Death of Yesterday
“—Matthew Arnold Hamish walked up the front drive and rang the doorbell of the Gilchrists’ villa. Sean Carmichael, the odd job man, answered the door.
“Is Mrs. Gilchrist at home?” asked Hamish.
“No. Herself is still in foreign parts.”
“She’s been away an awfy long time.”
“Herself aye likes the travel.”
“And where is she now?”
“Ask the boss. He got a postcard yesterday.”
Back outside the villa, Hamish phoned Harry Gilchrist. “I wonder if I could drop in and see you,” he said.
“What about? I seem to have been answering police questions for years. Besides, I’m busy.”
“I actually wanted to ask you about your wife.”
“What’s she got to do with anything?”
“Mrs. Gilchrist has been abroad for a long time.”
“My wife likes to travel. I have just received a postcard from her. Up to before she went, she had been working hard, helping me in the business. I felt she deserved a break.”
“Where is she now?”
“This is police harassment. I shall speak to your superiors.”
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