"That's good as far as it goes, but it doesn't go very far. Flanagan can't
have met very many army officers." Melvin Collins sipped his coffee
thoughtfully and looked over the plate of fruit in front of him. He
selected one and twisted off the stem.
"Well, not socially, at any rate." Elliott Marston poked at his eggs with a fork. The regimental scarlets of the officer class ornamented the balls and affaires of Fremantle society but fraternization with the population at large was definitely discouraged.
"Dad did a job for the army, over two years ago. It was something to do with thefts from warehouses." Sam Marston gestured with a piece of toast. "Dad found out that some workers were siphoning off supplies to their friends for resale. He put a stop to it. Pretty basic stuff."
"Maybe some higher ups were getting a piece of the action and didn't want it stopped." Collins checked the contents of the coffeepot and refilled his cup. "Army life doesn't pay so well that a man couldn't use a bit more."
"I don't think so. There were no big sums involved. It was more of an ongoing nuisance to the bookkeepers." Sam wiped her fingers daintily on her napkin and looked at her husband. "You're mighty quiet, Mister Marston."
"Hmm? Oh, sorry." He pushed the eggs across his plate and frowned. "There's something on the edge of my memory that just won't surface. And I think it's something important."
"Well, I've got something important for you to concentrate on." Collins set his cup down on its saucer with a decided clink. "The chief constable sent a man to my office yesterday. The authorities are running out of patience. They want to talk to you about Hiram Crabbs and they want to do it soon."
"What did you say?" Marston looked up.
"I told them that you were out of town on a business matter and would come in as soon as you returned. They asked where you were; I told them you were visiting an investor at his private home. That stopped them. They're trying to figure out who it might be and who they might offend if they try to track you down." He finished the fruit and set the core down by the saucer. "By the way, they think Sam is on her way back to the ranch. They don't seem very interested in her."
"Must be rough when you spend your whole career trying not to come down on the wrong side of somebody." Sam stirred her tea lazily. A sideways glance revealed that her husband was not paying attention to the conversation - again. His brows were creased and he stared at something in front of him that was invisible to her.
"Well, thanks for breakfast but I should be getting on to my office." He stood up and shrugged into his coat. "Busy day ahead thinking up more stories for the chief constable."
"Thank you, Melvin." Marston rose and shook hands with his lawyer. "I appreciate everything you've done. I promise I'll get some more contracts soon and give some fat bonuses for your efforts."
With a shout of laughter and a final wave, Collins disappeared through the back door. The sound of a horse and cab receding down the alley immediately followed and gradually diminished.
Silence fell. Marston picked up the teapot and checked the amount inside, then sat down again. Sam watched him closely.
"Well?" She finally said.
"No. Not well." He pushed his plate away and set his elbows on the table. He dropped his chin onto his clasped hands. "Whatever it is that's teasing my memory is important, I know it is."
"Maybe if you don't try so hard, it'll come easier. That happens with me sometimes."
"Perhaps." He looked over at her and smiled. "Where's Niall? It's too quiet."
"He's with Len, listening to stories about the 'good old days' in the army." She began to clear away the dishes. "He's still annoyed with us for sending him to bed the other night. We're probably going to be ignored for a little while."
Marston threw his napkin on the table. "That's fine with me. Just so he knows he's to stay in the house."
"Oh, he knows. Actually I think he'd be afraid that we might do something exciting while he was gone." She set the plates on the sideboard. "Maybe he thinks we're going to hide in a big trunk and sneak out under his nose."
Marston froze, his hands clenched tightly. He stared straight ahead, his breathing suddenly ragged and stentorian. Sam looked around in alarm.
"Elliott?" She ran to his side. "What's wrong? Tell me!"
He came alive again. "That's it! That's what I've been trying to remember! Come on!" With a strength born of sudden enthusiasm, he grabbed Sam and hauled her along the hallway to the stairs.
"Wait! Where are we going?" She concentrated on not stumbling over her feet.
