“The driver, an elderly grey-haired man, was reading a copy of the Daily Chronicle that he had spread out on his steering wheel, apparently absorbed in catching up on the war news. ‘D’you know where Kingsley Hall is?’ asked Hardcastle. ‘Yeah, of course I do, guv’nor.’ The cabbie looked up, irritated at the interruption. ‘It’s about five miles from here,’ he said, and carried on reading his newspaper. ‘If it’s not troubling you too much perhaps you’d take me there, then,’ said Hardcastle acidly. ...‘And my detective sergeant, too.’ Hardcastle’s throwaway line galvanized the driver into action. He leaped from his seat and opened the rear door of his taxi. ‘Anything to oblige the law, guv’nor,’ he said, half bowing as Hardcastle and Marriott got in. The cab drove through the open gates of Sir Royston Naylor’s estate and wound its way up a long driveway until the house came into view. Kingsley Hall was an eighteenth-century parsonage set in generous grounds and had been built in 1790 by the Reverend Dr Barnard.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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