyone else in England and loved to rehearse the particulars of each case with a terrifying command of detail, he was not really sorry to disengage himself.
The voice which met his ear when he took up the receiver was that of Inspector Crisp. It said in an exasperated tone,
“We’ve just had a call from Cove House. There’s been another death.”
“What!”
“That young fellow Felton. They’ve just found him dead in his bed. Stabbed. No weapon.”
“Who found him?”
“Mr. Richard Cunningham. Says he went to call him to tea and found him like that.”
“It was he who telephoned?”
“Yes, sir. I’m just off out ther