He skidded to a halt on the first landing. "We're going upstairs to our bedroom." He grinned from ear to ear, his eyes gleaming for the first time in days. "And then we'll have some fun!"
"Well, not socially, at any rate." Elliott Marston poked at his eggs with a fork. The regimental scarlets of the officer class ornamented the balls and affaires of Fremantle society but fraternization with the population at large was definitely discouraged.
"Dad did a job for the army, over two years ago. It was something to do with thefts from warehouses." Sam Marston gestured with a piece of toast. "Dad found out that some workers were siphoning off supplies to their friends for resale. He put a stop to it. Pretty basic stuff."
"Maybe some higher ups were getting a piece of the action and didn't want it stopped." Collins checked the contents of the coffeepot and refilled his cup. "Army life doesn't pay so well that a man couldn't use a bit more."
"I don't think so. There were no big sums involved. It was more of an ongoing nuisance to the bookkeepers." Sam wiped her fingers daintily on her napkin and looked at her husband. "You're mighty quiet, Mister Marston."
"Hmm? Oh, sorry." He pushed the eggs across his plate and frowned. "There's something on the edge of my memory that just won't surface. And I think it's something important."
"Well, I've got something important for you to concentrate on." Collins set his cup down on its saucer with a decided clink. "The chief constable sent a man to my office yesterday. The authorities are running out of patience. They want to talk to you about Hiram Crabbs and they want to do it soon."
"What did you say?" Marston looked up.
"I told them that you were out of town on a business matter and would come in as soon as you returned. They asked where you were; I told them you were visiting an investor at his private home. That stopped them. They're trying to figure out who it might be and who they might offend if they try to track you down." He finished the fruit and set the core down by the saucer. "By the way, they think Sam is on her way back to the ranch. They don't seem very interested in her."
"Must be rough when you spend your whole career trying not to come down on the wrong side of somebody." Sam stirred her tea lazily. A sideways glance revealed that her husband was not paying attention to the conversation - again. His brows were creased and he stared at something in front of him that was invisible to her.
"Well, thanks for breakfast but I should be getting on to my office." He stood up and shrugged into his coat. "Busy day ahead thinking up more stories for the chief constable."
"Thank you, Melvin." Marston rose and shook hands with his lawyer. "I appreciate everything you've done. I promise I'll get some more contracts soon and give some fat bonuses for your efforts."
With a shout of laughter and a final wave, Collins disappeared through the back door. The sound of a horse and cab receding down the alley immediately followed and gradually diminished.
Silence fell. Marston picked up the teapot and checked the amount inside, then sat down again. Sam watched him closely.
"Well?" She finally said.
"No. Not well." He pushed his plate away and set his elbows on the table. He dropped his chin onto his clasped hands. "Whatever it is that's teasing my memory is important, I know it is."
"Maybe if you don't try so hard, it'll come easier. That happens with me sometimes."
"Perhaps." He looked over at her and smiled. "Where's Niall? It's too quiet."
"He's with Len, listening to stories about the 'good old days' in the army." She began to clear away the dishes. "He's still annoyed with us for sending him to bed the other night. We're probably going to be ignored for a little while."
Marston threw his napkin on the table. "That's fine with me. Just so he knows he's to stay in the house."
"Oh, he knows. Actually I think he'd be afraid that we might do something exciting while he was gone." She set the plates on the sideboard. "Maybe he thinks we're going to hide in a big trunk and sneak out under his nose."
Marston froze, his hands clenched tightly. He stared straight ahead, his breathing suddenly ragged and stentorian. Sam looked around in alarm.
"Elliott?" She ran to his side. "What's wrong? Tell me!"
He came alive again. "That's it! That's what I've been trying to remember! Come on!" With a strength born of sudden enthusiasm, he grabbed Sam and hauled her along the hallway to the stairs.
"Wait! Where are we going?" She concentrated on not stumbling over her feet.
He skidded to a halt on the first landing. "We're going upstairs to our bedroom." He grinned from ear to ear, his eyes gleaming for the first time in days. "And then we'll have some fun!"