Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen Bobby Becomes a Lawyer

"Mr. Hawkins?" "I'm here." With a large piece of bacon and eggs in his mouth, Bobby's voice was somewhat vague. "I have a call for you." Bobby took a long swig of his coffee, wiped his mouth and stood up.The phone was in the dark hallway, and he picked up the receiver. "Hello." It was Frankie's voice. "Hi, Frankie," said Bobby flippantly. "I'm Miss Frances de Winter," said the other in a stern tone. "Is that Mr. Hawkins?" "Yes, miss." "I'm going to London at ten o'clock."

"Yes, miss." Bobby hung up the receiver. "When to say 'Miss,' and when to say 'Missorship,'" thought Bobby, "I should know, but I didn't say it. It's the kind of thing that a real chauffeur or butler would see through me." .” On the other end, Frankie hung up the receiver and said to Roger Bassington-French with mock ease: "Have to go to London today. It's embarrassing, and it's all because of my father's fuss." "But," Roger asked, "are you coming back tonight?" "Oh, come back!"

"I was going to ask you if you could give me a ride to London?" Roger asked casually. Frankie paused before answering, and then said cheerfully, "Oh, of course." "But I've rethought it, and I don't think I'm going today," Roger went on. "Henry looks more queer than usual. In any case, I don't want Sylvia to be alone with him." "I see," said Frankie. "Are you driving yourself?" Roger asked nonchalantly as he walked away from the phone. "Yes, but I'm taking Hawkins. I've got to do some shopping, and it's hard not to drive because you can't park everywhere."

"of course." He stopped talking.When the car came, Bobby behaved standard, sitting upright in the car.Roger goes out to see Frankie off on the doorstep. "Goodbye," said Frankie. Under the circumstances, she did not think to reach out, but Roger took her hand and shook it for a long while. "Are you sure you're coming back?" he asked again emphatically. Frankie smiled: "Certainly come back, all I said was goodbye this evening." "Don't have any more accidents." "I'll let Hawkins drive if you like." She hopped in and sat next to Bobby, who touched his hat.Roger was still standing on the steps, following the car as it started down the driveway.

"Bobby," said Frankie, "maybe Roger is in love with me, do you think it's possible?" "he?" "Yeah, I'm just guessing." "I thought you knew signs well." He was absent-minded as he spoke, and Frankie gave him a quick glance. "Is something wrong?" Frankie asked. "Yes, there is something. Frankie, I found the man in the picture:" "You mean . . . the . "good." "Bobby! I have something to tell you, but it's nothing compared to that. Where did you find her?" Bobby jerked his head back to his shoulders. "At Dr. Nicholson's rehab."

"Tell me quickly." Bobby carefully related what happened last night.Frankie couldn't breathe aloud. "So we're on the right track," she said. "Dr. Nicholson is intimately involved in all this! I'm terrified of that man." "How is he?" "Well, big and powerful. He stares at you, behind his glasses. You feel he knows everything about you." "When did you meet him?" "When he comes to dinner." She related the incident at the dinner table, and how Dr. Nicholson kept pestering her with the minutiae of the "car accident."

"I think he's suspicious," she said finally. "It must be strange for him to go after details like that," said Bobby. "What do you think of the main cause of this?" "Well, I was starting to think about your story about having a drug gang, and I was way too strong on that at the time, and that's by no means a bad guess." "A gang headed by Nicholson?" "Yes, rehab business is an excellent disguise for doing that kind of thing. He can source certain drugs under perfectly legal conditions. While pretending to treat drug addicts, he does Drugs may be provided to patients."

"Seems to make sense," agreed Bobby. "I haven't told you about Henry Bassington-French." Bobby listened intently to Frankie's account of the landlord's eccentricities. "His wife is not suspicious?" "I'm sure she didn't suspect it." "What is she like? Is she smart?" "I'm not quite sure. No, I don't think she's very bright. And she looks pretty good in some ways, but a very pleasant, honest woman." "Where's our Bassington-French?" "I'm troubled," said Frankie slowly. "Bobby, do you think there's any chance we'll wrong him completely?"

"Nonsense!" said Bobby. "It took us all we could to conclude that he must be a villain." "Is it because of the photo?" "It's because of the photos. No one is likely to swap photos." "I know," said Frankie, "but that little incident is all the reason we're against him." "That's totally enough." "I thought so too, but..." "Ok?" "I don't know how to put it, but I have a strange feeling that he is innocent and has nothing to do with it." Bobby stared at Frankie sternly. "You say he's in love with you, or are you in love with him?" He said politely.

