Page 123 of Murder in Highbury
He drew his lanky frame to its full, offended height. “I’ll have you know, ma’am, that I have studied the subject at great length, and—”
George rapped his knuckles on his desktop. “May I suggest we refrain from embarking on theoretical discussions of the criminal mind and stick to the matter at hand?”
Emma wrinkled her nose at her husband in silent apology.
“Just as you say, sir,” the constable stiffly replied.
George nodded. “Then please continue. You stated that money was the motive for Mrs. Elton’s murder. In what way, exactly?”
“Mr. Elton believes that Mr. Suckling was in the River Tick and—”
“What does that mean?” Emma interrupted.
“It means he was in debt,” George explained.
“Really? What an odd expression.”
“As I was saying,” Sharpe said in a long-suffering tone, “Mr. Elton is now convinced that Mr. Suckling has substantial money troubles and is trying to hide them. He believes that Mrs. Elton had discovered what was going on, and was going to tell her sister and then expose Mr. Suckling’s chicanery to the world.”
Emma all but goggled at him. “That makesnosense. While I can understand Mrs. Elton wishing to inform her sister—assuming Mrs. Suckling wasn’t already aware—publicly exposing Mr. Suckling would ruin not only his reputation and standing but his wife’s, as well. That is hardly an act of sisterly charity.”
If her own brother-in-law were to find himself in the River Tick, Emma would move heaven and earth to protect Isabella and the children. Mrs. Elton had her faults, but surely she would protect her sister, with whom she had—by all appearances—a close relationship.
“What proof did Mr. Elton provide that would bear his theory out?” George asked.
Mr. Sharpe held up a finger. “The vicar discovered some letters between Mr. Suckling and Mrs. Elton—very suspicious letters.”
They both waited for Sharpe to elucidate at greater length. The constable, however, simply regarded them with a triumphantly smug expression.
“And what did these letters say?” George finally asked.
“I wouldn’t know, exactly,” Sharpe admitted. “Dr. Hughes took them with him.”
Emma’s patience fully deserted her. “George, this is utterly ridiculous. Dr. Hughes has absconded with all the evidence, leaving us with nothing but vague theories and accusations.”
Her husband looked as irritated as she felt. “It’s certainly an irregular way to conduct an investigation.”
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Knightley,” the constable said, “but it’s not my fault if Dr. Hughes took the evidence with him, and poor Mr. Elton was in no shape to give a clear account of events. I’m not best pleased about the state of things, neither.”
Emma felt a twinge of sympathy for Sharpe. Clearly, he was no happier with Dr. Hughes than they were.
“How very annoying of him to run off with both the evidenceandthe suspect,” she said. “I cannot think what got into him.”
“I can,” George sardonically replied.
Enlightenment dawned on Emma. “Ah, I suppose he wishes to take the credit for solving the murder. I must say that’s not very charitable of him.”
Sharpe again fell to muttering under his breath, clearly aggrieved with his crime-fighting colleague.
“Constable, do you have anything else to add?” George asked.
“No, sir. I’ve told you all I know. For more, you’ll have to wait until Dr. Hughes returns this evening.”
Emma thought for a moment. “We could call on Mr. Elton now.”
The constable looked startled. “He’s a right mess, Mrs. Knightley. Took quite a beating, he did.”
“Then all the more reason to visit,” she briskly replied as she rose to her feet. “The poor man will need our support after suffering such a harrowing experience. George, I’ll just nip down to the kitchen and ask Serle to put together a basket of nourishing foodstuffs. And I have a very effective tincture for pain and bruising, so I’ll fetch that, too.”
