10 lb Penalty (30 page)

Joe said, “When I went up the stairs to position the walking stick, the hotel manager hurried up after me and caught me before I reached the little lounge. He said he didn’t know if it was just a coincidence, but not long before, in fact at about eleven o’clock, a man had booked in as a guest at the hotel and he too was carrying a bag of golf clubs. And what was slightly odd about him, the manager said, was that he was wearing
gloves.”

Joe stood up to stretch his legs for a moment, and then sat back on his heels. “Are you taking in what I’m saying?” he said.

“Yes,” I groggily replied.

“We heard that cracking bang of the gun going off, and the manager used his passkey to open a bedroom door, and inside we found Alderney Wyvern coming towards the door carrying his bag of golf clubs, but when the manager snatched it from him and emptied them out onto the floor, all that was in it was golf clubs.”

Joe went on, “He hadn’t had time to put the rifle up in the gutter, but it was there with him, all right. He’d put the gun butt in the hanging basket with the geraniums, with the barrel pointing skywards, among the chains hanging the basket. I then used the room telephone to bring my colleagues from the police station. While we waited for them to arrive I asked, out of curiosity, how Wyvern had known about the reconstruction. How had he known that he would have a chance to shoot George Juliard?”

Joe smiled lopsidedly. “Wyvern had said Usher Rudd had phoned him and told him.” He stood up again.

My father said, “How did Wyvern think he would get away with it?”

Joe shrugged. “He did last time. In the commotion, he simply walked away. If it hadn’t been for the hotel manager, he quite likely would have done it again. But it was odd. He seemed just plain tired. There was no fight left in him. He could see he hadn’t managed to finish either of you, and he simply gave up. We had no trouble arresting him.”

“And what are you charging him with?” my father asked.

“Attempted murder,” Joe said.

I faintly smiled. “A 10-1b. penalty.”

“Ten years,” Joe said.

 

The next prime minister held my hand.

I gripped his tight, as if he would give me comfort and security when I needed them badly.

I gripped his hand as if I’d been a little boy.

See why Dick Francis was named Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America!

 

 

 

THE DICK FRANCIS COMPANION

Jean Swanson and Dean James 0-425-18187-1

 

The definitive source to the works of the three-time Edgar Allen Poe Award-winning,
New York Times
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