Frankie's face flushed. "Don't talk like that, Bobby. I just wondered if there was any chance of his innocence, that's all." "I don't see that as a possibility. Especially now that we've found the young woman nearby. It seems a solid fact. If we have any clues about who the dead man is..." "Oh, I have. I told you in my letter. I'm almost sure the victim was a man named Alan Carstairs." Once again she moved into the narrative. "You see," said Bobby, "we're really making progress. Now we have to work harder, more or less, to work out the facts of the crime. Let's analyze what we have and see what we can do about it. "

He paused for a moment, and the car seemed to slow down.So he pedaled hard on the accelerator again, while also stepping on the brake pedal. "First of all, we want to be sure that what you say about Alan Carstairs is true. He certainly fits the bill, that's the kind of guy he is, who leads a wandering life, has few acquaintances and friends in England, and If he goes missing, he'll hardly be remembered and searched for. That's all very well. Alan Carstairs came to Staveley with the same people you say are..." "Rivington. Potential avenues of investigation. Actually, I think we should go ahead." "We're going to do it. Well, Carstairs has come to Staveley with the Rivingtons. What's the meaning of it?" "You mean he asked them to bring him here on purpose?" "Exactly. Or was it just a chance? After he was brought by them, he met the young woman by chance, as I said? I presume he knew her before, or he wouldn't have taken her with him Photo." "Or it could be," said Frankie thoughtfully, "that he's already tracking Nicholson and his gang." "And using the Rivingtons as a cover for coming to this part of the world naturally." "It's a perfectly plausible inference," said Frankie. "He's been tracking the gang." "Maybe just after the young woman." "That woman?" "Yes. She may have been kidnapped. He may come to England to find her." "Well, but if he found her at Staveley, why did he leave here for Wales?" "Obviously, there's a lot we don't know," said Bobby. "Evans," said Frankie thoughtfully, "we haven't got any clues about Evans. The Evans thing has to be done in Wales." They were silent for a while.Later, Frankie was awakened by the surrounding environment. "My God, we're at Putnai Hill, like five minutes. Where are we going? What are we going to do?" "That's because you're talking. I don't even know why I'm in town." "Going into town is just an excuse to talk to you. I can't be seen walking and chatting with my driver in the streets of Staveley. The letter was used as an excuse to drive into town so I could talk to you on the way, and even that was almost ruined by Bassington-French coming in for a lift." "That's going to suck." "It's nothing. Even if we take him and take him where he goes, we can talk at his house in Brook Street. Anyway, I think we'd better do it. Your garage may be under surveillance." gone." Bobby agreed, and related how Marchbolt was approached to inquire about him. "Let's go to the Derwents' Kew House," said Frankie. "There's no one there except my maid and two porters." They drove to Brook Street.Frankie rang the bell and went in alone.Bobby stayed outside.After a while, Frankie opened the door again and beckoned him in with her hand.They went upstairs to the large living room, drew down some of the curtains, and took the covers off the sofa. "There is something I forgot to tell you," said Frankie, "on the sixteenth, the day you were poisoned, Roger was at Staveley, but Nicholson was away, said to be in London to attend a Yes. His car is a dark blue Talbot." "And he has access to morphine," said Bobby. They exchanged meaningful glances with each other. "I don't think there's any hard evidence," said Bobby, "but the conditions fit the bill." Frankie went to the other side of the table and came back with a phone book. "What are you going to do?" asked Bobby. "I'll look up people named Rivington." She flipped through the pages quickly. "A. Rivington & Sons, Builders; B. A. C. Rivington, Dentist; Dr. Rivington, of Archer's Hill. I don't think so. Miss Florence Rivington; H. Rivington Colonel Vinton, City Senator, it's kind of like, Tate Street in Chelsea." She then looked down. "There's M. R. Rivington in Onslow Square. It could be him. There's William Rivington in Hampstead. I see the one in Onslow Square and the Tate That one in the High Street is very family. Bobby, you must see the Rivingtons, don't delay." "I think you're right. But what are we going to say? Come up with some brilliant lies, Frankie. I'm not good at that." Frankie thought for a while. "I think," said Frankie, "that you must go. Do you think you could be a junior assistant in a law firm?" "That seems like a very gentlemanly role," said Bobby, "and I'm afraid you might be thinking of a much worse role than that. It's not a good role, though, is it?" "What do you mean?" "Well, lawyers never make private visits, do they? They always write letters, for six shillings and eightpence at a time, or invite someone to arrange an appointment at the office." "This particular law firm is too inconvenient," said Frankie. "Wait a minute." She walked out of the room and came back with a business card. "Mr Frederick Sprague," she said, handing her card to Bobby, "you are a young member of Sprague & Associates, Sprague and Mrs. Jenkinson LLP." "You invented the firm, Frankie?" "Of course not. They're my father's lawyers." "Are they going to sue me for impersonation?" "It's all right. There's no young Sprague. The only Sprague is about a hundred years old. Anyway, he takes my orders. If things go wrong, I'll have him. He's a very snobby little guy." People like dukes and earls, but they can't get much money from them." "What about the clothes? Shall I call Badger to deliver them?" Frankie looked suspicious. "I don't want to belittle your clothes, Bobby," she said, "and I don't want to condemn you for being poor or anything like that. But are those clothes going to be convincing? I think we'd better raid Dad's wardrobe, he Your clothes won't fit you too well." A quarter of an hour later, Bobby, in his morning coat and well-cut striped trousers, was standing in front of Lord Marchington's full-length mirror, looking at himself. "Your father didn't treat himself badly when it came to dressing," he commented with poise. "I feel a boost of confidence with the strength behind me." "I reckon you'll have to glue the mustache on," said Frankie. "It's gluing on me," said Bobby. "It's a work of art, and it can't be copied in a hurry." "Then you'd better fix it, though a clean face would make more sense." "It's better than a beard," said Bobby. "Now, Frankie, do you think your father could lend me a hat?"

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