CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

“LETTICE WHITTLESBY WILL SURVIVE,” SAID DR. BHATT. HE’D JOINED them in the kitchen to tell the staff what he knew, but indicated that he had to leave very quickly in order to meet the Whittlesbys at his surgery. “She is bunged up, and a bit out of her head from the shock as one might expect, but the worst of it is a sprained wrist and some bruises. She was very fortunate.”

After having made that pronouncement, he accepted a muffin from Mrs. Dilly, then made his excuses to be on his way.

Phyllida walked out with him for a private conversation. “Mr. Eugene wasn’t so fortunate.”

“Not at all,” said Dr. Bhatt grimly. “He was already dead when I arrived. He had been flung from the motor. Head and face smashed up pretty badly. Poor bloke was hardly recognizable.”

“Mr. Bradford says the brake lines on the motorcar were cut,” she told him.

His eyes widened. “When I arrived and found her—she was still in the driver seat, barely conscious—I could smell the alcohol. I assumed she had simply been driving recklessly and had caused the crash. I said as much to Alastair, and, surprisingly, he agreed. He is quite traumatized about it—especially over Eugene’s death, despite their differences. He blames himself for leaving Lettice to drive the larger motor this morning. He knew she didn’t like to handle it as well as she did the MG, but he didn’t permit his brother to drive any of the motors. But now to learn that the brake lines were cut . . .” His expression turned even more grim. “Someone tried to kill Alastair Whittlesby again.”

Phyllida nodded. “So it appears. John, when you were here on Wednesday, did you notice anything?”

He shook his head. “Not particularly. What do you mean?”

“Someone took the bottle of bitters between Wednesday morning and Friday morning—which means someone from the Murder Club could very well have done so. In fact, I should say most definitely that was when the bitters went missing, which puts all of the members of the Murder Club as having opportunity. Do you remember anyone who was standing near the bar counter and who might have had the opportunity to look behind it and take one of the bottles?”

Dr. Bhatt thought for a moment. “Well, Sir Rolly and I were standing there for a bit whilst Alastair saw to our drinks. I believe I sat down first, so Sir Rolly would have been up there longer, but I didn’t see him look behind it. Miss Crowley walked over that way to admire a photograph on the wall above it—it was of the Riviera—and she stood there for a time muttering on about Filberto.”

“What about Mr. Genevan and Mrs. Rollingbroke?”