Trouble Brewing (A Jack Haldean Mystery)
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A missing man leads Jack Haldean straight into danger . . . - Mark Helston, the rising star of Hunt Coffee Limited, was successful and popular, with plenty of money and everything to live for. Yet at half past seven on the evening of the ninth of January, 1925, he walked out of his Albemarle Street flat and disappeared. Desperate to know what happened to Mark, his uncle, old Mr Hunt, appeals to Jack Haldean. Inspector Bill Rackham of Scotland Yard thinks it’s a thankless task. Perhaps, says Jack, but why should Mark Helston vanish? And then Jack finds a body . . .
of himself – is true.’ Pat pushed an impatient hand through her glossy hair. ‘Of course Larry’s telling the truth. He has to be telling the truth.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s beastly to check up on him like this.’ Harold Hunt and Meredith Smith exchanged glances. ‘It’s as well to be sure, my dear,’ said Mr Hunt. ‘You cannot blame me for wanting to be as certain as possible under the circumstances.’ His sharp blue gaze fixed on her. ‘What are you going to do?’ ‘I don’t know,’ she said miserably.
like this. It’s flats, you know, all full of people like me.’ ‘Impossible,’ he returned, gallantly, and he saw her colour deliciously as she caught the implication. That did it. He paused again, then rushed on. ‘Have you eaten yet? There’s a decent A.B.C. tea shop in Leicester Square. How about mangling a bun with me?’ Sheila Mandeville took his proffered arm with a smile. She liked Captain Smith. NINE Jack Haldean was the cause, albeit the unwitting cause, of Meredith Smith and Sheila
footbridge from the track to the station and made the call himself. I think he wanted the steward to be an independent witness who could testify he’d been asked to turn up at Sheila Mandeville’s flat.’ ‘Good work, Rackham,’ said Sir Douglas. ‘This is building up nicely.’ ‘Thank you, sir. There is a question as to when the crime was committed. Captain Smith called for Miss Mandeville at half past seven. Our assumption is that at half past seven, Miss Mandeville was dead, otherwise she would have
popular press which made Sir Douglas Lynton cancel his Saturday game of golf. He had been dressing for dinner on Friday evening when Rackham had called with the news and, white tie still in hand, he had listened with a steadily lengthening face. ‘Meet me at the Yard at one o’clock tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Haldean better be there as well. He seems to know as much about it as anyone.’ He thought wistfully of his golf, then dismissed the idea. Jacob Carroll, the crusading proprietor of the Mercury
very best to drown you. Thank God, it didn’t come off.’ ‘Because of you,’ said Pat. Jack grinned. ‘I didn’t seem to dry out for days. By George, it was cold! But even Tyrell couldn’t plan everything. Not only were you still alive, but H.R.H. had a visitor. Tyrell didn’t know it, but that visitor was a dangerous man.’ ‘Who was it?’ asked Meredith. ‘His name was Robert Waldron, an old friend of H.R.H.’s from Brazil. I guessed as much at the time and also guessed his visit was responsible for