Death and the Joyful Woman
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A millionaire is murdered and Inspector Felse, after sifting through the few shreds of evidence, finally arrests Kitty Norris, his teenaged son Dominic's first love. A young man's infatuation soon becomes something far more dangerous, though, as Dominic takes on Kitty's cause--in direct opposition to his father's investigation.
business, Mr. Felse.” “Murder usually is, Mr. Shelley.” The word pulled him up motionless for a moment. “Is that absolutely certain, that it’s murder? The official statement leaves the issue open, and your man this morning was very discreet. Well—” He had resumed his climb, and turned right in the broad panelled corridor on the first floor. “I won’t pretend I’m surprised, everything pointed that way. At the moment I can’t realise what’s happened. I can think and understand, but nothing
bore the marks of shock and strain. He saw her fine black brows contract at sight of him, in a reflex of distress and reluctance, but she made him welcome none the less, and sat down opposite him in front of her desk, instead of withdrawing behind it, to mark her abdication from her official status. “I’ve come to you as the person who can best help me to understand the family set-up here,” said George directly. “Anything connected with Mr. Armiger’s circle and affairs may be of vital importance
want of that much ready money, but from now on I’d have to fend for myself.” Jean had brought in the coffee and dispensed it silently, and because her husband in his absorption let it stand untasted at his elbow she came behind him and touched him very lightly on the arm to call his attention to it. She could not have ventured contact with a complete stranger more gingerly. He started and quivered at the touch, and looked up at her with a flash of wary brown eyes, at once hopeful and wretched.
take it easy and stop fretting, everything’s under control.” “Oh, Mummy!” he said reproachfully, almost offendedly, “you’re so darned calm.” He wouldn’t, she thought, have chosen that word if he could have seen her face when they brought him home. He took a rapid retrospective glance at the memories that were beginning to assemble themselves into some sort of shape, and asked coaxingly: “You’re not very mad with me, are you?” “Well, you know,” said Bunty amiably, putting away the thermometer
for it. Come to think of it, it was very improbable that he ever got tight on liquor, he’d been in command of it and manipulated his fellow-men by means of it too long to be susceptible to it himself at this late stage. He glittered with excitement and self-satisfaction; the bright, shrewd eyes were dancing. “Well, how do you like my little place? Have I made a good job of it?” “Terrific,” said George reverently. “Do you think it’s really going to pay for transferring the licence out of the